The English Countryside

Today is a bright and glorious day. I worked the weekend so I'm home, and with the pollen about gone, the windows are open. The coolness of the air reminds me of an English morning. I'm reading a wonderful little "castle book" and it reminds me of walking through a copse in England a few years ago and seeing these marvelous bluebells. 

"'There'll be bluebells in there before long––you can see the shoots now.'  He stood staring into the wood for a minute. 'What is it about the English countryside––why is the beauty so much more than visual? Why does it touch one so?'" 

That's just how it is.

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith (you see here the impact of a neighbor's blog! I wonder if she noticed my light on late last night as I just couldn't put the book down!)

Back Babies

It's typical in Africa for a mom to keep her baby with her constantly until the baby reaches about age two. Most of the day the baby is carried on the mama's back as she moves about doing her work.  I recently found these photos taken by colleagues in Sud*n. The first one is especially fascinating and shows an interesting makeshift carrier. It looks to me like the strings could be uncomfortable for the mom (who, you see, is fording a river), but the baby is probably loving it. Since youngest son is about to become a father, thoughts fly back to his babyhood when we lived in West Africa. The second photo shows how I carried him on my back, and is the most common way.  Cozy!

Feeling a bit mired down today. Here is something fresh and bright to gaze upon, from Winslow Homer. Can't you just jump into the scene?

Announcing ...

Last month ... or was it two months ago ... when we were in Florida, my mother, my sister, and I visited a dear friend one morning. As we were sipping tea in her bright and sunny kitchen, Anta brought out some family "heirlooms."
Among them were a large stash of birth announcements from children born through the years into her extended family. I believe Anta's mother had saved them all. Since my sister and I were becoming grandmothers soon (Lulu for the third time), Anta thought we'd enjoy a look.

These vintage birth announcements were fascinating to read. Most were from the forties to the sixties and had such cute sayings. It was obvious back then that no one knew the sex of the baby before arrival!  And I wondered at the joy behind each announcement ... the joy of a new family member that rippled to the extended family ... friends ... and community! Yes, the wonder of a newborn! We certainly enjoyed our step back to another time!

mother's day special

It's not every Mother's Day that your son (youngest) graduates from dental school and becomes "Dr." It was something to give us pause, to make us pleased, and to grant us gratitude this Mother's Day. Youngest son has worked very hard the last four years (and has three more years of a specialty planned) and we are proud of his accomplishments. The raindrops (some torrential at times) dancing around the reception and graduation ceremony did nothing to dampen the spirits of all the family members gathered! This particular class promised to donate a percentage of time every month to care for needy patients--in some fashion or another--so I found it very fitting when the dean quoted Gh*ndi, "To find yourself you must first lose yourself in the service of others." Well said, and something for all of us to ponder.

Wear Your Apron

Today is National Wear Your Apron Day. Seems fitting right after Mother's Day ... can't many of us remember our moms in aprons? I love aprons and wearing them (partly because I'm so messy), and here are two of my favorite "everydays," hanging on the back of the laundry room door.  The blue and white toile was given me by  this little guy's mama, a former writing student of mine, and her mom––both my good friends. Those who know me know how much  I love toile––partly because it reminds me of my grandmother (and the wallpaper in her house.) Wear an apron today!

Letters of Love

Just a few minutes ago--or a few blinks of an eye ago--on a spring evening, at a small college tucked along the Hudson River, the date being May 2, 1968, a lanky basketball player invited me on a date. On that day, two years later, our legs dangling over a cliff overlooking the same river, he asked me to marry him. And on that day this year, so many minutes later, we happened to be in his hometown. 

We were visiting Spouse's niece and nephew, who, after losing both parents in recent years, were beginning to clean out the family homestead.  The house had been in the family, there along the Delaware River, for several generations. Their mother, Spouse's sister, was birthed, and 64 years later died, in the same room in that house.

"We got something for ya," they announced as they produced a box crumbling with age. It was full of letters ... letters we forgot we wrote ... letters we hadn't thought of in years ... letters assumed gone to the trash decades ago. There they were. All of mine to Spouse during our courtship, and some letters from his sister and college friends as well. He actually saved them! What fun the kids had watching my face as we opened letters and read excerpts aloud. Sometimes I wanted to crawl under the couch. A real treasure, good memories––a gift on this the anniversary of when it all began! 

We found a stronger box, packaged them up, overdid it on taping it up, and mailed the box home to ourselves. How should we tiptoe into this bit of history? A letter a day? A long evening of laughing together while reading a bundle aloud? Well ... to be read, or not to be read, or how to be read ... at our leisure. 

Grrreat Dinner!

Spring cleaning has come to my pantry. I'm really poor at menu planning, so I shop to stock the pantry with general things that can be made into recipes. Stuff tends to gravitate to the back of the cupboards and rest there indefinitely. Occasionally I try to clean it out and such a time has come.

Digging deep. I pull out whatever is there. My goal is to put ingredients together and figure out a meal. I could think of it as sort of a game. So on this particular night, I pulled out cans of white beans, chopped tomatoes, and black beans. I sauteed onions and a sweet red pepper with garlic. Then I added the beans, tomatoes, and a can of chopped chicken breast. A good scent filled the kitchen.  I served it over brown rice seasoned with curry and onions. Spouse, unaware of the "Clean It Out Campaign" commented, "Great dinner!" I just wish I had added some spinach leaves for the color, if not for the nutritive value!

Grown Beautiful with Age

Forty years does not feel like that long of a time to be "together," though there was a time when that number seemed ancient. Finding this old teapot in a overstuffed thrift shop at the edge of Sussex (NJ) farmland seemed a fitting way to celebrate the milestone anniversary (of our first date). Old and worn, its finish lacking a bit, it still holds a good pot of tea. And with some work, it could gleam again. But I prefer the old patina. I'm sure there's some analogy here, but we'll leave it that it's simply a new favorite of mine, and I'll be seeing a lot of it around the tea table!

thanks for the memories

Sensory overload just might be where I'm at right now. In the past seven weeks we've traveled to five different states and thereby returned to important places that have had a part in making us who we are. Memories abound. We arrive, drive around, reminisce, exclaim over how things have changed, and eventually get used to how the place is today, just before it is time to leave again. It's all starting to be a little overwhelming.

This past weekend we were in northern states––primarily the one where a huge part of our lives took place: high school, college, courtship, and early marriage. Flip the screen and find our early days working as youth pastor; then flip the screen again and find us freshly returned from Africa, with two little boys, and beginning our home schooling adventure.  All taking place within a 10 mile radius. (We also went back to Spouse's hometown this weekend!) As we drove around sometimes things were clear, sometimes vaguely familiar, and other times we became totally confused as to our whereabouts. When trying to find our old house, we stopped in a little Italian "hole in the wall" eatery. We knew we were close! We studied the map as we ate our sandwiches––and made a memory. 

It's always good to go back and remember. But the past is past; the present is, and the future promises. I am glad to be back  home to start clearing my head. I'm thankful for the memories, but now I need a stretch of time at home again. Working on new memories.

We finally got our bearings and found the house we lived in the early years of our marriage (first floor flat). The tall shade trees are gone, but we could almost hear the sounds of laughter and singing. Those were the years we poured our lives into students and our house was regularly filled to the brim with them!

I found the railroad tracks––the shortcut a friend and I walked home from high school. Spouse asked, "Did a train ever come?" 

The last time we lived in the area we had two little boys.  We used to walk here on Saturdays to buy bagels for the week.

Up north Spring was in full rainy bloom. What a treat to experience it for a second (or third!) time this year.

"They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint."

Isaiah 40:31

another year

God's grace all around––studying His Word while drinking tea and eating scones with dear friends ... then celebrating another year in Boniface's life ... all on a crisp (actually chilly) spring afternoon. Another opportunity for thankfulness.

abundance

We've had an abundance of rain. More than some would like. But, we can never complain again, as we now know first hand what a severe drought is like. The grass is green and spring has been lush, much in contrast to the brown grass and dying plants of last summer. We still look at this rain in awe and remember the prayers last summer's drought produced. They're still being answered, and we are thankful.

(photo: not mine, wish it were.)

the power of a handwritten note

I was reminded today of the impact a simple note can make. Several years ago I wrote to a family I did not know well, to encourage them about something we had in common. I never heard from them, nor saw them again. But because of what we share in common, I often think of them and wonder if they ever received what I wrote.

Today the father of the family sought us out at church. What a surprise to see him--we didn't even know if they were still at our (rather large) church. He remembered that note all these years later, and had been wanting to thank us, letting us know how much it had meant to them that we had remembered and had written it.

Lesson to be learned: no feedback means nothing.  Just do what God tells you to do, and let it go from there. He does His work, using your little part.

To Poach or Not to Poach

We were treated to perfectly poached eggs when visiting Lulu and Stefano recently. He is a perfectionist. He has a very good pan and has making them down to a science, or rather, an art.  Watching him work his craft, we were mesmerized. And of course, since he could be an outstanding salesman, we decided we would now begin to have poached eggs. 

So began The Search. I tried a cheaper version of what I now call a "poaching system."  Sadly, the eggs stuck to the egg cups. Messy, indeed, and not pretty, for sure. Then I began to price really good systems. Hmm, did I really have room for another pan in our crowded cupboards?

So I visited a shop just for the kitchen. You probably know it. It's a little bit of kitchen heaven. I asked the salesperson about egg poachers. "You absolutely must try these!" she exclaimed.  She took me over to something that looked like it could be sports' equipment. "These take no storage room, which is one reason people love them."  I've never tried any of that new-fangled silicone stuff before, but I decided to take it home and give it a tentative try. These "pods" simply float in simmering water. 

Amazing! I can testify to a perfectly poached egg!  Wonder of wonders! Guess I found my "poaching system."

(photo of egg in silicone egg pod, floating in water...)

Drop Ins

I love it when people drop by unexpectedly. Like folks used to do. We had just moved our hammock and they gave it a try--you could say they "dropped in" twice!

Greener Pasture

The family story is told that long ago, my grandmother would send her five boys across the street to play at the neighbors (who also had about five boys.) The boys would play in front of the house and tear up the lawn, as 1o active boys most likely would do. Meanwhile, the front lawn at my grandmother's house remained in good condition. Mrs. S. used to say to Mrs. F. (so the story goes): "I'm so glad the boys play in my yard, because I love looking over at your beautiful, green lawn."

I think about that story sometimes when I mow, as I did today, especially when the springtime grass is lush and green. Of course there are no kids left in this house to play on it anymore. But I get my delight in looking across the street at the little folks playing there.

Kayla came over this afternoon wearing a different flip flop on each foot. I could only think that she liked them both, so why not?

When Times Are Tough

Ken Gire wrote the following about when Jesus was in Gethsemane. It was sent to me twice in the last two days so I think I should share it since it speaks simply, yet deeply to me:

"Reaching for the cup from his Father's hand,

though it is a cup he fears, Jesus takes it.

Because more than He fears the cup,

He loves the hand from which it comes."

A Small Thing

Sitting at our son's table this weekend, a good meal completed, I noticed him filling the pepper shaker. His father fills ours. I don't always notice father in son, but in this very small thing, I saw his father instantly. I am grateful that, although not always obvious, there are many things peppering Second Son's  life that proclaim he is his father's son. Most go unnoticed because they are, simply put, so much of what they both just are. But I took note of the moment, and it has stayed with me.

Lady in Waiting

visitors ...

... from not  far,  bearing a gift!

"Four-Four"

My sister phoned early this morning to tell of the safe arrival of her grandson.  We all had a sleepless night as we had learned my niece was being induced, and there could be a problem with the baby, which they thought was only about five pounds (yet nearly 39 weeks).

Her son-in-law had called her to share the good news just a few minutes before. Maybe Lulu was distracted by the sound of her grandson's cry, but she thought the new father said, "four-four."  "Four pounds, four ounces?" she screeched. (And when I heard the words, I immediately asked, "Apgar score 4-4?")

We were both wrong. For after a night of labor and back rubbing and waiting on God, little wee one's parents welcomed him, weighing in at a wonderful six and 1/2 pounds. Son-in-law was exclaiming Galatians 4:4––

" ... when the fullness of time came, God sent forth His son, born of a woman ..."

It feels like something good has happened today, and indeed it has. In the fullness of time.

What Mothers Know

I am so privileged to still have my mother nearby. Even though our roles have changed to a certain degree, she still seems to know more about many things than I do, and she never ceases to amaze me. The other day I learned that she knows how to tie a bow; something I never have been able to do properly. I didn't think about the fact that she would know, but of course, for certainly she tied many a sash on the back of her three little girls' dresses over the years. My niece was trying on a dress, and Mother matter-of-factly tied the bow right away.

"Can you teach me?" We went over it and over it and over it again, and I think I finally got it, to the soft and patient melody of my young niece: "Are we done yet?"

A Weekend in Review

The Singing of Birds

"The time of the singing of birds is come,"--the time when nature calls aloud to us and bids us awaken out of the deadness of personal grief, and rejoice in the new manifestations of His beauty that God is making to the world. 'Behold, I am alive for evermore, and the dead live to me.' Was not this the secret saying which the new venture was writing all over the hills, and which the young pattering leaves and singing birds were repeating in music? It must be well to have ears to hear and a heart that could respond with a little flutter of returning joy and thankfulness."

                                                                            ~Anne Keary (1825-1879)

A Phone Conversation

"Hello, Mrs. C__? This is the Caymen Polling Company calling."

"Bowling company?" I asked back.  

"No, I said polling company," she giggled.

" I just bowled the other night for the first time in years, and I thought someone noticed how good I was."  By now she was having a hard time talking seriously.  She began to ask me questions about my employment in the healthcare industry.  "How did you know where I work?" I asked.

"I don't know, it just came up on the computer."  She continued to ask questions about my job and if I was happy there and thought I'd be working there five years from now.  Spouse, overhearing the conversation mouthed, "I bet it's going to end up that they are looking for nurses." I asked her that. "No," (she was still an the verge of giggles), "I need a new job myself." I suggested she consider nursing. I hope I was alleviating some of the boredom she must face with her current job.

Then the conversation took a sharp turn. "How important is health care legislation to you?" A few more questions/comments and then an even sharper turn, "Do you know who you will vote for?" "What political party are you registered with?"

That was quite a wandering conversation.  From bowling (well, polling) to HC. We could have gotten right to the point and saved HC some money.

packing mags

I sat next to a thirty-something firefighter this morning and was having a little trouble reading a piece of paper. He offered to take it across the room so I could see it better. He has a good sense of humor. Then he said to me that they are "packing magnifying glasses" in the firetruck these days. "Seems to me," he leaned back in his chair, "that if someone needs a magnifying glass to read a map, maybe he shouldn't be driving." He went on to make some reference to these older guys needing help carrying the hoses anyway. 

I could read without glasses much longer than many of my peers, but when the eyes changed, they did quickly and it's simply an annoyance. I tuck an old pair of readers in the med drawer at work so I can read the lot number and dosage on the medication vials, but I still manage to see everything else as long as the light is good. And I haven't yet gotten used to the marvel of how clear even the tiniest of print becomes when I do put on  readers.

This young servant to our country had a birthday recently and I know his age. It's not all that many years until he too might need something to help him read a map. And he'll still be driving I'm sure. Without trying to magnify the issue beyond its reasonable bounds, I do hope he doesn't make a spectacle of himself.  All puns intended.

Lamb Supper

On a stormy Thursday evening, our book club gathered with our books around the beautifully vested table of one of us and were treated to a festal meal of leg of lamb with all the trimmings. At least six courses. Perfectly executed by Cassidy with the help of her husband and mother who tirelessly (?) worked in the kitchen. Being in their cozy and inviting home was enough of a treat, but to feast with good friends while we discussed The Supper of the Lamb made an evening to remember. Thank you, Cassidy! And thank you, Boniface!

There is so much to share from this rich book on more than the subject of cooking a leg of lamb (to serve eight people four times), but I will choose just one thing Robert Capon says after spending a whole chapter on cutting up an onion:

"[God] likes onions, therefore they are. The fit, the colors, the smell, the tensions, the tastes, the textures, the lines, the shapes are a response,

not to some forgotten decree that there

may as well be onions and turnips, but to His present delight––His intimate and immediate joy in all you have seen, and in the thousand other wonders you do not even suspect.

"... Man's real work is to look at the things of the world and to love them for what they are. That is, after all, what God does, and man was not made in God's image for nothing."

sugar, spice, and all things nice ...

We certainly enjoyed time with our nephew's little girls down in the most southeastern state. Now that they are running around and showing off their personalities, memories came quickly of 28 years ago when their daddy was their age. Such fun to push an umbrella stroller again ... read some of the stories we read to our kids ... picnic in the park ... and many other pleasures that become more so with little people around.

Airport Toys

air port, originally uploaded by podso.

Sitting around in airports again this week, it came to my attention that most people occupy themselves pretty well at an airport. The bottom line, if there is nothing else, is people-watching. That’s actually my favorite airport pastime. But I find most people busy with tangible toys. If they don’t have a laptop open (and if you happen to walk behind and see the screen, you find eight times out of ten, they are playing a game), they are messing with a cell phone (either talking on it or playing with it), an iPod, a blackberry, or, rarely, reading a paperback. A few sleep or eat, but very few aren’t doing something.

On today’s trip home there was a particularly interesting older European couple pushing the system. When they were checking in with a good deal of panache, I noticed they had a pair of wrist-cuffed crutches with them. I wondered what they were for. When it came time for early boarding, we headed for the door with my mother and they hobbled up, each using one of those crutches like a cane. Saw them later at our destination, walking at a good pace, “crutches” tucked under their arms. Toys or a true crutch (no pun intended)?