Tonight I was writing a check in preparation of the Pizza Man driver bringing our dinner. I filled out the date 2 August 1966. Well I didn't actually complete the 1966 but I thought it. On this date in that year, we were 8 days away from meeting our first child.
There have been many milestones in her life (which seems like a short one to me, but may seem long to her). She was the child that the unusual happened to at regular and varied intervals in her life. Condomalachia Patella which if I did not spell correctly I apologize. I could never say it either. It amounted to a wandering knee cap which caused odd sensations and a week knee. This was in her teens. This was followed by problems with her thyroid. She seriously broke her leg (not in sports) just walking down a hill. Soon after that, she discovered she had been exposed to Tuberculosis by the grandfather of the family where she had been a Nanny. Seizure syndrome has caused years of medication to keep her brain from bouncing neurons that trigger the seizures.
Hoping to start a family, she and her husband were told she had ovarian cancer. She is a survivor. God was good. The cancer was discovered as stage 1 or pre-cancerous. She is more than 6 years past her chemo treatments and no sign of cancer. In recent years she developed Afib, simply said a problem with irregular heart beat. An ablation was performed and within months doctors will know if the procedure was complete and all is well.
While there is much to rejoice; our girl has fears and anxieties that keep her from enjoying the good she has. As a mom who is watching, I feel her fears and sometimes fight against magnifying them in my own mind. She has anger for those things that have disrupted, denied, and in some cases destroyed her quality of life.
As I think of her birthday coming soon, I go over everything as I did that long ago night in the hospital. 10 fingers, 10 toes, two eyes. Check! Beautiful girl, already smiling. Sweet disposition, healthy lungs. As she grew, I kept counting. Outgoing personality, lovely smile, funny and a lover of laughing at the ridiculous. Determined. Loving and kind toward her younger brother (who never turned out to be the horse she had asked for). Gracious to her parents. Talented in voice and ability to work with pens and pencils and color as well as florals.
She walks with God. She found Him at a young age and has persisted in following even when she was angriest with Him. She has followed the paths He has set for her. She is married to a kind and loving man who suffers for her right now as she struggles to understand yet another health issue. I watch and admire him. In my own fears I am sometimes sharp or impatient with her. He doesn't seem to be and always gives that extra to help her through.
I am glad to be able to say one more year "Happy Birthday, Helen"! I can't make things go away or even be easier to bear but I can tell you I am glad you are here. Love, Mom
A basket of gloves for the family. Notification of new blogs obtained when you sign up at the right.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Saturday, May 23, 2015
And Then . . . I Was Old
Got up early yesterday. Vacuumed, tidied the kitchen, mowed the lawn. I made dinner for Dave who is suffering from L4 and 5 lumbar indignities. I picked Helen up from work. Together Helen and I went to a prison to share in a Friday Night Worship Service known as "Revival". The campus is large and requires a quarter mile walk to and from the building where the service is held.
The service was energizing and uplifting. Approximately 250 men in attendance. We chatted as we walked back to get our ID's and return to our cars. I drove Helen to her home. I pulled into our driveway and entered home.
Dave and I exchanged stories of how our evening went. I helped put the house in order for night time. I closed windows, lowered blinds, locked doors and set the alarm. Jamas, teeth brushed, pills taken. Read a little of my electronic book. Fell sound asleep after only a page or two.
Morning came. And, then . . I was very old. Joints creak, eyelids are heavy, there are things to be done. Perhaps they can wait until tomorrow?
The service was energizing and uplifting. Approximately 250 men in attendance. We chatted as we walked back to get our ID's and return to our cars. I drove Helen to her home. I pulled into our driveway and entered home.
Dave and I exchanged stories of how our evening went. I helped put the house in order for night time. I closed windows, lowered blinds, locked doors and set the alarm. Jamas, teeth brushed, pills taken. Read a little of my electronic book. Fell sound asleep after only a page or two.
Morning came. And, then . . I was very old. Joints creak, eyelids are heavy, there are things to be done. Perhaps they can wait until tomorrow?
Friday, May 22, 2015
You See . . . It Was Memorial Day.
When I was very young, my family would pack into an automobile and travel to River Falls WI or to Medford MN. It was a long trip for us, 5 siblings, 2 parents, and picnic baskets and blankets and dishes also shovels and rakes. I only remember a few years when Dad was the driver. Often the trips were taken with Uncle Jim and Aunt Augusta or Uncle Doug and Aunt Millie. Sometimes, Auntie Evalyn rode with us to River Falls. It was a full car. There were no seat belts, and people "stacked" to get everyone in. If the weather was cold we were all very warm. If the weather was hot, we rolled down all the windows and were buffeted by the wind and still very hot.
There was no bickering. It wasn't allowed. There was some poking, pinching, tickling and squirming, but not much because that might lead to bickering and that was not allowed. I know I often slept most of the way in the safest place there could be -- on my mother's lap.
Once we were at the destination, we were terribly grateful to pile out of the car. Those at the bottom of the stacks took longer to stand up and walk because their legs were asleep. There was much giggling as wobbly limbs tried to unfold and come back to life. The men, Dad, Uncle, and my brother would unload the car where the ladies, Mom, Aunt and eldest sister, Dorothy directed.
The women put on hats for shade and began pulling weeds, raking away winter dried grass and leaves. They moved from spot to spot. There was some tsking over the condition of the place and a few tears shed here and there. The younger kids were allowed to move pretty freely in play being warned to "watch where you put your feet". The older kids were busy spreading blankets, laying out the dishes and taking the jars we brought along to the pump to get water.
The men chatted quietly in the shade until the women were done. Then the men walked carefully along looking for "repair work" needed. The shovels were put to use digging up some sod here and there, maybe straightening a stone. Sometimes it was actually necessary to level the ground and replace a stone that had turned over. In that case a couple of the more muscled women would pitch in and help. The baskets of food had been in the trunk of the car, but the precious baskets of flowers were on someone's lap for the whole trip. Now they were brought from where they had been staying fresh in the shade. Plants were carefully divided, spread evenly around and water was brought in pails from the pump.
We all came together and washed up. I was always careful to wash really good at the pump to avoid Mom, any of my sisters or one of my aunts giving me a spit bath. If you've never had one you don't know what you missed and that's a good thing. One of those ladies with eyesight of an eagle would spot something I missed and grab a handkerchief from a pocket, spit on it and commence scrubbing. I would have struggled, but the first move on their part was to grab me by my chin and hang on for dear life. There was no escape.
The picnic was festive. We enjoyed the view, ate chicken or sandwiches, had salads and even some early berries, and dessert. There was always much to choose from in the dessert baskets. Cake, pie, cookies, homemade doughnuts. Oh, I wish I hadn't remembered the doughnuts. I want one now!
After lunch, the conversations began. It was good to just let them forget you were present by being quiet and still so they would keep talking. Remember when Amelia thought no one was looking and would hike her skirts to straighten a stocking because Ernest was where he could see? Chuckles all round. Where is her son now? I heard he was in Korea. Pause. Egie (pronounced Eeejee) . . . at the name, alone, everyone would laugh. Right over there is where Egie thought he saw the headless horseman and it was Gus cutting through here on his way home. Remember when he took his date to the drug store and bought himself a malt? He told her it was pretty good and she should buy herself one too. Lots of laughter. How about the Buskovik boys? Did they both die in the war? Yes. One left a widow and some kids, don't remember how many. Right over that hill is where I was riding my bike and the handlebars came off and I went ass over teakettle. There's a bluff not too far from here where Ted almost went over the edge one winter sledding. I couldn't save the sled but I caught him by the seat of his pants just before he went over. Smiles, twinkles, remember when we put him in the manure spreader and sent him from the hayloft out over the wires. It went too far and dropped him right in the manure pile. Laughter until Dad had to wipe tears from his eyes; tears of laughter followed by real tears because he missed Ted so.
Soon the reminiscing was over and the men would pick up their shovels and walk through the area policing any spaces that had not been tended. The ladies would weed those spots that were forgotten. Occasionally, they would stand close together, arms entwined and mourn someone's child. Usually one of the women would go back and dig up a plant or two from each spot they had just planted them and bring them here to carefully replant and re-water.
You see, it was Memorial Day. Families took care of the graves of loved ones and loved ones that belonged to someone else who had also passed this life or moved away. Much time and thought went into preparation for the day. The cemetery came to beautiful life as gravesites were cleaned, flowers were planted, shrubs were pruned back, and memories were relived. There were tears, there was laughter, there was food, and love.
There was usually enough food to gather at the blankets one more time for more to eat and more to remember. By this time, the men were having a game of "catch" and the older girls were playing tag or picking wildflowers along the edge of the cemetery. I would rest my head in Mom's lap and listen to the ladies remembering their mothers and grandmothers and school friends. Soon the fresh air and exercise and soft voices would lull me to sleep.
I didn't understand the special grace they gave to those who had died in WWI or the more recent WWII. Korea was an ominous name from far away. Communism was a new word in my vocabulary and was a thought I pushed far away out of mind-sight. It frightened me. To think that men and boys would actually have to die to keep it at bay was something my young mind couldn't comprehend.
When I woke, there were those times when we could afford the little U.S. flags and I was allowed to put one at each designated grave for the man who helped to keep our country safe. When the last flag was set, we would look over our little family plot and there would be silence. Someone would say, "It's been a nice day. Everything looks so nice." While the others were picking up the blankets and tools and dishes, I would wander the graves taking in all the names of the grandparents I had never met, great aunts and uncles that were only names. I would wonder about those who had earned a little flag. Back in the crowded car we would head for home. Someone would usually hand me a little paper poppy they had gotten for donating. I would snuggle close to Mom and play with my flower.
How many more "conflicts" (such a nice euphemism for war) have come and gone since then? How many more men have given their lives and their health and their sanity to protect a country that allows us to live as we do? Whether you believe in war or not, it is a reality, it has happened, is happening. Those men and now, women too, who believe they are doing what they must deserve our gratitude. Dave, my Dave, served in Viet Nam. He came back whole but not the same. He came back healthy, healthy until the things of war affected his current health. He is alive and we are together. We know someone who will never leave prison because he left his sanity in the tunnels of Viet Nam. His flashbacks cause him to be unsafe around others. We know of those, some close friends, who did not come back. We love someone dearly who was part of recovery for Black Hawk Down and during the Gulf War of Desert Storm. He has mind pictures none of us would want to see.
It is Memorial Day. Remember those who served, serve, or gave all. Remember family and that you are who you are because you are part of that family. Remember you live in a country where you may think stupidity reigns but in reality is still better than any other country you could try. Celebrate those who went before and honor the flag that flies proudly because of them.
There was no bickering. It wasn't allowed. There was some poking, pinching, tickling and squirming, but not much because that might lead to bickering and that was not allowed. I know I often slept most of the way in the safest place there could be -- on my mother's lap.
Once we were at the destination, we were terribly grateful to pile out of the car. Those at the bottom of the stacks took longer to stand up and walk because their legs were asleep. There was much giggling as wobbly limbs tried to unfold and come back to life. The men, Dad, Uncle, and my brother would unload the car where the ladies, Mom, Aunt and eldest sister, Dorothy directed.
The women put on hats for shade and began pulling weeds, raking away winter dried grass and leaves. They moved from spot to spot. There was some tsking over the condition of the place and a few tears shed here and there. The younger kids were allowed to move pretty freely in play being warned to "watch where you put your feet". The older kids were busy spreading blankets, laying out the dishes and taking the jars we brought along to the pump to get water.
The men chatted quietly in the shade until the women were done. Then the men walked carefully along looking for "repair work" needed. The shovels were put to use digging up some sod here and there, maybe straightening a stone. Sometimes it was actually necessary to level the ground and replace a stone that had turned over. In that case a couple of the more muscled women would pitch in and help. The baskets of food had been in the trunk of the car, but the precious baskets of flowers were on someone's lap for the whole trip. Now they were brought from where they had been staying fresh in the shade. Plants were carefully divided, spread evenly around and water was brought in pails from the pump.
We all came together and washed up. I was always careful to wash really good at the pump to avoid Mom, any of my sisters or one of my aunts giving me a spit bath. If you've never had one you don't know what you missed and that's a good thing. One of those ladies with eyesight of an eagle would spot something I missed and grab a handkerchief from a pocket, spit on it and commence scrubbing. I would have struggled, but the first move on their part was to grab me by my chin and hang on for dear life. There was no escape.
The picnic was festive. We enjoyed the view, ate chicken or sandwiches, had salads and even some early berries, and dessert. There was always much to choose from in the dessert baskets. Cake, pie, cookies, homemade doughnuts. Oh, I wish I hadn't remembered the doughnuts. I want one now!
After lunch, the conversations began. It was good to just let them forget you were present by being quiet and still so they would keep talking. Remember when Amelia thought no one was looking and would hike her skirts to straighten a stocking because Ernest was where he could see? Chuckles all round. Where is her son now? I heard he was in Korea. Pause. Egie (pronounced Eeejee) . . . at the name, alone, everyone would laugh. Right over there is where Egie thought he saw the headless horseman and it was Gus cutting through here on his way home. Remember when he took his date to the drug store and bought himself a malt? He told her it was pretty good and she should buy herself one too. Lots of laughter. How about the Buskovik boys? Did they both die in the war? Yes. One left a widow and some kids, don't remember how many. Right over that hill is where I was riding my bike and the handlebars came off and I went ass over teakettle. There's a bluff not too far from here where Ted almost went over the edge one winter sledding. I couldn't save the sled but I caught him by the seat of his pants just before he went over. Smiles, twinkles, remember when we put him in the manure spreader and sent him from the hayloft out over the wires. It went too far and dropped him right in the manure pile. Laughter until Dad had to wipe tears from his eyes; tears of laughter followed by real tears because he missed Ted so.
Soon the reminiscing was over and the men would pick up their shovels and walk through the area policing any spaces that had not been tended. The ladies would weed those spots that were forgotten. Occasionally, they would stand close together, arms entwined and mourn someone's child. Usually one of the women would go back and dig up a plant or two from each spot they had just planted them and bring them here to carefully replant and re-water.
You see, it was Memorial Day. Families took care of the graves of loved ones and loved ones that belonged to someone else who had also passed this life or moved away. Much time and thought went into preparation for the day. The cemetery came to beautiful life as gravesites were cleaned, flowers were planted, shrubs were pruned back, and memories were relived. There were tears, there was laughter, there was food, and love.
There was usually enough food to gather at the blankets one more time for more to eat and more to remember. By this time, the men were having a game of "catch" and the older girls were playing tag or picking wildflowers along the edge of the cemetery. I would rest my head in Mom's lap and listen to the ladies remembering their mothers and grandmothers and school friends. Soon the fresh air and exercise and soft voices would lull me to sleep.
I didn't understand the special grace they gave to those who had died in WWI or the more recent WWII. Korea was an ominous name from far away. Communism was a new word in my vocabulary and was a thought I pushed far away out of mind-sight. It frightened me. To think that men and boys would actually have to die to keep it at bay was something my young mind couldn't comprehend.
When I woke, there were those times when we could afford the little U.S. flags and I was allowed to put one at each designated grave for the man who helped to keep our country safe. When the last flag was set, we would look over our little family plot and there would be silence. Someone would say, "It's been a nice day. Everything looks so nice." While the others were picking up the blankets and tools and dishes, I would wander the graves taking in all the names of the grandparents I had never met, great aunts and uncles that were only names. I would wonder about those who had earned a little flag. Back in the crowded car we would head for home. Someone would usually hand me a little paper poppy they had gotten for donating. I would snuggle close to Mom and play with my flower.
How many more "conflicts" (such a nice euphemism for war) have come and gone since then? How many more men have given their lives and their health and their sanity to protect a country that allows us to live as we do? Whether you believe in war or not, it is a reality, it has happened, is happening. Those men and now, women too, who believe they are doing what they must deserve our gratitude. Dave, my Dave, served in Viet Nam. He came back whole but not the same. He came back healthy, healthy until the things of war affected his current health. He is alive and we are together. We know someone who will never leave prison because he left his sanity in the tunnels of Viet Nam. His flashbacks cause him to be unsafe around others. We know of those, some close friends, who did not come back. We love someone dearly who was part of recovery for Black Hawk Down and during the Gulf War of Desert Storm. He has mind pictures none of us would want to see.
It is Memorial Day. Remember those who served, serve, or gave all. Remember family and that you are who you are because you are part of that family. Remember you live in a country where you may think stupidity reigns but in reality is still better than any other country you could try. Celebrate those who went before and honor the flag that flies proudly because of them.
Friday, May 8, 2015
I Thought I Just Finished That!!!
Reach! Higher! Bend and stretch; further! Side step, two step, ball, slide, ball! Plea, en pointe, glissade, and spin! Heft and lift and shove and pull. What would you guess; Pilates, Yoga, Ballet? Nope!
Never ending, always there, for-the-love-of-Mike, housework!!!!
I remember a conversation, half in jest, but with some serious tone to it between Mom and Dad. He was pre-retirement so maybe 60-63. She being four years younger was 56-59. Don't think I am discounting the hard life they both shared nor the good things Dad did. Mom never worked outside the home and even in the modern era of the late 50's when this conversation took place housework was manual labor with a capital M and L. Anyway, they were discussing the fact that it would be nice to return to farm living. We siblings were listening and enjoying the conversation. Dad finally said he would maybe look into a small farm near where we lived for retirement. I think it was my sister, Dot, who dared to ask how he thought he could handle the heavy work. His reply? "Well, Mom's still pretty fit, she could do it!" I think everyone but Mom laughed.
Today, we have things to make housework easy. Easy by comparison to laundry by hand or with a wringer washer (look it up if you don't remember it), dryers vs. clotheslines, vacuums vs. brooms, Swifter Mops vs. bucket and string mop. You get the picture. I don't know about you, but Mary Poppins never shows up here so the sheets and blankets pop off the bead and head for the laundry. Nor, I'll tell ya true, do clean ones fly from nowhere to land snug and smooth on the bed. That chore is still done with grunt work. It is a ponder for me that the shortest person in the family with the shortest wing span is the only one who can fold just-washed King-sized sheets without dragging them on the floor!
While the vacuum does a lovely job on carpets and gets the cobwebs and Dave vacuums for special occasions, it does not do well on bare floors except for a quick fix. I have a little kitchen vac that is lovely for the messes I make on the floor while cooking or baking and if it breaks I'll sacrifice shampoo to replace the kitchen vac. A clean kitchen floor is still really only achieved by a broom or dust-mop first and then a good old fashioned sponge mop next. Even better for real clean is if one can still at least quarterly get down on hands and knees with a good scrub brush for the tight places.
Dusting sounds easy and there are cute little handle things with changeable fluffy items that get the dust. Really? There are places where only a conscientious dance macabre can clean the dust and leave surfaces shining. Reach, balance, en pointe, bend. Nothing in the modern idea of dusting leaves everything clean, shining, and fresh like a rag with furniture polish. Knick-knacks and bric-a-brac still have to be hand washed to bring back the brightness.
Rugs are now called carpets and don't have to be hung on a line and beaten with what looks like something Jack would have found at the top of the beanstalk to whip the giant's eggs (ostrich sized, of course). But scatter rugs suck into a vacuum and, by consequence, must be shaken vigorously. I still hang mine on a deck railing to air in the sunshine a bit.
Loading the dishwasher can be hard on the back. A pile of plates going into the cupboard can be heavy (clean and jerk 101). Some of my heaviest cooking utensils are in the bottom of the cupboards because that's where they fit. (Use your knees, not your back.) Much of housework takes flexibility in arms and shoulders. If something is hurting, the chore is harder.
I'm not whining nor complaining. I'm just saying don't sell short the person that keeps the house tidy and the home looking like a home. In many homes today, that is not necessarily Mom. Dad's are sometimes the stay-at-home grunt. (Some are not appreciated for folding the laundry because it's not the same way the other would do it.) Some of our younger set have learned to share the duties -- most seem to think that is only for housework and the sharing is not equal concerning the yard work. If both are working away from home, it should all be shared.
I approve of Dad spending more time with his kids. Both parent and child benefits. I like watching men interact with their kids in ways the men never connected when I was young. Dave would take his turns with our kids, did his share of feeding and diaper changing. He put a lot of energy in trying to
be a good Dad. Recently I've noticed more and more that Dad is the one with a baby (in arms, in tummy or back pack) and a toddler or two and the diaper bag while Mom strolls along looking unconcerned and unruffled like Dads used to look. What? She can't even carry the diaper bag? More and more it is not Mom who leaves the Sunday Service, but Dad, with a wiggly tot. Seems like the stress hasn't been equaled out but completely shifted to the other sex.
God gave us work to do even before the fall. He planned that we would be busy and profit from our labor. He arranged that both sexes had abilities and strengths for certain things and that we could be a help to each other in the hard stretches. He never planned that we should squabble over who's efforts gain more. Teamwork was a plan. Delight in accomplishment after a task well done is a reward. My friend Patrick wrote a book on work and attitude toward work that pointed out God's desire for us to enjoy our work. Wake in the morning and do what it takes plus more to provide for need, go to sleep and sleep from being tired and satisfied with the day.
Do I ever have control of my attitude toward my work? Once in a while, I get it right. Do I ever sin in my frustration because I am the only one in a group who is still working while the rest are sitting by? Oh, my stars! Yes.
Why this post you may be wondering? Because I needed to put down some words to stop feeling hard-used because housework is never, I repeat, never finished. Empty the dishwasher and fill it right back up. Make the bed and delight in the smooth covers and the "foo-foo pillows" on it; one night's tossing and turning will cause it to look slightly "used" until the next time fresh sheets are put on. Laundry. I no longer follow Mom's strict "wash on Monday, Iron on Tuesday, Clean on Wednesday, Bake on Thursday, Tidy on Friday for possible guests on Saturday, Entertain on Saturday, and Church on Sunday". However, I rarely finish laundry without having something pulled off a hanger or out of a folded pile before the last piece of laundry is put away. Fig leaves might have been the answer -- pick a new one every morning, the old ones would decay.
Never ending, always there, for-the-love-of-Mike, housework!!!!
I remember a conversation, half in jest, but with some serious tone to it between Mom and Dad. He was pre-retirement so maybe 60-63. She being four years younger was 56-59. Don't think I am discounting the hard life they both shared nor the good things Dad did. Mom never worked outside the home and even in the modern era of the late 50's when this conversation took place housework was manual labor with a capital M and L. Anyway, they were discussing the fact that it would be nice to return to farm living. We siblings were listening and enjoying the conversation. Dad finally said he would maybe look into a small farm near where we lived for retirement. I think it was my sister, Dot, who dared to ask how he thought he could handle the heavy work. His reply? "Well, Mom's still pretty fit, she could do it!" I think everyone but Mom laughed.
Today, we have things to make housework easy. Easy by comparison to laundry by hand or with a wringer washer (look it up if you don't remember it), dryers vs. clotheslines, vacuums vs. brooms, Swifter Mops vs. bucket and string mop. You get the picture. I don't know about you, but Mary Poppins never shows up here so the sheets and blankets pop off the bead and head for the laundry. Nor, I'll tell ya true, do clean ones fly from nowhere to land snug and smooth on the bed. That chore is still done with grunt work. It is a ponder for me that the shortest person in the family with the shortest wing span is the only one who can fold just-washed King-sized sheets without dragging them on the floor!
While the vacuum does a lovely job on carpets and gets the cobwebs and Dave vacuums for special occasions, it does not do well on bare floors except for a quick fix. I have a little kitchen vac that is lovely for the messes I make on the floor while cooking or baking and if it breaks I'll sacrifice shampoo to replace the kitchen vac. A clean kitchen floor is still really only achieved by a broom or dust-mop first and then a good old fashioned sponge mop next. Even better for real clean is if one can still at least quarterly get down on hands and knees with a good scrub brush for the tight places.
Dusting sounds easy and there are cute little handle things with changeable fluffy items that get the dust. Really? There are places where only a conscientious dance macabre can clean the dust and leave surfaces shining. Reach, balance, en pointe, bend. Nothing in the modern idea of dusting leaves everything clean, shining, and fresh like a rag with furniture polish. Knick-knacks and bric-a-brac still have to be hand washed to bring back the brightness.
Rugs are now called carpets and don't have to be hung on a line and beaten with what looks like something Jack would have found at the top of the beanstalk to whip the giant's eggs (ostrich sized, of course). But scatter rugs suck into a vacuum and, by consequence, must be shaken vigorously. I still hang mine on a deck railing to air in the sunshine a bit.
Loading the dishwasher can be hard on the back. A pile of plates going into the cupboard can be heavy (clean and jerk 101). Some of my heaviest cooking utensils are in the bottom of the cupboards because that's where they fit. (Use your knees, not your back.) Much of housework takes flexibility in arms and shoulders. If something is hurting, the chore is harder.
I'm not whining nor complaining. I'm just saying don't sell short the person that keeps the house tidy and the home looking like a home. In many homes today, that is not necessarily Mom. Dad's are sometimes the stay-at-home grunt. (Some are not appreciated for folding the laundry because it's not the same way the other would do it.) Some of our younger set have learned to share the duties -- most seem to think that is only for housework and the sharing is not equal concerning the yard work. If both are working away from home, it should all be shared.
I approve of Dad spending more time with his kids. Both parent and child benefits. I like watching men interact with their kids in ways the men never connected when I was young. Dave would take his turns with our kids, did his share of feeding and diaper changing. He put a lot of energy in trying to
be a good Dad. Recently I've noticed more and more that Dad is the one with a baby (in arms, in tummy or back pack) and a toddler or two and the diaper bag while Mom strolls along looking unconcerned and unruffled like Dads used to look. What? She can't even carry the diaper bag? More and more it is not Mom who leaves the Sunday Service, but Dad, with a wiggly tot. Seems like the stress hasn't been equaled out but completely shifted to the other sex.
God gave us work to do even before the fall. He planned that we would be busy and profit from our labor. He arranged that both sexes had abilities and strengths for certain things and that we could be a help to each other in the hard stretches. He never planned that we should squabble over who's efforts gain more. Teamwork was a plan. Delight in accomplishment after a task well done is a reward. My friend Patrick wrote a book on work and attitude toward work that pointed out God's desire for us to enjoy our work. Wake in the morning and do what it takes plus more to provide for need, go to sleep and sleep from being tired and satisfied with the day.
Do I ever have control of my attitude toward my work? Once in a while, I get it right. Do I ever sin in my frustration because I am the only one in a group who is still working while the rest are sitting by? Oh, my stars! Yes.
Why this post you may be wondering? Because I needed to put down some words to stop feeling hard-used because housework is never, I repeat, never finished. Empty the dishwasher and fill it right back up. Make the bed and delight in the smooth covers and the "foo-foo pillows" on it; one night's tossing and turning will cause it to look slightly "used" until the next time fresh sheets are put on. Laundry. I no longer follow Mom's strict "wash on Monday, Iron on Tuesday, Clean on Wednesday, Bake on Thursday, Tidy on Friday for possible guests on Saturday, Entertain on Saturday, and Church on Sunday". However, I rarely finish laundry without having something pulled off a hanger or out of a folded pile before the last piece of laundry is put away. Fig leaves might have been the answer -- pick a new one every morning, the old ones would decay.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Oh The Things We See, And Say, And Do!
So, myopia isn't just mis-seeing things, even though it pertains to the ocular. I think there is myopia in the brain as well. All the information is there, the brain just doesn't "see" it correctly.
One of my best examples is a tank farm in Northeast Minneapolis. I grew up not far from there and only ever saw it from County Road C. Oh, for those of you who don't know what a tank farm is; it is a collection of tanks housing oil.
Dave and I had been married at least 6 or 7 years when I looked at the same tank farm from 35W. Naively, I said, "Hey, there are 2 tank farms in the same area!" Dave looked at me to see if I was kidding. I was not. I could not connect in my brain that we were seeing the same site from a different angle. OK, that is way cool. I now knew through Dave's laughing response I had sounded incredibly unsmart!
Keep in mind I am nearing the experienced and learned age of 73. This winter we happened to take the road that runs on the south side of the same tank farm. Before I could recall the humor that went with the former puzzlement, I blurted out, "There's ANOTHER tank farm!" It's too painful to relate here the look of utter shock and the laughter that followed. He purposely took me on the road that runs to the west of the place so I wouldn't have to have a future revelation.
Now that would be the end of it if there weren't all the wounded animals I have nearly had a heart attack over. While driving by myself one day, I saw this ghastly, maimed animal rolling and creeping across the road ahead of me. I couldn't slam on the brakes because of traffic behind me and there wasn't much room to maneuver nor to avoid hitting this pitiful creature. My heart was beating wildly and I know my eyes were bulging from my face like a cartoon character. It slithered and prediction indicated it would be under my left wheels in no time. All that adrenalin and extreme oxygen pumping through my system was over a piece of rug that was blowing and rolling on the road. There have been countless plastic bags that were perceived geese, ducks, birds, and puppies impaled on roadside fences.
I have ducked to avoid being attacked by deadly leaves thinking they were bugs. I nearly killed myself when I was standing at the top of a stairwell when my senses picked up the sound and vibration of the June Bug that was on my hip just under my right elbow. I screeched, started batting at my side while rapidly approaching the top stair of the well. Then, to my embarrassment discovered I was trying to kill the pager I was wearing. Yeah. I left the office with hoots of laughter ringing in my ears.
This morning I headed for the kitchen for my first cup of coffee. Tentatively I asked Dave to come look at something. I was trying to not sound as panicky as I felt. He came to my side and I pointed at the Dragonfly resting in the sun on our carpet. Dave looked at it and then picked it up. It was a piece of mulch the dog had brought in on her still winter-long coat. I said, "It did look like a Dragonfly, didn't it?" He agreed, then turned it end up and said, "And, now it looks like a tiny tree."
Don't get me started on the dyslexic turn I give words when I am reading fast. I stop a page or two later and think to myself, "That just did not make sense". Of course it didn't; it wasn't the word I had inserted into the text. Also, we will leave for another blog the strange looks I have received while wholeheartedly singing the words to a hymn in church all the while belting out strange things in my own personal mis-speak. Would you believe I have actually suffered my daughter and daughter-in-law pulling a hymnal from my hands and telling me to stop? Would you just believe that?
One of my best examples is a tank farm in Northeast Minneapolis. I grew up not far from there and only ever saw it from County Road C. Oh, for those of you who don't know what a tank farm is; it is a collection of tanks housing oil.
Dave and I had been married at least 6 or 7 years when I looked at the same tank farm from 35W. Naively, I said, "Hey, there are 2 tank farms in the same area!" Dave looked at me to see if I was kidding. I was not. I could not connect in my brain that we were seeing the same site from a different angle. OK, that is way cool. I now knew through Dave's laughing response I had sounded incredibly unsmart!
Keep in mind I am nearing the experienced and learned age of 73. This winter we happened to take the road that runs on the south side of the same tank farm. Before I could recall the humor that went with the former puzzlement, I blurted out, "There's ANOTHER tank farm!" It's too painful to relate here the look of utter shock and the laughter that followed. He purposely took me on the road that runs to the west of the place so I wouldn't have to have a future revelation.
Now that would be the end of it if there weren't all the wounded animals I have nearly had a heart attack over. While driving by myself one day, I saw this ghastly, maimed animal rolling and creeping across the road ahead of me. I couldn't slam on the brakes because of traffic behind me and there wasn't much room to maneuver nor to avoid hitting this pitiful creature. My heart was beating wildly and I know my eyes were bulging from my face like a cartoon character. It slithered and prediction indicated it would be under my left wheels in no time. All that adrenalin and extreme oxygen pumping through my system was over a piece of rug that was blowing and rolling on the road. There have been countless plastic bags that were perceived geese, ducks, birds, and puppies impaled on roadside fences.
I have ducked to avoid being attacked by deadly leaves thinking they were bugs. I nearly killed myself when I was standing at the top of a stairwell when my senses picked up the sound and vibration of the June Bug that was on my hip just under my right elbow. I screeched, started batting at my side while rapidly approaching the top stair of the well. Then, to my embarrassment discovered I was trying to kill the pager I was wearing. Yeah. I left the office with hoots of laughter ringing in my ears.
This morning I headed for the kitchen for my first cup of coffee. Tentatively I asked Dave to come look at something. I was trying to not sound as panicky as I felt. He came to my side and I pointed at the Dragonfly resting in the sun on our carpet. Dave looked at it and then picked it up. It was a piece of mulch the dog had brought in on her still winter-long coat. I said, "It did look like a Dragonfly, didn't it?" He agreed, then turned it end up and said, "And, now it looks like a tiny tree."
Don't get me started on the dyslexic turn I give words when I am reading fast. I stop a page or two later and think to myself, "That just did not make sense". Of course it didn't; it wasn't the word I had inserted into the text. Also, we will leave for another blog the strange looks I have received while wholeheartedly singing the words to a hymn in church all the while belting out strange things in my own personal mis-speak. Would you believe I have actually suffered my daughter and daughter-in-law pulling a hymnal from my hands and telling me to stop? Would you just believe that?
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Capricious Weather We Are Having
In the almost 73 years I have spent in Minnesota, there has been lots of weather to marvel. So hot sometimes the brain fries, tempers flare, and murders happen. So cold one cannot even contemplate being angry or harming another because the body is too busy putting all its effort into shivering to generate heat. Of course there are all the in-betweens the extremes that can be pleasant and memorable.
Spring:
As a child I only thought of spring as the nearing end of another school year. I liked the still frosty mornings and walking on ice that crackled sharply in the morning silence. I liked the sun on my back but cool in the air. I liked wearing lighter clothes. I hated the wasps. Schools had windows that opened, no A/C, and no screens. The wasps were everywhere! I liked splashing in snow-melt puddles. I liked the buds. I didn't care about the lengthening days and since we didn't use DST much no one was messing with my body clock twice a year so as the days lengthened, I got used to it. I was terrified of the snakes, frogs, and other slimy creatures that came out to enjoy the warming sun. June Bugs! Oh, how I hated the June Bugs. Still do. Can't abide them (picture a large uncontrolled shiver here). My gardening was inhibited by June Bugs. Since most plants can't be put in until June, it was hard to garden and get all done BEFORE the June Bugs emerged. Nasty things. To end on a pleasant thought, lilacs, lily of the valley, tulips, daffodils, peony blossoms, and wood violets.
Summer:
School was out and that was all that mattered. I was usually not a stay-a-bed as our family had work and things to get done. Mom liked being up early to sit quietly after everyone left for the day with the morning paper crossword puzzle, me, and watching the sun rise over the neighbor's tall cottonwood. She also liked getting things done before the day got too hot. She pulled thick dark-green shades to keep the house cool. Windows were open for a cross breeze (until the breeze, too, became hot). The shades were drawn following the sun. Laundry was out on Monday mornings before the heat, and then left to soak up the scent of sun and breeze until the sun was going down and there was shade to take them in. Not being a heat and sun lover, I followed the shades around the house to stay cool. I mostly played paper dolls or read books on the front porch which faced east after the sun passed there. The only reason I cherished summer was to enjoy not having school.
Autumn:
The very first frosty morning, I would be up, digging for my flannel shirts and cord slacks. I would have them on in spite of Mom's protests. By 10:00 AM, I definitely was dressed too warm and begging to change into something cooler. Mom would be adamant. You chose it; you wear it. I loved the disappearance of bugs, frogs, snakes and other slithery things. I liked sitting with Dad burning the day's garbage at the fire pit (no it wasn't taboo in those days). I loved the drifting leaves with all the bright colors. I loved the frost on the grass. My dad took pictures once of snow falling late August or early September as it settled on the dahlias of the lady next door. I was ecstatic. Mom was not. As I look back, I think autumn and winter made her sad. Oh, yeah, the school year was in full sway. The wasps were even worse than spring because they were slow and lazy. Being lazy didn't stop them from stinging, though.
Winter:
Delightful snow. I played in it, I built snow men and women, I gave my interpretation of ice skating (all the while singing the Skater's Waltz at the top of my lungs.) I would hide in a neighbor's pine trees and watch the snow come down. I lived with the thought that winter meant things slowed down and war couldn't happen in winter. Dad and Mom let me believe that as long as I could. I remember a news report of Korean fighting in the midst of the worst snow storm that season and refused to believe it. The reporter must have been wrong! It was my peace time of year. Even after the excitement of Christmas passing, I didn't mind the cold nor the snow (sometimes way above a little girl's head). If it snowed in April, I was OK with that. I wasn't looking forward to summer as others were.
So yesterday was April 22 and we were treated to some of the wildest snow flurries ever! It would snow hard, the wind would howl, and then the sun would come out. It blew and it blustered and the topic of conversation no matter where you were was the odd weather. I thought about the August snow on the dahlias and laughed. We have had a past few months of weather in the wrong month. November 2014 was cold, unseasonably cold, and it snowed. December gave us a warm spell that caused most of the snow to disappear before Christmas. January warmed up and February was cold. What's up with this? March was warm, unseasonably warm, and April has been like a roller coaster of temperature swings.
It's Minnesota. It becomes a well planned, flexible strategy, game of what to pack away, what to keep handy in case of change, and what to leave out all year because you will need it no matter what the season. This is one of the few areas where one day you can be beaten up with ice crystals hitting you in the face and get a sunburn the next day because the temperature had climbed to Tee and cut-off weather. There is nothing to do but laugh. Gather in groups at church, the store, or local sports area or watering hole and discuss the weather. We Minnesotans are rarely without a conversation topic because there is always the weather!
Spring:
As a child I only thought of spring as the nearing end of another school year. I liked the still frosty mornings and walking on ice that crackled sharply in the morning silence. I liked the sun on my back but cool in the air. I liked wearing lighter clothes. I hated the wasps. Schools had windows that opened, no A/C, and no screens. The wasps were everywhere! I liked splashing in snow-melt puddles. I liked the buds. I didn't care about the lengthening days and since we didn't use DST much no one was messing with my body clock twice a year so as the days lengthened, I got used to it. I was terrified of the snakes, frogs, and other slimy creatures that came out to enjoy the warming sun. June Bugs! Oh, how I hated the June Bugs. Still do. Can't abide them (picture a large uncontrolled shiver here). My gardening was inhibited by June Bugs. Since most plants can't be put in until June, it was hard to garden and get all done BEFORE the June Bugs emerged. Nasty things. To end on a pleasant thought, lilacs, lily of the valley, tulips, daffodils, peony blossoms, and wood violets.
Summer:
School was out and that was all that mattered. I was usually not a stay-a-bed as our family had work and things to get done. Mom liked being up early to sit quietly after everyone left for the day with the morning paper crossword puzzle, me, and watching the sun rise over the neighbor's tall cottonwood. She also liked getting things done before the day got too hot. She pulled thick dark-green shades to keep the house cool. Windows were open for a cross breeze (until the breeze, too, became hot). The shades were drawn following the sun. Laundry was out on Monday mornings before the heat, and then left to soak up the scent of sun and breeze until the sun was going down and there was shade to take them in. Not being a heat and sun lover, I followed the shades around the house to stay cool. I mostly played paper dolls or read books on the front porch which faced east after the sun passed there. The only reason I cherished summer was to enjoy not having school.
Autumn:
The very first frosty morning, I would be up, digging for my flannel shirts and cord slacks. I would have them on in spite of Mom's protests. By 10:00 AM, I definitely was dressed too warm and begging to change into something cooler. Mom would be adamant. You chose it; you wear it. I loved the disappearance of bugs, frogs, snakes and other slithery things. I liked sitting with Dad burning the day's garbage at the fire pit (no it wasn't taboo in those days). I loved the drifting leaves with all the bright colors. I loved the frost on the grass. My dad took pictures once of snow falling late August or early September as it settled on the dahlias of the lady next door. I was ecstatic. Mom was not. As I look back, I think autumn and winter made her sad. Oh, yeah, the school year was in full sway. The wasps were even worse than spring because they were slow and lazy. Being lazy didn't stop them from stinging, though.
Winter:
Delightful snow. I played in it, I built snow men and women, I gave my interpretation of ice skating (all the while singing the Skater's Waltz at the top of my lungs.) I would hide in a neighbor's pine trees and watch the snow come down. I lived with the thought that winter meant things slowed down and war couldn't happen in winter. Dad and Mom let me believe that as long as I could. I remember a news report of Korean fighting in the midst of the worst snow storm that season and refused to believe it. The reporter must have been wrong! It was my peace time of year. Even after the excitement of Christmas passing, I didn't mind the cold nor the snow (sometimes way above a little girl's head). If it snowed in April, I was OK with that. I wasn't looking forward to summer as others were.
So yesterday was April 22 and we were treated to some of the wildest snow flurries ever! It would snow hard, the wind would howl, and then the sun would come out. It blew and it blustered and the topic of conversation no matter where you were was the odd weather. I thought about the August snow on the dahlias and laughed. We have had a past few months of weather in the wrong month. November 2014 was cold, unseasonably cold, and it snowed. December gave us a warm spell that caused most of the snow to disappear before Christmas. January warmed up and February was cold. What's up with this? March was warm, unseasonably warm, and April has been like a roller coaster of temperature swings.
It's Minnesota. It becomes a well planned, flexible strategy, game of what to pack away, what to keep handy in case of change, and what to leave out all year because you will need it no matter what the season. This is one of the few areas where one day you can be beaten up with ice crystals hitting you in the face and get a sunburn the next day because the temperature had climbed to Tee and cut-off weather. There is nothing to do but laugh. Gather in groups at church, the store, or local sports area or watering hole and discuss the weather. We Minnesotans are rarely without a conversation topic because there is always the weather!
Monday, April 20, 2015
Who You Calling Old?
Mostly I don't feel old. Yes I tire more easily and running is not in my vocabulary. I wake feeling and thinking pretty much like I always have. I go to sleep easily when it is time to retire. But there are those startling, somewhat shocking moments when I face reality.
One of those moments is when I have been sitting a while and try to stand up. I stand up immediately; my knees not so immediately. They don't creak or snap often nor do they make grating noises. But something makes them hurt when I want to straighten them and I have to be patient while I get them to be fully straight before I take a step. Of course, the reverse is true when I want to bend them.
My hearing is fine, but my cognitive translation of what I hear is off. If you have recently said something to me and received my wise-old-owl expression, it is because I heard the words but they didn't hang together in a way that makes sense. My loving spouse sees that expression and begins shouting, "Earth to Judy!" Well, at least the planet I'm on can still hear even if we can't string the pearls of wisdom together in the correct order. On his planet, they walk around with a blank expression followed by a smile and a nod which indicates "I heard something, but I'm just not interested enough to ask what you said!" (That is not strictly fair -- sometimes the hard of hearing receive that impatient look with eyes rolled because we have to repeat. We force them to pretend rather than ask and receive that look again.)
Another shock to the system is a look in the mirror. Sometimes I look and I see what I want to see: hair 6, eyes 8, make-up 9 on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being really very good. Sometimes I wonder who that old woman is. I would like to ask her to get out of my mirror; but no reflection at all would be terrifying!
Having been underweight for most of my life and spending my middle years with a good amount of weight, I am shocked now to note I am more than pleasingly plump. Add to that my 5' 4" frame has dwindled to 5' 3.5" and plump doesn't describe it. I have several outfits that I call my "very tall and slender" outfits. When I have them on I feel, elegant bordering on regal, charming, graceful. There are several things that destroy my self-image. One would be a quick glance in the mirror. Another would be when I stick the toe of one foot inside the pant-leg of the other and trip myself. There is always the chance that the odd shaped decorative something on my bosom is just my luncheon spill.
When I last saw my doctor, the nurse informed me I had lost stature. I said, "I could have told you that because much of what I used to be able to reach in my cupboards is now out of reach; and I was the one who put them there several months ago!" She didn't know what to do so she smiled and nodded. Hrumph! If I can't laugh at what's happening to me, what will be the fun of aging? After all it is not like looking forward to 16 and being able to drive, 21 and being able to drink, 55 and your first seniors meal. At 73, you just don't get excited about the color of your upcoming wheel chair, or the people who will write on your hip cast when you fall, or the make and model of your casket. There has to be laughter and fun and love.
Another odd thing about the doctor visit was testing my reflexes. He tapped lightly on each knee in slightly the wrong place. He asked if I had knee replacements as there wasn't much reflex action. I said, you tapped a little off site. He said, "Hmmmm", but didn't repeat the test. I came home, sat on a chair, crossed my legs and tapped. Almost put my own eye out with the leg jerk I got. Next time I'll teach him how to do that test!
Anyway, in celebration of the birthday I have coming in a few days when I will officially be 73, here's to me! I still love lilacs and lily of the valley. I spin yarn and knit. I clean my own home (when I feel like it). I cook my husband's meals (when I feel like it; heh, heh). I come truly alive and awake when the first cool days of autumn arrive, watch the leaves turn, decorate with delight, and savor the autumn bounty of harvest. I can hardly get a coat on fast enough to be out in the first snow flakes tumbling from the sky and I shovel walks for the fun of being out there. Just watch my dust when my new Mint Green tricycle arrives! I show you who is old! I'll ride the rubber off those tires (well, that is, until the summer temperatures make it too hot to be out there). You can bet though that when that first fall leaf is yellowing or reddening, I'll ride again until snowfall!
One of those moments is when I have been sitting a while and try to stand up. I stand up immediately; my knees not so immediately. They don't creak or snap often nor do they make grating noises. But something makes them hurt when I want to straighten them and I have to be patient while I get them to be fully straight before I take a step. Of course, the reverse is true when I want to bend them.
My hearing is fine, but my cognitive translation of what I hear is off. If you have recently said something to me and received my wise-old-owl expression, it is because I heard the words but they didn't hang together in a way that makes sense. My loving spouse sees that expression and begins shouting, "Earth to Judy!" Well, at least the planet I'm on can still hear even if we can't string the pearls of wisdom together in the correct order. On his planet, they walk around with a blank expression followed by a smile and a nod which indicates "I heard something, but I'm just not interested enough to ask what you said!" (That is not strictly fair -- sometimes the hard of hearing receive that impatient look with eyes rolled because we have to repeat. We force them to pretend rather than ask and receive that look again.)
Another shock to the system is a look in the mirror. Sometimes I look and I see what I want to see: hair 6, eyes 8, make-up 9 on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being really very good. Sometimes I wonder who that old woman is. I would like to ask her to get out of my mirror; but no reflection at all would be terrifying!
Having been underweight for most of my life and spending my middle years with a good amount of weight, I am shocked now to note I am more than pleasingly plump. Add to that my 5' 4" frame has dwindled to 5' 3.5" and plump doesn't describe it. I have several outfits that I call my "very tall and slender" outfits. When I have them on I feel, elegant bordering on regal, charming, graceful. There are several things that destroy my self-image. One would be a quick glance in the mirror. Another would be when I stick the toe of one foot inside the pant-leg of the other and trip myself. There is always the chance that the odd shaped decorative something on my bosom is just my luncheon spill.
When I last saw my doctor, the nurse informed me I had lost stature. I said, "I could have told you that because much of what I used to be able to reach in my cupboards is now out of reach; and I was the one who put them there several months ago!" She didn't know what to do so she smiled and nodded. Hrumph! If I can't laugh at what's happening to me, what will be the fun of aging? After all it is not like looking forward to 16 and being able to drive, 21 and being able to drink, 55 and your first seniors meal. At 73, you just don't get excited about the color of your upcoming wheel chair, or the people who will write on your hip cast when you fall, or the make and model of your casket. There has to be laughter and fun and love.
Another odd thing about the doctor visit was testing my reflexes. He tapped lightly on each knee in slightly the wrong place. He asked if I had knee replacements as there wasn't much reflex action. I said, you tapped a little off site. He said, "Hmmmm", but didn't repeat the test. I came home, sat on a chair, crossed my legs and tapped. Almost put my own eye out with the leg jerk I got. Next time I'll teach him how to do that test!
Anyway, in celebration of the birthday I have coming in a few days when I will officially be 73, here's to me! I still love lilacs and lily of the valley. I spin yarn and knit. I clean my own home (when I feel like it). I cook my husband's meals (when I feel like it; heh, heh). I come truly alive and awake when the first cool days of autumn arrive, watch the leaves turn, decorate with delight, and savor the autumn bounty of harvest. I can hardly get a coat on fast enough to be out in the first snow flakes tumbling from the sky and I shovel walks for the fun of being out there. Just watch my dust when my new Mint Green tricycle arrives! I show you who is old! I'll ride the rubber off those tires (well, that is, until the summer temperatures make it too hot to be out there). You can bet though that when that first fall leaf is yellowing or reddening, I'll ride again until snowfall!
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Time Capsules
Somewhere around 1987, I worked at Norwest Bank (now Wells Fargo). The building you see standing proudly as WF now was a replacement building for Northwestern Bank of Minneapolis which burned in the late 1982 (Thanksgiving evening). The new building was nearing completion and all who worked there were invited to enter an essay contest. I entered. I was one of 10 chosen to have my essay put into a time capsule to be opened in 50 years. A minor achievement, but nice.
At the time, I think I was approximately age 47. Our son, Marc, said, "When they open the capsule, I'll bring it to your grave and read the article to you." I yelped, "Marc!" He shrugged and said, "Think of it, 97 isn't exactly a common longevity!" Yes, in our family we actually do speak that way to each other!
Recently a time capsule was found in Boston, when repairs were being made to Boston State House. The items were buried by Paul Revere and Samuel Adams. Ancient things (more ancient than me) were pulled forth to examine. Yet not so ancient were these things as those uncovered in major tombs in Egypt -- those wondrous pyramids. Each time a capsule is discovered, secrets from the past are brought into new light in view of hindsight over foresight.
Who will care that my essay relates a tale of a little girl who stood with her father in their front yard and foretold the weather by studying the weather ball atop the Northwestern National Bank Building in downtown Minneapolis? Not many. Maybe not even me should I attain that age of 97! In case you do, the code was red for warm, green for no change, and white for no change. Blinking in any of the colors indicated precipitation!
But there is another time capsule. It is mentioned in Hebrews 9:1-10. There the prolific writer Paul speaks of the Ark of the Covenant. In it? A golden jar of manna! The staff of Aaron which miraculously budded (and is copied in the opera Tanhauser by Wagner). Also the stone tablets that Moses received from God to show us how impossible is righteousness without God's specific help and intervention on our behalf.
Jesus made the Law, the stone tables with the 10 troubling simple but impossible things for humans to accomplish, obsolete. He came, he entered into a new covenant with all of us. He made the law a possibility through His sacrifice which is God's merciful redemption of all of us who cannot keep the 10 Commandments by ourselves. Love your God first before anyone or anything and love your neighbor as yourself -- no less simple nor any easier to follow. But Jesus is there, walking at my side every day. He shows me when I am ignorantly or willingly disregarding such caution. He waits patiently for me to be sorry I was uncaring for God or harsh toward another. I can feel His sustaining presence when I confess, know I am forgiven, and step forward to not repeat the same sin. With Him I can do all things -- even love my God first and foremost, and love others better than myself. Philippians 4:13 tells me that.
Come to think of it, I am a walking time capsule in the building of Christ's living Church. Inside me are things that reveal the messy chaos when I didn't show my God's glory to others. There are also helpful hints for living a life guided surely and righteously by the Holy Spirit of God. There are things I don't even know are placed there that others will read and walk a better life because God placed them there for others to see.
So I wonder what will happen when the 50 years rolls by and my essay comes to light. I wonder what other buildings in America or in more ancient places in the world will reveal of their eras. I wonder if the Ark of the Lord will ever be found and what those relics will look like if it is. I wonder what it will be like when God reveals the contents of my time capsule and shows me just what my life here on earth produced for Him.
At the time, I think I was approximately age 47. Our son, Marc, said, "When they open the capsule, I'll bring it to your grave and read the article to you." I yelped, "Marc!" He shrugged and said, "Think of it, 97 isn't exactly a common longevity!" Yes, in our family we actually do speak that way to each other!
Recently a time capsule was found in Boston, when repairs were being made to Boston State House. The items were buried by Paul Revere and Samuel Adams. Ancient things (more ancient than me) were pulled forth to examine. Yet not so ancient were these things as those uncovered in major tombs in Egypt -- those wondrous pyramids. Each time a capsule is discovered, secrets from the past are brought into new light in view of hindsight over foresight.
Who will care that my essay relates a tale of a little girl who stood with her father in their front yard and foretold the weather by studying the weather ball atop the Northwestern National Bank Building in downtown Minneapolis? Not many. Maybe not even me should I attain that age of 97! In case you do, the code was red for warm, green for no change, and white for no change. Blinking in any of the colors indicated precipitation!
But there is another time capsule. It is mentioned in Hebrews 9:1-10. There the prolific writer Paul speaks of the Ark of the Covenant. In it? A golden jar of manna! The staff of Aaron which miraculously budded (and is copied in the opera Tanhauser by Wagner). Also the stone tablets that Moses received from God to show us how impossible is righteousness without God's specific help and intervention on our behalf.
Jesus made the Law, the stone tables with the 10 troubling simple but impossible things for humans to accomplish, obsolete. He came, he entered into a new covenant with all of us. He made the law a possibility through His sacrifice which is God's merciful redemption of all of us who cannot keep the 10 Commandments by ourselves. Love your God first before anyone or anything and love your neighbor as yourself -- no less simple nor any easier to follow. But Jesus is there, walking at my side every day. He shows me when I am ignorantly or willingly disregarding such caution. He waits patiently for me to be sorry I was uncaring for God or harsh toward another. I can feel His sustaining presence when I confess, know I am forgiven, and step forward to not repeat the same sin. With Him I can do all things -- even love my God first and foremost, and love others better than myself. Philippians 4:13 tells me that.
Come to think of it, I am a walking time capsule in the building of Christ's living Church. Inside me are things that reveal the messy chaos when I didn't show my God's glory to others. There are also helpful hints for living a life guided surely and righteously by the Holy Spirit of God. There are things I don't even know are placed there that others will read and walk a better life because God placed them there for others to see.
So I wonder what will happen when the 50 years rolls by and my essay comes to light. I wonder what other buildings in America or in more ancient places in the world will reveal of their eras. I wonder if the Ark of the Lord will ever be found and what those relics will look like if it is. I wonder what it will be like when God reveals the contents of my time capsule and shows me just what my life here on earth produced for Him.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Who Needs A Gymn (Maybe the Jacuzzi??)
One, two, tie a shoe! (Crumb I've got 2 feet!)
One, two, tie second shoe! Dang! Forgot to put slacks on.
Bend and stretch, ugh! Shoes are untied.
Put on slacks. Repeat original exercise one more time.
Bend and stretch, reach for the stars (more like reach for the cereal).
There goes Jupiter, there goes Mars! (Cereal just fell off shelf and hit my head.)
One, two, cha, cha, cha -- avoid falling over the dog.
Oops! Dog miscued and went the other way, jog, jog, jog to keep from falling.
Vacuum and reach to dust (not too high, because what I can't see probably isn't dusty).
Use the broom and get the cobwebs. Not that broom, the one marked "ceilings only".
Use the vacuum to pick up the pieces of stuff you knocked over while using the broom.
Empty the dishwasher for maximum bending and stretching.
Fill the dishwasher for more of same.
Seven trips from island to pantry (good for 1/4 mile, but doesn't get what you need from pantry).
Keep a-truckin' you'll remember the baking soda yet.
Stir and blend and round the end you'll have something tasty for dinner.
Upper arm both front and back? Make bread the old way. Knead and roll, knead and roll.
Feel the burn! (oh, that was from the hot oven). Just realized all that bread dough helped work out the aggression I was feeling.
Pick up socks, pick up shorts. Pick up slacks, and pick up shirts. Yup, get those core muscles working taking the laundry to the machine. More bending and stretching. Upper body flexibility while snapping and folding sheets. (Ever wonder why the person with the shortest wing span is the one who can fold the Queen-sized sheets without letting them touch the floor?)
When the day is done, the evening meal is over (healthy all the way), you wonder why there's no weight loss. Could it be because the half loaf of bread with real butter consumed was not the best choice for a snack?
That's OK it's all there to do again tomorrow. And not once did I have some trim little creature telling me to peddle faster or add more weight to the pulleys. No hunks in muscle shirts offering to help me weigh in so they could see I probably weigh more than they do! Life is pretty good. Think I'll have that Jacuzzi installed tomorrow.
One, two, tie second shoe! Dang! Forgot to put slacks on.
Bend and stretch, ugh! Shoes are untied.
Put on slacks. Repeat original exercise one more time.
Bend and stretch, reach for the stars (more like reach for the cereal).
There goes Jupiter, there goes Mars! (Cereal just fell off shelf and hit my head.)
One, two, cha, cha, cha -- avoid falling over the dog.
Oops! Dog miscued and went the other way, jog, jog, jog to keep from falling.
Vacuum and reach to dust (not too high, because what I can't see probably isn't dusty).
Use the broom and get the cobwebs. Not that broom, the one marked "ceilings only".
Use the vacuum to pick up the pieces of stuff you knocked over while using the broom.
Empty the dishwasher for maximum bending and stretching.
Fill the dishwasher for more of same.
Seven trips from island to pantry (good for 1/4 mile, but doesn't get what you need from pantry).
Keep a-truckin' you'll remember the baking soda yet.
Stir and blend and round the end you'll have something tasty for dinner.
Upper arm both front and back? Make bread the old way. Knead and roll, knead and roll.
Feel the burn! (oh, that was from the hot oven). Just realized all that bread dough helped work out the aggression I was feeling.
Pick up socks, pick up shorts. Pick up slacks, and pick up shirts. Yup, get those core muscles working taking the laundry to the machine. More bending and stretching. Upper body flexibility while snapping and folding sheets. (Ever wonder why the person with the shortest wing span is the one who can fold the Queen-sized sheets without letting them touch the floor?)
When the day is done, the evening meal is over (healthy all the way), you wonder why there's no weight loss. Could it be because the half loaf of bread with real butter consumed was not the best choice for a snack?
That's OK it's all there to do again tomorrow. And not once did I have some trim little creature telling me to peddle faster or add more weight to the pulleys. No hunks in muscle shirts offering to help me weigh in so they could see I probably weigh more than they do! Life is pretty good. Think I'll have that Jacuzzi installed tomorrow.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
My Deep-Thinking Best Friend
Today the world got a little dark as one of God's points of light went home to be with his Heavenly Father. Bob Johnson passed away this morning after almost a ...8 month battle with Leukemia.
Bob had hoped to be with his friend, soul mate, love of his life and wife Penny somewhere in the warm southland of the United States. However God had a different plan.
Bob and Penny accepted God's plan, not with out some fear and trepidation, but also with tremendous faith in what God had in store for them. Bob and Penny are such an example of people who faced the frailty of human mortality and are a shining example to us all.
Bob lived a life of walking daily with the Lord so he never had to ask the question. What would Jesus do? Bob knew from his work.
Bob you are in a better place you are whole and physically healthy again. Your wonderful smile is back as well as your wonderful wit and sense of humor. Your are missed by all who knew you and especially by those who loved you.
Bob you were a great inspiration to me and when my time comes to go home to our Heavenly Father I hope I can do so with the same dignity that you did.
God bless you and your family.
The above words were penned (well, computered) by my husband Dave. I mentioned them in an earlier blog. My hubby is gifted with great thoughts. He keeps these nuggets inside most of the time and breaks them free in surprising ways.
Once when I was struggling with some relationship issues in a community of Christ followers, I felt isolated, ignored, discounted, and unappreciated. I would attend each meeting faithfully, give extra, go the farther mile, and come home feeling exhausted and unwanted. When I had just about decided I had ignored God's timing, I came home from a meeting ready to announce I was dropping from the team. I decided I was "from that no longer needed prior generation" and the younger people did not need me. Dave greeted me with a hug then a card. Inside the card was a rainbow of colors, a verse that said he couldn't know what I was feeling but he knew I was hurting and was there for me. There was also a necklace with a little white dove.
I have the card still. I never keep track of where it is because I like that it pops out when I least expect to see it. I find it most often when there is a heaviness in my heart. It makes me smile. It makes me acknowledge Dave has always been there when I need a buddy. God gave us deep relationships so we have His presence through their love.
The team I was on? Well, as so often happens, I was encouraged to stay. When the program we were planning came to pass, I was the mighty mouse who saved the day. Not alone, but when the church basement flooded, during the weekend-long retreat, I was the one who organized the team in two groups so one could sleep and be ready for the morning and the others could clean up the water and get their rest during the next day. Another woman on the team took charge of organizing the "cleaning crew" into groups to accomplish the work with the least noise and most efficiency. I might have missed the experience had I quit.
Dave encourages our granddaughters who are experiencing teen angst. He reaches out to countless men who are trying to recover from spending their lives in criminal pursuits. He has a somewhat, no he has an actual sarcastic wit that often covers up the intense feelings underneath. He is my God given gift and soul mate (as most wives I have to remind myself from time to time I chose to spend my life with Dave). Dave reminds me often I once prayed specifically for someone and Dave meets all the specifications. Therefore, he reminds me he is an answer to prayer. Yes, that he is!
So, if you know him, if you count him as your friend, if you seek his wisdom and his wit, then be on your toes. Stay tuned in and alert to hear or read his tokens like the one above. It's worth the wait.
Bob had hoped to be with his friend, soul mate, love of his life and wife Penny somewhere in the warm southland of the United States. However God had a different plan.
Bob and Penny accepted God's plan, not with out some fear and trepidation, but also with tremendous faith in what God had in store for them. Bob and Penny are such an example of people who faced the frailty of human mortality and are a shining example to us all.
Bob lived a life of walking daily with the Lord so he never had to ask the question. What would Jesus do? Bob knew from his work.
Bob you are in a better place you are whole and physically healthy again. Your wonderful smile is back as well as your wonderful wit and sense of humor. Your are missed by all who knew you and especially by those who loved you.
Bob you were a great inspiration to me and when my time comes to go home to our Heavenly Father I hope I can do so with the same dignity that you did.
God bless you and your family.
The above words were penned (well, computered) by my husband Dave. I mentioned them in an earlier blog. My hubby is gifted with great thoughts. He keeps these nuggets inside most of the time and breaks them free in surprising ways.
Once when I was struggling with some relationship issues in a community of Christ followers, I felt isolated, ignored, discounted, and unappreciated. I would attend each meeting faithfully, give extra, go the farther mile, and come home feeling exhausted and unwanted. When I had just about decided I had ignored God's timing, I came home from a meeting ready to announce I was dropping from the team. I decided I was "from that no longer needed prior generation" and the younger people did not need me. Dave greeted me with a hug then a card. Inside the card was a rainbow of colors, a verse that said he couldn't know what I was feeling but he knew I was hurting and was there for me. There was also a necklace with a little white dove.
I have the card still. I never keep track of where it is because I like that it pops out when I least expect to see it. I find it most often when there is a heaviness in my heart. It makes me smile. It makes me acknowledge Dave has always been there when I need a buddy. God gave us deep relationships so we have His presence through their love.
The team I was on? Well, as so often happens, I was encouraged to stay. When the program we were planning came to pass, I was the mighty mouse who saved the day. Not alone, but when the church basement flooded, during the weekend-long retreat, I was the one who organized the team in two groups so one could sleep and be ready for the morning and the others could clean up the water and get their rest during the next day. Another woman on the team took charge of organizing the "cleaning crew" into groups to accomplish the work with the least noise and most efficiency. I might have missed the experience had I quit.
Dave encourages our granddaughters who are experiencing teen angst. He reaches out to countless men who are trying to recover from spending their lives in criminal pursuits. He has a somewhat, no he has an actual sarcastic wit that often covers up the intense feelings underneath. He is my God given gift and soul mate (as most wives I have to remind myself from time to time I chose to spend my life with Dave). Dave reminds me often I once prayed specifically for someone and Dave meets all the specifications. Therefore, he reminds me he is an answer to prayer. Yes, that he is!
So, if you know him, if you count him as your friend, if you seek his wisdom and his wit, then be on your toes. Stay tuned in and alert to hear or read his tokens like the one above. It's worth the wait.
Monday, April 13, 2015
When Friends Pass
We have seen 4 friends say their farewells to this earth in the past month. John, Ron, Peggy, and today Bob. Some were long ago friends we haven't seen for a long time. Still their passing brought them to mind as though we had chatted only yesterday. Bob was a new friend not yet well known but definitely fun to be around.
I have been searching for ways to connect with their going home to Jesus and the grief that stays behind even though we who hope in the Lord know we will see them again. There is the grief of knowing this time the business trip, the job move, the long-term vacation is extended and we do not know when we will see them again; we can't pick up a phone just to hear their voice.
Each in their way showed us a glimpse of their strong faith, their peace with being called home, and their surety they will be waiting to welcome us when we join them. Talk about a "come as you are party". In addition, there will be that first glimpse of Jesus that no painting has truly captured.
The news has been sad -- a 10 year old boy found in the river not because he fell or slipped or was playing where he shouldn't be. He was in the river because some adult was feeling mean. Terrorists think they can stop people from living just because they want to. Alcohol and drugs take minds and lives, and ruin families. Something is going all awry between perpetrators who think they can do what they want. Several police officers who should be symbols of safety to children and victims have turned and become their own kind of goon misusing power.
While all this was hurting and churning inside, I came home from an outing and discovered my husband had taken the time to post of Facebook a picture of what it is all about. He asked me to read for spelling or grammar issues. He had no idea he was an instrument of God to give me some peace.
The issue is not the death, nor meanness, nor pain of it all. The issue is God. We are not puppets, we choose to do hurtful things and death exists until Christ's return. But there is always God to ease the pain, comfort the grieving, and counsel us to know, to wait, He will come soon.
I have been searching for ways to connect with their going home to Jesus and the grief that stays behind even though we who hope in the Lord know we will see them again. There is the grief of knowing this time the business trip, the job move, the long-term vacation is extended and we do not know when we will see them again; we can't pick up a phone just to hear their voice.
Each in their way showed us a glimpse of their strong faith, their peace with being called home, and their surety they will be waiting to welcome us when we join them. Talk about a "come as you are party". In addition, there will be that first glimpse of Jesus that no painting has truly captured.
The news has been sad -- a 10 year old boy found in the river not because he fell or slipped or was playing where he shouldn't be. He was in the river because some adult was feeling mean. Terrorists think they can stop people from living just because they want to. Alcohol and drugs take minds and lives, and ruin families. Something is going all awry between perpetrators who think they can do what they want. Several police officers who should be symbols of safety to children and victims have turned and become their own kind of goon misusing power.
While all this was hurting and churning inside, I came home from an outing and discovered my husband had taken the time to post of Facebook a picture of what it is all about. He asked me to read for spelling or grammar issues. He had no idea he was an instrument of God to give me some peace.
The issue is not the death, nor meanness, nor pain of it all. The issue is God. We are not puppets, we choose to do hurtful things and death exists until Christ's return. But there is always God to ease the pain, comfort the grieving, and counsel us to know, to wait, He will come soon.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
He Is Risen; He Is Risen Indeed
This. is Saturday of Easter week. Maundy Thursday thoughts turned to Jesus giving last instructions to his 12 as time was growing short. He was nearing the end of His life on earth.
Good Friday. Our Lord was crucified and died on the cross. This only after he had been betrayed, mocked, tried, beaten, scorned, and dragged through the streets. A spectacle soon to be made defiled by dying the worst death offered at that time.
Tomorrow, we will greet each other with "He is risen!" We will dress in finery, celebrate with a meal, and then things will be as usual. Or will they? Will there be those who hear the real message of Easter for the first time and respond? Will there be those who remember a parent or grandparent often referred to Easter as more than spring, bunnies, eggs, and candy? Will those memories come home to settle into a heart and become implanted there for change?
Some will forget what all the hoopla was about. Some will scoff (what's new in that?). Some will look about and smugly say, there has been "no change". Some will criticize the sunrise services, the new clothes, the celebratory dinners.
Why not celebrate? I've spent enough time volunteering in prisons of different levels of security. Even the lowest security prison emits its contents in various numbers every year, and not one soul spewed forth doesn't feel the celebration of breathing free. Not one Christian doesn't understand why we celebrate. We are breathing free.
Christ took it all. He took the betrayal, faced the arresting force, took the disbelief, took the trial, took the beating, scoffing, and death march. He took the nails, the dehydrating sun as the remaining blood dripped from his wounds, and still could forgive, promise paradise, and take care of his mother. He did that so we could celebrate. He said, "It is finished". And so it is.
Celebrate? Bet your bippy I am going to celebrate. I am breathing free. I am living free. I have One who every day helps me repent my stupid, mean actions, grants me pardon, and blesses me with another chance to try again.
Thank you, Jesus, for spending time with me each and every day. Happy Easter!
Good Friday. Our Lord was crucified and died on the cross. This only after he had been betrayed, mocked, tried, beaten, scorned, and dragged through the streets. A spectacle soon to be made defiled by dying the worst death offered at that time.
Tomorrow, we will greet each other with "He is risen!" We will dress in finery, celebrate with a meal, and then things will be as usual. Or will they? Will there be those who hear the real message of Easter for the first time and respond? Will there be those who remember a parent or grandparent often referred to Easter as more than spring, bunnies, eggs, and candy? Will those memories come home to settle into a heart and become implanted there for change?
Some will forget what all the hoopla was about. Some will scoff (what's new in that?). Some will look about and smugly say, there has been "no change". Some will criticize the sunrise services, the new clothes, the celebratory dinners.
Why not celebrate? I've spent enough time volunteering in prisons of different levels of security. Even the lowest security prison emits its contents in various numbers every year, and not one soul spewed forth doesn't feel the celebration of breathing free. Not one Christian doesn't understand why we celebrate. We are breathing free.
Christ took it all. He took the betrayal, faced the arresting force, took the disbelief, took the trial, took the beating, scoffing, and death march. He took the nails, the dehydrating sun as the remaining blood dripped from his wounds, and still could forgive, promise paradise, and take care of his mother. He did that so we could celebrate. He said, "It is finished". And so it is.
Celebrate? Bet your bippy I am going to celebrate. I am breathing free. I am living free. I have One who every day helps me repent my stupid, mean actions, grants me pardon, and blesses me with another chance to try again.
Thank you, Jesus, for spending time with me each and every day. Happy Easter!
Friday, March 13, 2015
I'm Listening, Finally!
I'm in good company. Samuel heard his name and it took 3 times to say, "I'm listening, Lord". Baalam had to hear it from the donkey's mouth. Moses had to have a burning bush (no big deal it burned, but it was not consumed nor did the fire spread to other brush). Even then, Moses argued rather than obeyed.
Until a recent Bible study "Discerning the Voice of God" by Priscilla Shirer I would have said I had heard God directing me but rarely. Page after page of her book and her videos brought to mind how often God had spoken and . . . well, I mistook His Voice for my very good ideas. Yeah . . . like serving a wonderful turkey dinner and telling people I created the turkey that was killed, frozen, stuffed and roasted.
The fact that this study was timed precisely during this year's Community Bible Study (CBS) on Job was no coincidence. I am listening, Lord. During the last chapters when God lays out just Who He is and Job gets an idea of just who he is I also got a pretty clear picture of just who I am. This has been startling, it is exciting, and God is doing a new thing in me at the ripe old age of 72 and 5/6 years of age!
Well, why not? Moses was 80 before he took on Pharaoh, and then he lived beyond that to make it through all 40 years of desert circling. Abraham was 100 and Sarah was 90 when they became parents for the very first time and lived to raise their son to adulthood (she laughed, don't know that I would). Jacob lived a long and tumultuous life, raised 12 strapping boys, and saw his 11th and favorite son restored to him and could bless his grandsons.
I'm hoping that obeying comes easier with clearer recognition of the Voice. I don't usually sign on for adventure. I am chicken through and through. I have to pluck tail feathers so I can get my jeans on in the mornings. While God is clearly saying this is a newer, closer relationship, there is peace in knowing new things will be pointed out, directions given, and obedience to be given. That is a new twist on reacting to what He is saying.
So I have to end this here because I have to go find all my Armor of God and get everything on and adjusted just right -- so I can step out when my marching orders come. I think . . . well some of it may be a little dusty or tarnished so I gotta polish it up a bit and then I'll be ready. What? OK. Quit writing and go find it NOW.
Until a recent Bible study "Discerning the Voice of God" by Priscilla Shirer I would have said I had heard God directing me but rarely. Page after page of her book and her videos brought to mind how often God had spoken and . . . well, I mistook His Voice for my very good ideas. Yeah . . . like serving a wonderful turkey dinner and telling people I created the turkey that was killed, frozen, stuffed and roasted.
The fact that this study was timed precisely during this year's Community Bible Study (CBS) on Job was no coincidence. I am listening, Lord. During the last chapters when God lays out just Who He is and Job gets an idea of just who he is I also got a pretty clear picture of just who I am. This has been startling, it is exciting, and God is doing a new thing in me at the ripe old age of 72 and 5/6 years of age!
Well, why not? Moses was 80 before he took on Pharaoh, and then he lived beyond that to make it through all 40 years of desert circling. Abraham was 100 and Sarah was 90 when they became parents for the very first time and lived to raise their son to adulthood (she laughed, don't know that I would). Jacob lived a long and tumultuous life, raised 12 strapping boys, and saw his 11th and favorite son restored to him and could bless his grandsons.
I'm hoping that obeying comes easier with clearer recognition of the Voice. I don't usually sign on for adventure. I am chicken through and through. I have to pluck tail feathers so I can get my jeans on in the mornings. While God is clearly saying this is a newer, closer relationship, there is peace in knowing new things will be pointed out, directions given, and obedience to be given. That is a new twist on reacting to what He is saying.
So I have to end this here because I have to go find all my Armor of God and get everything on and adjusted just right -- so I can step out when my marching orders come. I think . . . well some of it may be a little dusty or tarnished so I gotta polish it up a bit and then I'll be ready. What? OK. Quit writing and go find it NOW.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
He's My Valentine All Year
49 years and counting! My hubby and I have gone up and down the slippery slopes of long marriages, enjoyed the view from the high points and endured through the low points. I can get mad at him; you cannot!
We met and wrote letters for a month, then dated for another two months and then married just before Christmas. Romantic? Yes, very! Would we recommend it? There are saner ways to begin a marriage. Was it passionate? You betcha! Are we glad we did it. Yes! Have we ever had second thoughts? Yes, but fortunately we have not both had those thoughts at the same time. One of us has always been actively pursuing the relationship even when the other was coasting.
I am an easy laugher (crier too). Dave not so much. He teases to distraction, I sometimes play jokes. We have laughed at the fact that while I am a romantic, he is the one who remembers birthdays, anniversaries, and valentines. We once heard a marriage homily which directed the partners to remember why they married each other not only on their anniversary but monthly on their anniversary date.
He was to bring home something nice -- not just roadside market flowers because he saw them, but something that he put time and thought in because he was glad he married her. It did not have to be expensive but it had to contain his gratefulness. She was to do something nice for him outside the routine of what a woman does to keep meals, clothing, and cleaning in order. It did not have to be extravagant, but it needed her time and attention and thought about why she was glad she married him.
On the 23rd of a given month, not our anniversary month, I arrived home from work and found a beautiful rose in my chair. I was delighted but asked why it was there. That happened 2 more months and I didn't catch on. At midnight on special days, it is often Dave who wakes to wish me Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, or Happy Anniversary. When I get it right, it is grand.
I on the other hand will bring him wood violets in the spring. I will tell him about things I've seen. I will serve him by making sure something is within arms reach by his favorite chair, make his "puffy omelet", never give him underwear or socks for Christmas.
We are an odd pair with very little in common as far as books, movies, music, entertainment, etc. But we have our crazy-quilt life that when looked back on is pretty amazing. Sure there are worn spots, there are also some stitches missing (you know, one stitch short of a seam!). But there is a beautiful design. Someday when we are looking down from Heaven, we will see the entire quilt. Love you, Dave.
We met and wrote letters for a month, then dated for another two months and then married just before Christmas. Romantic? Yes, very! Would we recommend it? There are saner ways to begin a marriage. Was it passionate? You betcha! Are we glad we did it. Yes! Have we ever had second thoughts? Yes, but fortunately we have not both had those thoughts at the same time. One of us has always been actively pursuing the relationship even when the other was coasting.
I am an easy laugher (crier too). Dave not so much. He teases to distraction, I sometimes play jokes. We have laughed at the fact that while I am a romantic, he is the one who remembers birthdays, anniversaries, and valentines. We once heard a marriage homily which directed the partners to remember why they married each other not only on their anniversary but monthly on their anniversary date.
He was to bring home something nice -- not just roadside market flowers because he saw them, but something that he put time and thought in because he was glad he married her. It did not have to be expensive but it had to contain his gratefulness. She was to do something nice for him outside the routine of what a woman does to keep meals, clothing, and cleaning in order. It did not have to be extravagant, but it needed her time and attention and thought about why she was glad she married him.
On the 23rd of a given month, not our anniversary month, I arrived home from work and found a beautiful rose in my chair. I was delighted but asked why it was there. That happened 2 more months and I didn't catch on. At midnight on special days, it is often Dave who wakes to wish me Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, or Happy Anniversary. When I get it right, it is grand.
I on the other hand will bring him wood violets in the spring. I will tell him about things I've seen. I will serve him by making sure something is within arms reach by his favorite chair, make his "puffy omelet", never give him underwear or socks for Christmas.
We are an odd pair with very little in common as far as books, movies, music, entertainment, etc. But we have our crazy-quilt life that when looked back on is pretty amazing. Sure there are worn spots, there are also some stitches missing (you know, one stitch short of a seam!). But there is a beautiful design. Someday when we are looking down from Heaven, we will see the entire quilt. Love you, Dave.
Winter Get-away Up North
Dave and I went away. No phones, e-mail, news, TV, Radio - nothin'! Naniboujou Lodge 17 miles from the Canadian Border. Judge Magney State Park and the Gunflint Trail are within stone throwing distance! Lake Superior is within falling-in distance.
We've been there just about all times of the year, but winter is kinda best. It's a long drive for us but others come from all over the US and Canada to spend a winter weekend there. Check in is Friday afternoon. Once you relieve the kinks from the long drive, you can wander about the place, sit in the solarium or nap in your own room. Dinner is at 6:30 pm and worth the wait!
We typically go for 3 days looking packed for 8 weeks or more. Once there, a peek in our suitcases shows few clothes but books, Soduko and Crossword puzzles, knitting, sketchbooks, writing materials, and in my case a lap top to capture my thoughts even though there is no wireless. Usually there are casual conversations with others around the enormous fireplace in the dining area.
We have pictures from a past year of 3 wolves trotting across the property near the solarium windows. We have never seen a moose. But we have seen eagles and a couple times a bear or two during the drive up. We don't do a great deal as far as hiking any more. Dave's back issues keep him from walking too far and my natural clumsiness keeps me from going anywhere too far from help. With no cell phone service, how would I let anyone know I had become wolf bait on the rocky shore?
This year, we were witness to a gorgeous Friday with temperatures nearing 40 degrees after a February of mainly below zero temperatures. The day was sunny and we were coatless! Saturday was not so sunny but just as warm. Sunday was partly sunny, very warm and we spent a night at Comfort Suites in Canal Park at Duluth.
Memorable this year, was the fact that our bed seemed higher than we remember from years past. Sleeping in a strange bed is always a challenge, but this year I found it difficult to just get into bed. Now this may not be a picture you want in your mind, but my attempts to retire meant I took sort of a senior Fosbury Flop onto the bed. Then before I could slide off onto the floor again, I went through a series of caterpillar/bouncing-ball moves to gain enough bed space to keep me there. Once in bed part of my nighttime prayer consisted of a request to not have to go to the bathroom. Unfortunately that was not answered. So around 3:00 AM I fell out of bed, made my trip to the bathroom and then repeated the odd acrobatic performance mentioned above. I got my night's sleep and my exercise all in one!
Also memorable was talking about the difference between writing and story telling. A woman asked at breakfast on Sunday how I could "tell a story out of my mouth" which is what our kids and granddaughters call it. I asked her if she would like me to tell her a story. She nodded and I did. The next morning at our breakfast in Duluth, one of the couples from the weekend (who also stayed in Duluth overnight) came up behind us and said, "If you tell me a story, I'll buy your breakfast." We laughed. Breakfast was free so that was no big offer.
We are back home and the warm weather came back home with us but Lake Superior as a view did not. Sigh.
We've been there just about all times of the year, but winter is kinda best. It's a long drive for us but others come from all over the US and Canada to spend a winter weekend there. Check in is Friday afternoon. Once you relieve the kinks from the long drive, you can wander about the place, sit in the solarium or nap in your own room. Dinner is at 6:30 pm and worth the wait!
We typically go for 3 days looking packed for 8 weeks or more. Once there, a peek in our suitcases shows few clothes but books, Soduko and Crossword puzzles, knitting, sketchbooks, writing materials, and in my case a lap top to capture my thoughts even though there is no wireless. Usually there are casual conversations with others around the enormous fireplace in the dining area.
We have pictures from a past year of 3 wolves trotting across the property near the solarium windows. We have never seen a moose. But we have seen eagles and a couple times a bear or two during the drive up. We don't do a great deal as far as hiking any more. Dave's back issues keep him from walking too far and my natural clumsiness keeps me from going anywhere too far from help. With no cell phone service, how would I let anyone know I had become wolf bait on the rocky shore?
This year, we were witness to a gorgeous Friday with temperatures nearing 40 degrees after a February of mainly below zero temperatures. The day was sunny and we were coatless! Saturday was not so sunny but just as warm. Sunday was partly sunny, very warm and we spent a night at Comfort Suites in Canal Park at Duluth.
Memorable this year, was the fact that our bed seemed higher than we remember from years past. Sleeping in a strange bed is always a challenge, but this year I found it difficult to just get into bed. Now this may not be a picture you want in your mind, but my attempts to retire meant I took sort of a senior Fosbury Flop onto the bed. Then before I could slide off onto the floor again, I went through a series of caterpillar/bouncing-ball moves to gain enough bed space to keep me there. Once in bed part of my nighttime prayer consisted of a request to not have to go to the bathroom. Unfortunately that was not answered. So around 3:00 AM I fell out of bed, made my trip to the bathroom and then repeated the odd acrobatic performance mentioned above. I got my night's sleep and my exercise all in one!
Also memorable was talking about the difference between writing and story telling. A woman asked at breakfast on Sunday how I could "tell a story out of my mouth" which is what our kids and granddaughters call it. I asked her if she would like me to tell her a story. She nodded and I did. The next morning at our breakfast in Duluth, one of the couples from the weekend (who also stayed in Duluth overnight) came up behind us and said, "If you tell me a story, I'll buy your breakfast." We laughed. Breakfast was free so that was no big offer.
We are back home and the warm weather came back home with us but Lake Superior as a view did not. Sigh.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Winter has been odd this year. In Minnesota, known as the state that causes remarks: "How do you live in that kind of cold?", "Where do you put all that snow?", and "Only ONE person has ever walked on water!", has had little snow (that was busy falling all along the Eastern Seaboard), a lot of really cold and so many grey days in a row I even got tired of the low light of winter. Being a mole-person, my tastes for lighting runs to fall and winter. All spring and summer I hibernate in opposition to that bright stuff.
We have had bare grass patches all winter except for Thanksgiving which technically falls in the period known as "Autumn" winter not arriving until just before Christmas. The chirps of "The days are getting longer!" rival Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah etc. Ooops, I side track myself!
While snow fell at a good rate in November, we came close to having a brown Christmas. Then the first of the year brought little snow to us and much to everyone else including people who never see it, don't know what it is, and barely can operate a vehicle in it. We have had a miserably cold February and then the long awaited and promised snow that was supposed to come on Tuesday . . . well, it didn't! It went north of us. We had enough to whiten, brighten, and sparkle the lawns with prognostication of soon melting! What's up with that?
This morning, my chosen mate for life, looked at me and said, "I am looking forward to warmer temps and sunny warmth." I was surprised to find myself agreeing. More like shocked, run to the mirror and check to see if it is really me, amazed! I laughed and told him I have sometimes on the first 50 degree day, bundled up really warm, taken a lawn chair to our front deck, and sat in the sun to read even though there were piles of snow still on the ground. This year may be a repeat of that performance and if so should be recorded for posterity. It only happens about once every 20 years or so.
Sun is ok in it's proper place which is not in my eyes, beating down on my unprotected head, nor streaming in my bedroom window before 8:00 am! I know I will not welcome the sun and warmth for long. The first 70 degree day will see me wandering around mumbling. Dave will point to our bedroom where there is a corner nice and dim with a recliner, small table, books and an afghan. Like a scolded puppy I will retreat there until the nerves are less agitated and I have had a chance to calm down after realizing that 70 degree weather is soon followed by 80's and 90's and sometimes 100's. That first 80 degree day sends me to the tree looking for fall colors in the leaves. They won't be there but I'll keep whining about it until the first 50 degree day with rain and clouds. While others are scurrying for cover, I will once again be the one playing outside, relishing the colors, smells, and chills of fall. Then the dance of snow will begin (not a pretty sight) and that will be followed by grousing over the days getting shorter. There is a cycle here.
We have had bare grass patches all winter except for Thanksgiving which technically falls in the period known as "Autumn" winter not arriving until just before Christmas. The chirps of "The days are getting longer!" rival Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah etc. Ooops, I side track myself!
While snow fell at a good rate in November, we came close to having a brown Christmas. Then the first of the year brought little snow to us and much to everyone else including people who never see it, don't know what it is, and barely can operate a vehicle in it. We have had a miserably cold February and then the long awaited and promised snow that was supposed to come on Tuesday . . . well, it didn't! It went north of us. We had enough to whiten, brighten, and sparkle the lawns with prognostication of soon melting! What's up with that?
This morning, my chosen mate for life, looked at me and said, "I am looking forward to warmer temps and sunny warmth." I was surprised to find myself agreeing. More like shocked, run to the mirror and check to see if it is really me, amazed! I laughed and told him I have sometimes on the first 50 degree day, bundled up really warm, taken a lawn chair to our front deck, and sat in the sun to read even though there were piles of snow still on the ground. This year may be a repeat of that performance and if so should be recorded for posterity. It only happens about once every 20 years or so.
Sun is ok in it's proper place which is not in my eyes, beating down on my unprotected head, nor streaming in my bedroom window before 8:00 am! I know I will not welcome the sun and warmth for long. The first 70 degree day will see me wandering around mumbling. Dave will point to our bedroom where there is a corner nice and dim with a recliner, small table, books and an afghan. Like a scolded puppy I will retreat there until the nerves are less agitated and I have had a chance to calm down after realizing that 70 degree weather is soon followed by 80's and 90's and sometimes 100's. That first 80 degree day sends me to the tree looking for fall colors in the leaves. They won't be there but I'll keep whining about it until the first 50 degree day with rain and clouds. While others are scurrying for cover, I will once again be the one playing outside, relishing the colors, smells, and chills of fall. Then the dance of snow will begin (not a pretty sight) and that will be followed by grousing over the days getting shorter. There is a cycle here.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Family Is So Amazing
So, it has been a while - years, since I posted. I got a little puffed up about writing. I joined a writers group. Wonderful people, and seriously good writing. They were serious. I discovered I was not. As soon as I had to write to accomplish so much on a page by such and such a date, I lost interest. Life continued to happen and I thought I had spoiled my interest in writing.
Not so. I just needed to let God steer me into writing for His glory, for my pleasure, and your laughter.
I am thoroughly wrapped up in my family: one husband, two children with spouses, and two grandchildren. Both Dave and I went through a period of time where our birth families seemed not too interested in being close so we went our own way. While there were times we felt like orphans, there were also times when life went on like a slow stream with no rapids and all was OK.
Recently, we have made reconnection with Dave's sister and I have tried to be better about staying in touch with my sister. Then, one day, a phone message: Aunt Judy, Uncle Dave . . . and voila! reconnection with my sister's husband and children in New York.
Fast exchanges of Facebook (hereafter to be known only as FB) and we are learning who we are in a connection broken after the death of my sister. The old days may have been slower, but think of the treasures of round-robin letters where A wrote to B, B added his/her news and posted to C, C then added more and so it went until eventually it returned to A who started all over again. Even in my day and my day is 72-1/2 years and counting, letters were important. Words were important. Stringing words together to be fully understood in word, shading, and meaning in written and spoken form. We had the telephone and telegraph (old-days form of texting). Our telephone was tethered to the wall and we were tethered to a radius of maybe 100 miles since travel took time and money.
Now we send countless messages in FB something with a birdie icon, and phone. It is like an automatic weapon the way messages fly back and forth in short bursts of letters strung together as understandable as petroglyphs, cave paintings, and hieroglyphics. If you are not "in" you cannot decipher the message nor can you send an intelligible answer.
I've used many words here to prepare family: I'm baaaaaaaack! I will bombard you with real words, real thoughts, and if you can't answer in real words and real thoughts, I will not understand you! To those of you who will bother to read my words, know that I love you, I cherish all my memories of you, and I look forward to knowing you. I never stopped loving you -- I just somehow distanced myself without knowing you might miss me.
Not so. I just needed to let God steer me into writing for His glory, for my pleasure, and your laughter.
I am thoroughly wrapped up in my family: one husband, two children with spouses, and two grandchildren. Both Dave and I went through a period of time where our birth families seemed not too interested in being close so we went our own way. While there were times we felt like orphans, there were also times when life went on like a slow stream with no rapids and all was OK.
Recently, we have made reconnection with Dave's sister and I have tried to be better about staying in touch with my sister. Then, one day, a phone message: Aunt Judy, Uncle Dave . . . and voila! reconnection with my sister's husband and children in New York.
Fast exchanges of Facebook (hereafter to be known only as FB) and we are learning who we are in a connection broken after the death of my sister. The old days may have been slower, but think of the treasures of round-robin letters where A wrote to B, B added his/her news and posted to C, C then added more and so it went until eventually it returned to A who started all over again. Even in my day and my day is 72-1/2 years and counting, letters were important. Words were important. Stringing words together to be fully understood in word, shading, and meaning in written and spoken form. We had the telephone and telegraph (old-days form of texting). Our telephone was tethered to the wall and we were tethered to a radius of maybe 100 miles since travel took time and money.
Now we send countless messages in FB something with a birdie icon, and phone. It is like an automatic weapon the way messages fly back and forth in short bursts of letters strung together as understandable as petroglyphs, cave paintings, and hieroglyphics. If you are not "in" you cannot decipher the message nor can you send an intelligible answer.
I've used many words here to prepare family: I'm baaaaaaaack! I will bombard you with real words, real thoughts, and if you can't answer in real words and real thoughts, I will not understand you! To those of you who will bother to read my words, know that I love you, I cherish all my memories of you, and I look forward to knowing you. I never stopped loving you -- I just somehow distanced myself without knowing you might miss me.
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