I've decided that I need a break so I have snuck upstairs to hide from my kids. They are supposed to be doing the dishes (it's 8:45 p.m. and I haven't heard one drop of water run in the sink yet!) but what I hear are 3 kids, all on laptops, watching different versions of the same YouTube video and laughing and comparing notes. I'd almost bet tomorrow morning when I come down to get ready for work, the kitchen will look like it did after dinner. 3 of us will be unhappy. 1 of us will be UBER unhappy. 3 of us will regret watching videos. 1 of us will somewhat regret having children.
I remember when they were really young. I couldn't wait til they were older and would be less of a walking dirt distributor and more of an actual help. Now I am counting the days til they move out into their own homes! I plan on visiting, leaving cups and dishes all over their houses (apartments, after all, who am I kidding) leave my shoes in the middle of the walking areas, spill food on their carpets and leave it for their dog to clean up, misplace their car keys, leave my coat any old place and then whine and drag my feet when they say I'm behaving like a pig.
One of my dearest friends has no children left at home. Hers are all grown, married and moved out long ago. Her house is immaculate. She has time to knit, quilt, spin yarn. I have time to dust my wheel, my loom, my sewing machine. Her fabric is all sorted by color and detailing; mine is sorted by cat, as in whichever one he pushed off my table and onto the floor, I've picked up and shoved wily nily back onto the table. Her fiber is neatly bundled next to her wheel. Mine WAS neatly bundled, now it's a bit frayed round the edges from the cat (yep same cat). Our cat BlackJack just loves fiber. Many is the time we've watched him come trotting down the staircase with his latest prize, in his mouth, and him looking smug about it. Until he sees me. Drop and bolt, that's what we should have named him. He only grabs my expensive yarn (the Japanese yarn at $28/4 ounces) the nice fiber at $18/4 ounces). Never the cheap stuff. EVER. I can bury the good stuff down in a yarn bin, he will find it and dig it up like some sort of four legged, fur covered archaeologist. Her home is beautiful. My home, lived in. We had purchased a new sofa and matching love seat, 3 cats later, one back is shredded wheat (the loveseat) and the seat portion is a bit bowed to the center (#2 son jumped up and landed in the center of the loveseat, just to show us he could and busted out the center support. Couch has two extra cushions under the seats as we've had a rather large number of extra children call our house their home. To get up in the morning and NOT find some child sound asleep on my couch is more scary than if they are there. In fact, lately, we've been known to get up to only 1 child in the house. #1 son is still living at home but has his own floor. He lives in the basement and comes and goes pretty much as he pleases (when he's not at work). #2 son was sleeping over at a buddies' home. #1 daughter was sleeping over at a girlfriends' home. Besides being extra quiet, know what I noticed most? I'd cleaned the kitchen up after supper AND IT WAS STILL CLEAN WHEN I GOT UP THE NEXT MORNING!!!! The sight of a clean kitchen is like a portrait of Heaven to me.
While I do realize I will miss them when they are gone, I won't miss the mess, the clutter, that odd smell that no one will own up to and my car will no longer smell like a combination of every fast food franchise in the state. From the looks of my seat, maybe the next law we should pass should be "no eating in the car"!
Monday, November 4, 2013
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Kids, chores and does it ever end?
It is 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Daughter dearest is at her friends house (sleepover from Friday night that I am assured sleep was the last thing achieved), #2 son is sleeping and hubby and #1 son are up and planning their day. We are finishing up #1 sons bedroom (in our basement). Today, they paint and lay the hardwood flooring. Tomorrow they hang the suspended ceiling. Chris is hanging out his electrical wiring so that it is hidden in the walls, coming out only where needed and not dangling around all over his room. He has a surround sound system and hated seeing the wiring draped here and there. Now it will not be visible. He chose a tan color for the room and with the golden hardwood flooring, it will look fabulous. In a year or so, when he moves out, this room becomes my sewing room. Chris has taken very good care of limiting the number of holes in his walls and has always been an uber neat freak.
What I like about it is the size, roughly 12 by 12. I have a 4 treadle loom (and when the conversion kit arrives, it will become a 6 treadle loom), a spinning wheel, a treadle sewing machine, 4 other sewing machines and I need room to house them. Right now, the wheel and loom are in my den, taking up way too much space. I have enough yarn (and fiber to be spun into yarn) to outfit most of the local school with hats, mittens, socks, sweaters and afghans. I've got enough fabric to make quilts for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and enough fat quarters to make pillowcases to go with them. I refuse to estimate the number of books I have but I've seen libraries that have less. I don't need a room, I need a whole house!
But since I can't afford a house, 1 room will have to do. I've been on Pinterest (mind crack for computer junkies) and found a whole host of ideas on how to store yarn, fabric, sewing room layout......it's obvious to me that a few trips to the ReStore store for cabinets (both wall mount and 6 stand alone cabinets) will be a start. I saw a perfect center island made with 6 stand alone cabinets and a piece of countertop. Perfect. A place to cut fabric that can remain up. And with all the storage under the island, do I smell another shopping expedition? Why yes, I think I do.......
Well, time to start MY day. I've laundry, vacuuming, floor washing, meal making........but as I watch the room take shape, it is fun imagining what I will do to it after he's gone.
What I like about it is the size, roughly 12 by 12. I have a 4 treadle loom (and when the conversion kit arrives, it will become a 6 treadle loom), a spinning wheel, a treadle sewing machine, 4 other sewing machines and I need room to house them. Right now, the wheel and loom are in my den, taking up way too much space. I have enough yarn (and fiber to be spun into yarn) to outfit most of the local school with hats, mittens, socks, sweaters and afghans. I've got enough fabric to make quilts for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and enough fat quarters to make pillowcases to go with them. I refuse to estimate the number of books I have but I've seen libraries that have less. I don't need a room, I need a whole house!
But since I can't afford a house, 1 room will have to do. I've been on Pinterest (mind crack for computer junkies) and found a whole host of ideas on how to store yarn, fabric, sewing room layout......it's obvious to me that a few trips to the ReStore store for cabinets (both wall mount and 6 stand alone cabinets) will be a start. I saw a perfect center island made with 6 stand alone cabinets and a piece of countertop. Perfect. A place to cut fabric that can remain up. And with all the storage under the island, do I smell another shopping expedition? Why yes, I think I do.......
Well, time to start MY day. I've laundry, vacuuming, floor washing, meal making........but as I watch the room take shape, it is fun imagining what I will do to it after he's gone.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Daughters, shopping and can we go home now???
I have always hated clothes shopping. Hated it with a passion. Would consider walking around naked to avoid it. I am the proud parent of a 13, soon to be 14 year old daughter. A beautiful, thin, long red haired daughter. Who happens to be a clothes horse. A serious clothes horse. We got to our first store at 5:15 p.m. tonight. We left (after purchasing 8 shirts and having her try on triple that) at 6:30. We still had stores to go to. We didn't make it. I swung through the local grocery store, the chinese restaurant and home (7:30 p.m.) I am exhausted and all I had to do was pay the bills! I am ready for bed!
She's amazing! She has her own style, nothing cookie cutter about her. She knows what she likes and ain't afraid to say so. She is happy with who she is, she is happy with her looks. She is at home in her skin. She now has braces, which is all she's wanted for 2+ years. That was the only thing she hated about her body, her teeth. Her world is perfect.
I marvel at that. I know grown adults with less than half the confidence she has. You don't rattle her. She doesn't get upset easily. She gets mad, mostly at her brothers, but life just doesn't have that kind of hold on her. After one of my daily whines about this or that, she calmly said to me "oh stop getting upset. You can choose happiness, so do so. Frankly, they aren't worth this. They aren't worth this kind of energy. Why waste your time with them?" This from the mouth of a 13 year old. She reminds me of the old story of the 2 monks. Both monks belonged to a monastery that forbid talking during certain hours and absolutely no touching of females. On their way to town one day, both monks see that a boat had capsized in the river and a woman appeared to be drowning. Without missing a beat, one monk threw off his robes and dove into the water. He saved the woman by getting her to shore. He put his robes back on and joined the other monk, who was standing there with a shocked expression on his face. When the time for talking finally arrived, the older monk turned to his younger monk and said "I don't understand it! You not only broke the silence, you disrobed, and jumped in the water and saved that woman. You know we forbid touching females. I can't believe it!" The older monk went on and on. Finally the younger monk turned to him and said "Of the two of us, I believe you carry the larger burden. It took me 10 minutes to save that woman. I saved her an hour and a half ago. You have been carrying her ever since." My daughter got that story. At 13. My 19 year old son doesn't get it. I don't think my husband truly gets it. But she does. And I stand in awe.
She has confidence the size of Mt. Everett. She inspires me to rise above it. She always says that everything is a choice. So choose happiness. She does. I know of no one happier than her.
She's amazing! She has her own style, nothing cookie cutter about her. She knows what she likes and ain't afraid to say so. She is happy with who she is, she is happy with her looks. She is at home in her skin. She now has braces, which is all she's wanted for 2+ years. That was the only thing she hated about her body, her teeth. Her world is perfect.
I marvel at that. I know grown adults with less than half the confidence she has. You don't rattle her. She doesn't get upset easily. She gets mad, mostly at her brothers, but life just doesn't have that kind of hold on her. After one of my daily whines about this or that, she calmly said to me "oh stop getting upset. You can choose happiness, so do so. Frankly, they aren't worth this. They aren't worth this kind of energy. Why waste your time with them?" This from the mouth of a 13 year old. She reminds me of the old story of the 2 monks. Both monks belonged to a monastery that forbid talking during certain hours and absolutely no touching of females. On their way to town one day, both monks see that a boat had capsized in the river and a woman appeared to be drowning. Without missing a beat, one monk threw off his robes and dove into the water. He saved the woman by getting her to shore. He put his robes back on and joined the other monk, who was standing there with a shocked expression on his face. When the time for talking finally arrived, the older monk turned to his younger monk and said "I don't understand it! You not only broke the silence, you disrobed, and jumped in the water and saved that woman. You know we forbid touching females. I can't believe it!" The older monk went on and on. Finally the younger monk turned to him and said "Of the two of us, I believe you carry the larger burden. It took me 10 minutes to save that woman. I saved her an hour and a half ago. You have been carrying her ever since." My daughter got that story. At 13. My 19 year old son doesn't get it. I don't think my husband truly gets it. But she does. And I stand in awe.
She has confidence the size of Mt. Everett. She inspires me to rise above it. She always says that everything is a choice. So choose happiness. She does. I know of no one happier than her.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Sometimes it's so easy..........
I have a private blog that 250 people have signed on to read. Not that they all do, I do know that around 50-70 do, as they comment pretty regularly. It is where I let my hair down (which might not be saying much as I've cut my hair really short) and I can control who gets in. If you work at BIW, the automatic answer is "no". This is my "get out the anger" area. I discuss work, my family (in more intimate details that here) and I don't mince words and I "write it the way I see it". Fair? Probably not. But I have to admit, I have some serious supporters. It's nice to know that when YOU think it's only YOU, and you spend some time venting, then you find out no, many others think it's them and not you, you sleep better. I smile alot more now.
But I learned something this weekend. One of my most active supporters (and critics; she ain't shy about telling me when she thinks I am wrong; sometimes I wish she'd be a bit less honest!) told me "Maya Angelou said that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel".
Wow. We are all a "feeling" group. Women, maybe more so than men, when talking about something, almost always invoke feelings to describe things. They way something felt, smelt, tasted........and yes, how we felt when someone made us indescribably happy or devastatingly sad. I've been both. And I can describe in detail how I felt. Years later. Decades later. As if it were yesterday. If you made me angry and I think about it, I feel positive that a blood pressure cuff would show an increase in the pressure while I recall the instance. I remember how I felt when I saw my husband to be standing down at the alter,waiting for me to make that long walk towards him. That was 22 year ago. I recall the smell of my son when I first held him. After child #2 was born without a pulse, I remember the silence of the delivery room, the fear, the overwhelming sadness and the joy of that soft, quiet cry. I recall playing with my daughter's hair the day she was born, surprised and not surprised by the head full of red hair. The frustration I felt when a mother who had no prior knowledge of the tests we'd already had given our son to find out what exactly his issues were, and the diagnosis we both worried would mean a harder than necessary life for him, decided that she'd make me and our family her own mission to assist and correct. The relief when another mother, who'd been a silent witness to this, came to me later and stood by me, letting me pour out my frustration to her and acting as a buffer between us when she knew I'd be probably needing a lawyer if this person didn't leave me alone and soon. That indescribable feeling holding the hand of a loved one while he died. I've done that twice, with my father in law and with my own dad. The loss this year of a beloved grandmother, whose memories flood me with tears every time I recall something of my childhood in Florida. You never forget the way someone made you feel.
I hold no grudges. It ain't easy and many times I have to remind myself that I hate having someone live rent free in my head so change my thoughts and do so quickly. I've seen Karma return to the perpetrator on more than one occasion and if you turn over all your anger and resentment, then the Karma that could be busy wrecking your life will happily attach itself to those to whom it should. I remember seeing someone get their's and knowing that the only reason they did was because I stepped out of the way. Let go and let God. Not easy that. We are a generation of "right now". We want justice RIGHT NOW. We want equality RIGHT NOW. We want our just rewards RIGHT NOW. Doesn't work that way. You will get what you will get but when Karma feels it's good and ready for you to receive it. God's timetable, not mine. And that is always my stumbling block.
I have that issue loads when it comes to my spinning wheel. I mentally get it (how to spin), I've done my homework, I've seen the videos (I OWN the videos, and books, and fiber, and taken classes and......) and yet it's taking me longer to do it with any sort of reliability. I learned sewing lickity split. I learned knitting, crocheting, quilting, counted cross stitch and needlepoint lickity split. This is my stumbling block. This is my trip zone. This is my "wall". And now, I'm the proud owner of a Harrisville Design loom. The final thing on my bucket list to learn to do. Should I wait till I get the spinning down? Should I get busy on the loom and tackle that right away? Should I just pour a glass of wine (or whine, take your pick) and wait for inspiration to hit me? Should I just hit something myself? I don't know yet.
So, I am going to wait. I am busy doing some serious fall cleaning. I am spending many hours blogging about the insane-ness of my job (I believe the phrase "Disneyland North" has been uttered by me and more than once, I might add). I had 5 notes tonight from people around the country who said that the way I wrote about Bath Iron Works made them feel better about their job. One commented on my analysis of some meetings we've attended and how she laughed so hard her tea came out her nose. She thought she'd forgotten how that could happen. And she felt great.
I sure hope so.
But I learned something this weekend. One of my most active supporters (and critics; she ain't shy about telling me when she thinks I am wrong; sometimes I wish she'd be a bit less honest!) told me "Maya Angelou said that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel".
Wow. We are all a "feeling" group. Women, maybe more so than men, when talking about something, almost always invoke feelings to describe things. They way something felt, smelt, tasted........and yes, how we felt when someone made us indescribably happy or devastatingly sad. I've been both. And I can describe in detail how I felt. Years later. Decades later. As if it were yesterday. If you made me angry and I think about it, I feel positive that a blood pressure cuff would show an increase in the pressure while I recall the instance. I remember how I felt when I saw my husband to be standing down at the alter,waiting for me to make that long walk towards him. That was 22 year ago. I recall the smell of my son when I first held him. After child #2 was born without a pulse, I remember the silence of the delivery room, the fear, the overwhelming sadness and the joy of that soft, quiet cry. I recall playing with my daughter's hair the day she was born, surprised and not surprised by the head full of red hair. The frustration I felt when a mother who had no prior knowledge of the tests we'd already had given our son to find out what exactly his issues were, and the diagnosis we both worried would mean a harder than necessary life for him, decided that she'd make me and our family her own mission to assist and correct. The relief when another mother, who'd been a silent witness to this, came to me later and stood by me, letting me pour out my frustration to her and acting as a buffer between us when she knew I'd be probably needing a lawyer if this person didn't leave me alone and soon. That indescribable feeling holding the hand of a loved one while he died. I've done that twice, with my father in law and with my own dad. The loss this year of a beloved grandmother, whose memories flood me with tears every time I recall something of my childhood in Florida. You never forget the way someone made you feel.
I hold no grudges. It ain't easy and many times I have to remind myself that I hate having someone live rent free in my head so change my thoughts and do so quickly. I've seen Karma return to the perpetrator on more than one occasion and if you turn over all your anger and resentment, then the Karma that could be busy wrecking your life will happily attach itself to those to whom it should. I remember seeing someone get their's and knowing that the only reason they did was because I stepped out of the way. Let go and let God. Not easy that. We are a generation of "right now". We want justice RIGHT NOW. We want equality RIGHT NOW. We want our just rewards RIGHT NOW. Doesn't work that way. You will get what you will get but when Karma feels it's good and ready for you to receive it. God's timetable, not mine. And that is always my stumbling block.
I have that issue loads when it comes to my spinning wheel. I mentally get it (how to spin), I've done my homework, I've seen the videos (I OWN the videos, and books, and fiber, and taken classes and......) and yet it's taking me longer to do it with any sort of reliability. I learned sewing lickity split. I learned knitting, crocheting, quilting, counted cross stitch and needlepoint lickity split. This is my stumbling block. This is my trip zone. This is my "wall". And now, I'm the proud owner of a Harrisville Design loom. The final thing on my bucket list to learn to do. Should I wait till I get the spinning down? Should I get busy on the loom and tackle that right away? Should I just pour a glass of wine (or whine, take your pick) and wait for inspiration to hit me? Should I just hit something myself? I don't know yet.
So, I am going to wait. I am busy doing some serious fall cleaning. I am spending many hours blogging about the insane-ness of my job (I believe the phrase "Disneyland North" has been uttered by me and more than once, I might add). I had 5 notes tonight from people around the country who said that the way I wrote about Bath Iron Works made them feel better about their job. One commented on my analysis of some meetings we've attended and how she laughed so hard her tea came out her nose. She thought she'd forgotten how that could happen. And she felt great.
I sure hope so.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
My loss, Heaven's gain....
I've not written in awhile. I've been busy living life, cleaning, spinning some yarn, working at my insane job, teen rearing..(also zoo-keeping, animal management, prison warden.......) and by the time I sit down to this computer, I am worn out!
But this past Sunday, my grandmother died. Those are the hardest words to write. My grandmother raised me for about a year when I was a baby. My grandmother had me spend the night at her home on weekends, always taking me to church on Sunday morning, where she was a Sunday School teacher. My brother was always a sickly child and it was a relief for my mom to give me away to her mom, who I am sure sometimes regretted having offered to take me. I was a super hyperactive kid back then and just getting me to sit still long enough to brush my hair was akin to being pecked to death by ducks..
She was my confidante. She was the one I could talk to when my mom was busy with my brother. She was the one who drove me nuts with her constant rules about in-home behavior (no jumping on the couch, no eating anywhere but at the kitchen table (and NOT in the dining room as that was reserved for Sunday dinners only). She worried over me, prayed over me, listened to me babble. She was a neat freak. Back in the 60's just about everyone I knew smoked. My dad would no sooner put out his cigarette in her ashtray when she'd have it dumped, washed and dried before the butt was cold. She liked things "just so". One of my favorite stories about her was her love of Tom Jones. During the 60's, Tom was every woman's dream man. My grandmother, an uber strict Southern Baptist Woman, devoted to her husband in every conceivable way, loved Tom Jones. My grandfather got her tickets to see him in Jacksonville. She got her hair done. She bought a new dress. She put on her favorite perfume "Prince Matchabelli", a name that made me laugh then and still makes me smile now. She got a whole new roll of film for her camera and they went to the concert. I found out later that my grandmother thought Tom to be over 6 feet tall. He is considerably under 6 feet tall. She said she got the shock of her life when this little man walked out on stage. She thought he was there to set up for Tom. Then he picked up the microphone and started singing. It was Tom! She was putting the film in her camera (she'd forgotten to do that at home) and dropped it, exposing the film (no pictures that night), got camera goo (I never really figured out what that meant) all over her new dress and was disgusted by the number of, and I quote, "women who should have known better", who threw their panties up onto the stage! Still, she loved his music.
While she may have had a hard scrabble life, she tried to rise above it. She took "fake it until you make it" to a whole new level. She was utterly devoted to church, spending every single night at church doing something (ladies aid, choir practice, missionary assistance, Bible study, Sunday school, teen relief, was a church secretary) and Sunday's meant Sunday school 9 a.m., 11 a.m. church, adult Bible Study, second service at 6 p.m. I have never met anyone who loved God more.
She was known as a great cook. A typical Thanksgiving dinner included both a ham and a turkey in case someone didn't like one or the other meats. She put on a spread that would feed a ravenous tribe, even though there were only she and my grandfather. You did not ever leave her house hungry and she took hospitality to a whole new level. You could show up unannounced and you'd get 2 or 3 pies, a cake or some other such treat, all with apologies for not being better prepared to receive company. And she knew what you liked to eat and had a memory like an elephant. I can still hear her remark upon someone not clearing their plate after their 3rd plate full "Is there something wrong with the corn? You only had 2 servings!" My dad and grandfather would sit in the den after dinner (women had kitchen duty) and snore after one of her feasts!
A night spent at her home meant sleeping on the fold out couch (I could have had the guest bedroom but preferred the couch!) where she and I would lie side by side and go through picture albums until my grandfather would call out "Mary, you let that child go to sleep and come to bed!".
The women in my family live forever and she was in her 90's when she died. We doubt that a real age is attainable as she was born at home and due to being "southern to the core" she lied about her age so much, we aren't really sure. This we know, she is into her 90's, lost both her legs this year, 1 of which she had removed just recently, she was deaf and blind, with moments of clarity and she so wanted to be home with Jesus and said so on more than one occasion. I know this, He brought the whole clan down to welcome her home and a finer family reunion and potluck dinner can't be found. I know that in Heaven Jesus wipes the tears from your eyes and you receive a perfect, new body. Those tears get received by us,who shed them at your funeral and after as we realize the many ways your loss affects us. She will be missed.....
But this past Sunday, my grandmother died. Those are the hardest words to write. My grandmother raised me for about a year when I was a baby. My grandmother had me spend the night at her home on weekends, always taking me to church on Sunday morning, where she was a Sunday School teacher. My brother was always a sickly child and it was a relief for my mom to give me away to her mom, who I am sure sometimes regretted having offered to take me. I was a super hyperactive kid back then and just getting me to sit still long enough to brush my hair was akin to being pecked to death by ducks..
She was my confidante. She was the one I could talk to when my mom was busy with my brother. She was the one who drove me nuts with her constant rules about in-home behavior (no jumping on the couch, no eating anywhere but at the kitchen table (and NOT in the dining room as that was reserved for Sunday dinners only). She worried over me, prayed over me, listened to me babble. She was a neat freak. Back in the 60's just about everyone I knew smoked. My dad would no sooner put out his cigarette in her ashtray when she'd have it dumped, washed and dried before the butt was cold. She liked things "just so". One of my favorite stories about her was her love of Tom Jones. During the 60's, Tom was every woman's dream man. My grandmother, an uber strict Southern Baptist Woman, devoted to her husband in every conceivable way, loved Tom Jones. My grandfather got her tickets to see him in Jacksonville. She got her hair done. She bought a new dress. She put on her favorite perfume "Prince Matchabelli", a name that made me laugh then and still makes me smile now. She got a whole new roll of film for her camera and they went to the concert. I found out later that my grandmother thought Tom to be over 6 feet tall. He is considerably under 6 feet tall. She said she got the shock of her life when this little man walked out on stage. She thought he was there to set up for Tom. Then he picked up the microphone and started singing. It was Tom! She was putting the film in her camera (she'd forgotten to do that at home) and dropped it, exposing the film (no pictures that night), got camera goo (I never really figured out what that meant) all over her new dress and was disgusted by the number of, and I quote, "women who should have known better", who threw their panties up onto the stage! Still, she loved his music.
While she may have had a hard scrabble life, she tried to rise above it. She took "fake it until you make it" to a whole new level. She was utterly devoted to church, spending every single night at church doing something (ladies aid, choir practice, missionary assistance, Bible study, Sunday school, teen relief, was a church secretary) and Sunday's meant Sunday school 9 a.m., 11 a.m. church, adult Bible Study, second service at 6 p.m. I have never met anyone who loved God more.
She was known as a great cook. A typical Thanksgiving dinner included both a ham and a turkey in case someone didn't like one or the other meats. She put on a spread that would feed a ravenous tribe, even though there were only she and my grandfather. You did not ever leave her house hungry and she took hospitality to a whole new level. You could show up unannounced and you'd get 2 or 3 pies, a cake or some other such treat, all with apologies for not being better prepared to receive company. And she knew what you liked to eat and had a memory like an elephant. I can still hear her remark upon someone not clearing their plate after their 3rd plate full "Is there something wrong with the corn? You only had 2 servings!" My dad and grandfather would sit in the den after dinner (women had kitchen duty) and snore after one of her feasts!
A night spent at her home meant sleeping on the fold out couch (I could have had the guest bedroom but preferred the couch!) where she and I would lie side by side and go through picture albums until my grandfather would call out "Mary, you let that child go to sleep and come to bed!".
The women in my family live forever and she was in her 90's when she died. We doubt that a real age is attainable as she was born at home and due to being "southern to the core" she lied about her age so much, we aren't really sure. This we know, she is into her 90's, lost both her legs this year, 1 of which she had removed just recently, she was deaf and blind, with moments of clarity and she so wanted to be home with Jesus and said so on more than one occasion. I know this, He brought the whole clan down to welcome her home and a finer family reunion and potluck dinner can't be found. I know that in Heaven Jesus wipes the tears from your eyes and you receive a perfect, new body. Those tears get received by us,who shed them at your funeral and after as we realize the many ways your loss affects us. She will be missed.....
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Some thoughts on Easter, with a bit of Christmas thrown in.
I heard the other day a radio listener call in and ask "What is more important, Christmas or Easter?" I hadn't considered this question before and thought about it all day. Which is more important? And exactly what do they mean in today's time? The thought occurred to me that it's not which is more important but what they mean in the conversation between God and us.
I think Christmas is our seeking God. I think Christmas is our begging God to reveal himself and to save us from ourselves. It's like a question. Down through the ages man has gone to God, asking him to reveal himself to us. "Send us a savior!" "Save us", "Heal us". People needed someone to save them from themselves. Someone who championed on their behalf. They had people who could perform miracles. They had people who could heal. Yet they had no one who could defeat death, a sentence that was suffered by all people, rich or poor. Romans died. Jews died. Pagans died. They needed someone to address their fears. It is fear that keeps us from God. Fear presents itself as a gulf, a deep divide between us and God. It is fear that makes us cry out to God to save us.
On Easter, one man conquered death. One man, one God, was able to fulfill all their desires. Easter is the answer to Christmas. Christmas is our pleading with God. Easter is God answering our prayers. There is now no death, no life, no breath that will ever separate us from the love of a father who has always been there. It is we who couldn't get to Him until He prepared a way for that to happen.
I hope and pray that Easter is experienced by all, on a deep, personal level. Easter is our hope. Easter is our blessing. Easter is our answer to the question of Christmas.
I think Christmas is our seeking God. I think Christmas is our begging God to reveal himself and to save us from ourselves. It's like a question. Down through the ages man has gone to God, asking him to reveal himself to us. "Send us a savior!" "Save us", "Heal us". People needed someone to save them from themselves. Someone who championed on their behalf. They had people who could perform miracles. They had people who could heal. Yet they had no one who could defeat death, a sentence that was suffered by all people, rich or poor. Romans died. Jews died. Pagans died. They needed someone to address their fears. It is fear that keeps us from God. Fear presents itself as a gulf, a deep divide between us and God. It is fear that makes us cry out to God to save us.
On Easter, one man conquered death. One man, one God, was able to fulfill all their desires. Easter is the answer to Christmas. Christmas is our pleading with God. Easter is God answering our prayers. There is now no death, no life, no breath that will ever separate us from the love of a father who has always been there. It is we who couldn't get to Him until He prepared a way for that to happen.
I hope and pray that Easter is experienced by all, on a deep, personal level. Easter is our hope. Easter is our blessing. Easter is our answer to the question of Christmas.
Monday, March 18, 2013
We need more snow! Said no one EVER!
It is the middle of March. I saw my first robin yesterday on the way to church and that has always been my sign that spring is truly on my doorstep. I love robins and miss their lovely songs when Fall's dropping leaves and Winter's winds blow. My tiger lilies have pushed up through the ground too, only to be nibbled on by my chickens and my dog. My dog Chelsea, part black lab, part border collie, part beaver, part goat and part four legged, fur covered, garbage disposal. At least our chickens make our breakfast for us!
But today they've announced we are going to get some weather. Depending on whom you watch, we are in the 6-12 inch snowfall band. Yeah, just what I need. Snow. I planted my tomato seeds and pepper seeds yesterday. I am "thinking spring". I am planning our veggie garden, trying to decipher from my notes what worked last year, what didn't and how to improve what I did and introduce some new stuff. I looked at my "summer" clothes and am trying to figure out how they all could have shrunk and shrunk so terribly badly! I realize I'd put on some weight, but when your bathing suit starts weeping and you haven't taken off your pants yet, you know this isn't going to end well. I checked out some exercise videos (made specifically for people like me who sit at a desk all day) and have told myself sternly that I must do something before people mistake me for a circus fat lady. I am going on weight watchers and just dusted off my treadmill. I MUST do something and the good Lord knows left to my own devices, I'd just ban all mirrors, make caftans the wardrobe of choice and try to reinstitute the Romanesque period as the new normal.
But snow. This is truly killing me. This is why I gain weight in the winter. I hate all outdoor winter activities (except ice skating and snow tubing, but only if they have a line that pulls you back up to the top of the hill). I hate being cold. All I want to do is curl into the fetal position and hibernate. My hobbies are non athletic, I knit, spin, crochet, weave, quilt, sew, make my own designs for counted cross stitch and then stitch them and read. I am learning how to do "nal-binding", a form of knitting with a rather large sewing needle. But as you can see, none of these things require sweating, getting dirty, co-ordination, or the possibility of getting hurt. Well, I could stab myself with a needle or two and once I almost sewed through my finger, thus curing me of sewing while tired. Many years ago by sisters in law borrowed my husbands and my mountain bikes and went down a trail across the street from our old home in Brunswick. They fell, skinning their knees, bruising themselves up and (since it was 80 degrees outside) getting sweaty. My husband, ever the outdoors type, said to me:
"Doesn't that look like fun?"
"Yeah" I replied, "When I was 10 yrs old, I'd have enjoyed that immensely!" I then went back into the house and poured another glass of iced sweet tea and sat in my air conditioned slice of Heaven.
To say that I have no desire to sweat profusely, unless there is veggies involved, is an understatement. I can plant, weed and water all day long in the hot sun, but suggest anything other than a card or board game to me when the temp is over 70 and I'll suggest to you that you just go lie down and wait for that feeling to pass. Anything over 80 requires me to lie motionless in a pool. I come from a long, long, line of non-exercising, 90 and 100 year old family members. Dying young is not my worry. In fact, I'm more likely to die getting all sweaty than not. That's not to say I "shouldn't" exercise or take infinitely better care of my body than I do now. I should. The slogan "betcha can't eat just one!" really ISN'T a challenge and I shouldn't treat it as one. But I admit, I LOVE to cook and I LOVE to eat and I do both grandly.
I've just reached that stage where even I can't justify the gut, the butt or the thighs. The boobs I'd like to keep, but experience has already shown me that they will be the first thing to go. I wonder, if I stand on my head and allow all my fat rolls to shift to my chest, then tie a rope just under my boobs, would all that blubber stay there? I might not be able to walk upright, but it does make one wonder!
But today they've announced we are going to get some weather. Depending on whom you watch, we are in the 6-12 inch snowfall band. Yeah, just what I need. Snow. I planted my tomato seeds and pepper seeds yesterday. I am "thinking spring". I am planning our veggie garden, trying to decipher from my notes what worked last year, what didn't and how to improve what I did and introduce some new stuff. I looked at my "summer" clothes and am trying to figure out how they all could have shrunk and shrunk so terribly badly! I realize I'd put on some weight, but when your bathing suit starts weeping and you haven't taken off your pants yet, you know this isn't going to end well. I checked out some exercise videos (made specifically for people like me who sit at a desk all day) and have told myself sternly that I must do something before people mistake me for a circus fat lady. I am going on weight watchers and just dusted off my treadmill. I MUST do something and the good Lord knows left to my own devices, I'd just ban all mirrors, make caftans the wardrobe of choice and try to reinstitute the Romanesque period as the new normal.
But snow. This is truly killing me. This is why I gain weight in the winter. I hate all outdoor winter activities (except ice skating and snow tubing, but only if they have a line that pulls you back up to the top of the hill). I hate being cold. All I want to do is curl into the fetal position and hibernate. My hobbies are non athletic, I knit, spin, crochet, weave, quilt, sew, make my own designs for counted cross stitch and then stitch them and read. I am learning how to do "nal-binding", a form of knitting with a rather large sewing needle. But as you can see, none of these things require sweating, getting dirty, co-ordination, or the possibility of getting hurt. Well, I could stab myself with a needle or two and once I almost sewed through my finger, thus curing me of sewing while tired. Many years ago by sisters in law borrowed my husbands and my mountain bikes and went down a trail across the street from our old home in Brunswick. They fell, skinning their knees, bruising themselves up and (since it was 80 degrees outside) getting sweaty. My husband, ever the outdoors type, said to me:
"Doesn't that look like fun?"
"Yeah" I replied, "When I was 10 yrs old, I'd have enjoyed that immensely!" I then went back into the house and poured another glass of iced sweet tea and sat in my air conditioned slice of Heaven.
To say that I have no desire to sweat profusely, unless there is veggies involved, is an understatement. I can plant, weed and water all day long in the hot sun, but suggest anything other than a card or board game to me when the temp is over 70 and I'll suggest to you that you just go lie down and wait for that feeling to pass. Anything over 80 requires me to lie motionless in a pool. I come from a long, long, line of non-exercising, 90 and 100 year old family members. Dying young is not my worry. In fact, I'm more likely to die getting all sweaty than not. That's not to say I "shouldn't" exercise or take infinitely better care of my body than I do now. I should. The slogan "betcha can't eat just one!" really ISN'T a challenge and I shouldn't treat it as one. But I admit, I LOVE to cook and I LOVE to eat and I do both grandly.
I've just reached that stage where even I can't justify the gut, the butt or the thighs. The boobs I'd like to keep, but experience has already shown me that they will be the first thing to go. I wonder, if I stand on my head and allow all my fat rolls to shift to my chest, then tie a rope just under my boobs, would all that blubber stay there? I might not be able to walk upright, but it does make one wonder!
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