All We Can Do

"Do not let your growth in holiness depend upon surrounding circumstances, but rather constrain those circumstances to minister to  your growth. Beware of looking onward, or out of the present in any way, for the sanctification of your life. The only thing you can really control is the present––the actual moment that is passing by. Sanctify that from hour to hour and you sanctify your whole life; but brood over the past, or project yourself into the future, and you will lose all. The little act of obedience, love, self-restraint, meekness, patience, devotion, offered to you actually, is all you can do now, and if you neglect that to fret about something else at a distance, you lose your real opportunity of serving God."

--From the wise words of Mrs. Lear, a woman who lived throughout much of the 19th century.

where my windows are these days

When we used to drive to the east coast to visit my grandparents, one thing that kept us occupied was watching for particular signs, VW bugs, or anything else that might pass by of interest. We made a game of it. Most of you have played the same game.

I've been reminded of that lately as I've started checking out passing cars to see if the driver has the windows up or down.  Even on a day as hot as 100 degrees, I'm amazed at the number who have their windows down. They are taking seriously the concept that around town driving without the AC saves fuel.

I could write a whole post on air conditioning, and how much, for the most part, I dislike it. When we drive with the windows down, as we do as much as possible these days, I am so much more in touch with the world. Yup, I notice the heat, the scorch coming from the tarmac, smell the fumes, hear the birds, sense the breeze, and just feel like I'm really living, not insulated in a soundless, cold box.  Also, of course, it takes me back to our life in Ghana, and that's always a good thing.

Photo: My grandfather driving my dad (front seat) and uncle with the windows up. It looks like winter from their coats, and from my dad's position, they are looking for something. They are at Gettysburg, probably figuring out some battle.

Old Age is Not for Sissies

I've seen this saying hanging on the wall in the care center where my dad spent his last days.  It's a phrase often spoken there as well. And it's true.

It's kind of sad that for many, when life is supposed to get easier––job challenges, financial struggles, rebellious teenagers all a thing of the past––health challenges arrive on the scene.  And it may not just be one's own health, but that of a spouse or other loved ones. Broken hips, bad knees, cataracts, uncooperative hearts ... the effects of those carefree beach days soaking up the sun start messing with the skin ...  Almost overnight one realizes he or she is falling apart. Then all the character building, stamina, and faith garnered over the past years gets called into action as one bravely faces the challenges of each new day.

I think one of the hardest things is losing friends to death. Being the one that is still here. It gets very lonely.

So, the strong get going, facing each new trial head on with faith, determination, acceptance, and a lot of guts. Indeed, no sissies.

Hel-lo !!

The guy behind the counter at S*m's Club didn't seem fully focused when I asked him to add 1200 minutes to my mother's phone card. That started it all. My suspicion that it wasn't done correctly.  Then my mother told me that when she last used the card, it didn't sound like there was anything like 1200 minutes on it. I immediately assumed the worst. 

So I used the card to make a call and heard there were 1000-something minutes left on the card. That could not be right.

I gathered my evidence and called the phone card customer service and got a guy most likely on some other continent. He looked back on the records. "Yes, on June 28 there were over 300 minutes on the card. Oh yes, and I see the 1200 added there as you said."

"Okay," I reply, "Can you explain to me where all those minutes could go? She hasn't used that much, and 300 plus 1200 equals 1500." 

"Yes," the guy replied, " That's what I'm saying, one thousand, five hundred minutes."  I began to get exasperated. "Where could those minutes have gone? In my math, 300 plus 1200 is 1500, not 1000. How could she have used 450 minutes just like that?"

"Ma'am," came a polite, patient reply, " That's what I'm saying. 300 plus 1200 makes 1500 minutes. You have 1500 minutes on the card."

How embarrassing. When I made the call with the card, that's what the operator had been saying.  "One thousand five hundred minutes."  All along I was hearing "1,050 minutes."

I don't find it difficult to laugh at myself. "Oops ! I suppose I've made your day," I joked, "...this is a phone call you'll go home and tell about tonight--the erratic, insane, mathmatically-challenged woman."

"No problem ma'am ... well, yes, it is a little funny."

Closed for the Summer

I have other nieces I also have fun with––these aren't the "great" nieces, but my brother's girls. I just love visiting them, or "hanging out" with them when they come to see us. Both are full of life and are always involved (at ages 3 and 6) in something interesting. The oldest is home schooled by her mom, and this is her study area. It's fun to peek in here. Such a busy desk with remnants of all kinds of things going on. I remember when her parents lovingly prepared this room for her--I loved the pink and yellow theme, now covered by art, calendars, her little "to do" lists, etc. But, home school is over for the year, and her office is closed for now. See you in September!

happy birthday

A young friend of mine is moving on to her next 

year.  In some ways she seems older than what she is,

and in other ways, it seems like yesterday I brought 

her a yellow sun dress to celebrate her birth. She is 

a delight to all who know her, and, she can keep up 

with the best of us Austen readers. Her mother has 

taught her well and she's a rare young person who

thinks deeply about life. I happen to know that she 

also knows how to fast forward to the best parts of 

Pride and Prejudice!

The Farmer's Daughters

I have such fun with these two little girls when I visit them. Sometimes I forget I'm their grrrrreat aunt, and not their aunt. (It begs the question, "Can I be old enough to be a great aunt?")  Our oldest nephew is a blueberry farmer, and at the end of the harvest, family members gather to glean what is left on the bushes. They usually get a lot, and have a good time doing it. I wish I lived close enough to take part, but I usually get a taste of the frozen berries sometime during the year. It's hot where they live farther south from us, and, as you can see, a drink is a desirable thing. 

Photo by their grammy, Lulu

Phone Call from Heaven

A phone call from someone in heaven--during a memorial service? I've never experienced that before. But sure enough, in the middle of a sentence, the speaker excused himself and reached into his pocket to pull out his cell phone. Then began a conversation between him and Carol, who reached her heavenly home earlier this week. We were gathered amongst balloons, and refreshments of strawberries and ice cream, to celebrate her life.

Carol lived and died well. God allowed her time when she knew her death was imminent, to gather family around her to say good-bye, and to even make plans for her celebration (what she wanted her funeral to be called.)  More than likely with this phone call she was checking to see if her plans were being carried out. With great warmth and humor, the speaker bantered back and forth between his cell phone and the audience. It was so well done, and felt so real, we all thought we had just been with Carol again.

Carol fought her cancer for 2 1/2 years. I've never seen anyone with so much energy and passion for life, fight so long and so hard to live, yet accept what she had been given. At all times she sought to glorify God through her illness. Carol wrote a daily blog to keep us updated; my favorite was one of the  last she personally wrote, when she knew her fight was finished.

She was a mentor and encourager to me personally, and helped me a good deal with my work. I will miss her––not just for her help to me, but for her bright spirit, smile, vast knowledge, and extreme enthusiasm for, and interest in, life. What an example of how to live!

 

Last year I sent her a link to an article in Chr*stianity Today by former White House Press Secretary Tony Sn*w, also our most favorite news commentator, about his cancer and the blessings he had found in it. I've heard her refer to it more than once. How ironic that today––the day we say good-bye for now to Carol––that Tony Sn*w also loses his battle with cancer. (I wonder if they've met yet inside heaven's gates?) 

About both Carol and Tony you could say, as Abraham Lincoln said, "It's not the number of years in your life, but the life in your years." They both filled their years with life.  Many people prayed for Carol to be healed. I'm sure they did for Tony as well. And for both  you could say, while they were not cured, they are healed. 

photo not my own

A Gentle Rain

It was so good to wake up to rain today, The Gardner (a.k.a. Spouse) called it a "British rain." I was happy not to have to go anywhere, for I love a rainy day at home. After a week of tropical-type afternoon thunderstorms, this is a gentle, soaking, replenishing rain.  Of course the Gardener is thrilled for his garden and stubborn new grass,  but mostly he said, "I hope everyone is looking at this rain and remembering." Remembering our beseeching God for rain last year in the midst of one of the worst draughts.  Take note, for God is answering.

Meanwhile, it would be nice to take a nap on the porch today. We say about these days, "It's a British kind of day."  Time for a cup of tea. Thank you, Lord.

Uni's

It was great to clean out the garage the other day. I was surprised to find my nursing school uniforms––I bet they were transferred from the attic to the garage on the way to the trash and I decided to hold on to them a little longer. But, yellowed with age, they really need to go now.

I unpacked them all, still stiff with starch from their last washing, the collars and bibs pristinely packed in the zippered laundry bag that brought them to and from the cleaners. I saw my name stamped on each piece.  Blue and white stripes. How proud we were of them! Yes we complained about the ten minutes it took to get into them (5 buttons at the cuff, studs and other complex contraptions to attach the collar, bib and apron, and the secret folded Kleenex clipped on to the back of our hair to hold our caps on.) Yes we'd complain, but I know we were proud. I think deep down we didn't mind the limp bustle in the back of the uniform, or wearing the so out-of-it mid-calf long skirt (unheard of in the late 60s/early 70s). I think we rather liked the white stockings and proper nursing shoes ... proud probably because of the rich 100-year history of our school, and for its reputation for producing quality nurses ... proud because we were making it through the rigorous academics.

The summer of our senior year we got to wear whites––after all we were team leading and working full time as nurses in our chosen area of leadership. So when graduation arrived we all decided to cut off those long uniforms and hem them knee-length for graduation. What could they say, anyway? We were at Columbia University in the late 60s--rebellion was a part of us.

And nothing was said about our little deviation as we marched out onto the lush green lawn tucked down among the tall Manhattan skyscrapers, wearing our student uniforms for the last time. There was a sense of freedom in the small adventure of our shortened skirts, signifying an awareness that we would soon be on our own to make our own nursing judgements and decisions. 

I decided to keep the best uniform, wash it, and put it away. After all, I have a granddaughter now. With both her mom and grandmother nurses, she may dream about Florence Nightengale herself someday!

Live in the Moment

Father Tim said, "I believe if I were charged with having a goal, it would be to live without fretting––to live more fully in the moment, not always huffing about as I've done in recent years ... to live humbly––and appreciatively––with whatever God furnishes. Yes, that would be my goal." (from Light From Heaven by Jan Karon). 

I need to hear this today and every day!

Away

It's really quiet around here. Everyone seems to have gone somewhere. But we're here, longing for some time away to rest. So we are, we're going away right here. We have a wonderful back porch where we can sit and read and nap and eat––listen to the birds and look at the trees. You can't beat it, and with gas prices what they are, it's a good bargain. The phone won't ring much and we don't have to check our email. The fireworks were Thursday night, along with glorious symphony music.  And the flag is flying at the front door. We're set. And we're thankful for the freedom we enjoy in this country. Have a happy fourth.

A Small Book

It was just a little book---Beatrix Potter sized--but it caught our attention and entered our minds and souls. Nine women, on an unusually cool summer evening, reached for their reading glasses to share underlined favorite quotes from The Quotidian Life, as we joined in yet another book club evening. 

We usually try to make these times a tad on the festive side, for doesn't that add to the richness of life? We set a pretty table, light some candles, and for this book, enjoyed delicious peach cobbler and fruit pizza, with plantain chips and chocolate covered sunflower seeds on the side. And oh yes, the fruit drinks from Tr*der Joe's added a lot.

But back to this tiny, 88-paged paperback book, which was actually a talk given by the author. Some would-be readers were put off by the title: The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and Women's Work  by Kathleen Norris (who wrote The Cloister Walk.) But actually the author takes us beyond the seemingly "drudgery" of housework to the "mysterious way that the daily or 'quotidian' can open us up to the transforming presence of God."

Further: "Laundry, liturgy and women's work all serve to ground us in the world, and they need not grind us down. Our daily tasks, whether we perceive them as drudgery or essential, life-supporting work, do not define who we are as women or as human beings. But they have a considerable spiritual import, and their significance for Christian theology, the way they come together in the fabric of faith, is not often appreciated."

I'll probably quote from this little volume again. For there is much, much in it to ponder.

The Really True Jewels

Think about it: there are things in life that are the same whether we are rich or poor.  No matter our "status," we see the same moon in the same sky, we can cool our toes in the same oceans and lakes, we go to the same parks and picnic at the same beaches ... smell the same flowers, gaze at the same trees, skies, stars, clouds ... and I could go on. I heard someone say this recently and it caused me to pause and think. 

These gifts that we live with each day are the true diamond-studded jewels in our lives. They are the real riches––there for us all to gaze at, wonder at ... and worship the One Who Created Them All.

A Thousand Smiles

We figure between all the digital cameras of grandmas. parents, aunties and uncles, this little baby has had at least 1000 photos taken of her already! (Two weeks old here). 

It Really Happened

They left. The kids across the street, and their parents. We knew from the day they moved in a year ago that this day would come, but we didn't know we'd get so attached. Now when I drive into the quiet--all too quiet--cul de sac, there's a big lump in my throat. We know they are moving on to a wonderful new life. But for us, we're left here to miss them a lot. They've been great neighbors ... every single one of the five of them.  What a gift to us to know  them, even for a year. And now at least we can watch their blog and learn about their new adventures! Have a good life, you guys! Come back and see us!

(Drawing by Jack, of the photo on our swing––note the detail !)

Sunrise Sunset

"The daily round of sunrise and sunset, for example, that marks the coming and passing of each day, is no longer a symbol of human hopes, or of God's majesty, but a grind, something we must grit our teeth to endure. Our busy schedules, and even urban architecture, which all too often deprives us of a sense of the sky, has diminished our capacity to marvel with the psalmist in the passage of time as an expression of God's love for us and all creation:

'It was God who made the great lights,

whose love endures forever;

the sun to rule in the day,

whose love endures forever;

the moon and stars in the night,

whose love endures forever.' (Psalm 136:7-9)"

-from The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy and "Women's Work"  by Kathleen Norris ... our next book club read.

A Taste of Thai

I thought I was back in Thailand the other night.  We had Thai food at a local eatery where our chef was actually trained in Thailand. The meal was absolutely delicious, reminding us of a meal we had in Bangkok at an upscale hotel. Exquisite, spice-laden  sauces accompanied the five course meal that he had spent all day preparing. We 

ended with sweet sticky rice with mango. Soothed the pallet. 

The assistant wore Thai garb and several around the table were dressed in yellow, the apparent national color in Thailand (every other person there wears a yellow shirt it seems.) We were thankful to have some Thai currency left to leave a reasonable tip for the chef. He had worked so hard and we hope he knows what a wonderful memory he gave us!

It's All Relative

I participated in a yard sale today. It's been a long time since I've done one myself, though I used to have them often. Group sales are the best. They can be a lot of fun as you sit around with your morning coffee, smugly looking over your possessions that surely will bring some cash.

So I took some things over to Lydia Grace's today and stayed to help her tend the store. It was a great success. The somewhat overcast day, the breezes coming through her lovely, shaded carport, the almost endless stream of a great variety of folks coming up her drive to look, made for a good time.  A retired endodontist from Italy bought my lamp--he was one of my favorites. In his broken English (he has been here only 6 months) he told me how much he loves America. He, a well educated man, is studying now at our community college. Maybe he's learning English. Another great memory was a trio--grandma, mom, and daughter. Look alikes, and superb bargainers. What we enjoyed most was how grandma, the greatest shopper of the three, had all her money doled out in coinage, a dollar's worth tightly wrapped in tiny segments of plastic grocery bags.  Plop, plop, plop--and she lands three dollars in little bags on the table to pay for her newly prized possessions.

"So," I asked LG's husband, "Did you make a good profit?"

"Ah," replied a wise man, "It's all relative. For it's the whole package.  Not just the money, but the catharsis ... the cleaning out, the great feeling of seeing your junk head down the driveway. So, yes, it was a satisfactory profit."

There is a drawback to a group effort, though. That is, sometimes I shop from my friends. I could not help bringing home this little chair, which has found it's new home on my porch. Thanks, LG !

"Gifts For My Girl"

For beauty, I would buy a gem for you from the earth's heart 

and a ring that is gold clear through 

and clothes the colors of flowers ...

I would cultivate in you a gentle spirit,

and curiosity,

and wonder in your eyes ...

For your mind, poems and plays,

words on the pages of a thousand books ...

For your spirit, mysteries and praise,

sureties and prayer ...

from Luci Shaw's poem,

a poet whose little daughters and sons I babysat for as a teenager,

sent to me in a wonderful card by Boniface. Thank you.

Morning Has Broken

It's hot here. Summers always are. We try to save money and fuel by not cooling the house too much. We rely on fans. But in the morning, when you come away from a fan, the house can feel so warm and stuffy. That's when the outside feels much cooler, so we open up, letting the fresh, dew-dipped air fill the house. It's so refreshing. There's just nothing like mornings, especially early morning when the birds are waking up, and everything feels invigorating and new.

There's lots of hope in each morning as well––hope for what we expect the new day to hold and what we don't know that it might hold. I love mornings. They are like a new celebration every day. The old traditional Gaelic song says (verse three):

Mine is the sunlight! Mine is the morning,

Born of the one light Eden saw play.

Praise with elation; praise every morning,

God's recreation of the new day!

P.S.  Going to work on that grandmother business tomorrow!!!

no words ...

are necessary here! Grandmothering has been highly recommended to me, and I'm taking it on!

Photo: clc

The Old and the New: Happy Father's Day

This is a special father's day as youngest is now a father. His sweet little baby girl made her debut two days ago, just in time to wish her daddy a happy Father's Day. I always, of course, think of my own dear father, now in heaven, on this day of honoring our dads. He's pictured here with his firstborn daughter. I've always thought of him as the best dad a girl could have. And the other photo (I'm sure you can tell which is which) is my father's namesake, youngest son, with his firstborn daughter.

I must also honor "the Gardener,"  father of our two boys. I can't begin to describe all the wonderful ways he has fathered our sons--playing with them, reading to them, teaching them, listening to them, exploring with them, sacrificing for them, taking risks with them and for them, giving them the gift of time ... how much he means to all of us. Happy Father's Day!

It's in How You Take a Look ...

We could say our neighbors don't cut their grass. Or, we could say we live near a lovely meadow. Just like looking down into a pail of water. Half full, or half empty. It's all in how you look at things.  It can make a wonderful difference, can't it?

Practice

What a fun evening I had with the neighbor kiddos...good practice for this grandma-to-be. I can still read for an hour at a time, and get down on the floor to build with blocks.
A hammock ride was the goal, but the mossies ran us off quickly. Bummer. Before we went inside, though, we happened to get a little wet with the hose. 
A baby resting his head on your shoulder as he falls asleep ... is there anything quite so nice? By the way, youngest son's and wife's baby has yet to make her appearance. I guess when she's good and ready we'll meet her!

Pictures Come Alive

A hot, sultry Sunday afternoon––far hotter than it should be this early in June. I was hanging out at my mom's and decided to sift through her small collection of videos. Only two were actually purchased movies. The others were family recordings of weddings, anniversaries, along with a couple of church promos that I tossed. I found one with my grandfather's home movies on it, compiled some years back by my uncle. I guess our grandfather had one of the early home movie cameras, and took quite a few movies. I had forgotten about it.

Mom and I sat spellbound for 90 minutes. I was not alive when these movies were made, but they brought to life photos that I've grown up looking at and hearing about. My grandfather and his brothers playing their harmonicas--now I saw how they joked together as they played, and the picnic table laid out nearby. The very familiar family photo with the navy son (the uncle that put the films together for us) who had been fooling around pushing his navy hat back on his head before the photo was taken. Little kids were running everywhere and were scooped up and arranged. After the photo was taken, my grandmother gathered up an armful of hydrangeas (she always loved flowers, but hydrangeas have always reminded me of her the most.) And then the baby photo with my parents and their first born. How cute to see the expressions my sister made, and how my parents played with her. And, since the movies were in color, I found out that she is all in pink from head to toe, including blankets! It all was a bit surreal, like I was peeking in on something, seeing how things really were beyond the staid photos.

I saw sweethearts (my mom and dad) whisper to each other and laugh. What were they saying? I saw someone  tease my mom and she cover her face with her hands in shyness. Unfortunately these were silent movies. But my uncle had put music in the background. That always makes it a lot more emotional for me.  I swallowed back tears as I looked over at my mom, sitting there engrossed in her past, seeing her beloved as a young man, and many loved friends and family members. She turned to me and said, "They've all gone to heaven, every one of them." (Well we did see one friend who still lives at 91).  What must that be like for her?

We're extremely thankful for the younger generations, three new great-grandbabies being born this year, and new home movies for the new memories.

Nappy Time

I went to a double friend's house the other day ("double" meaning I am friends with both the mother and the daughter of the house.) The daughter was visiting from her home out west. I was anxious to meet her baby, now five months old. I also was hoping for a diaper demo as we had emailed back and forth before the baby came as to the pros and cons of cloth diapers, and this new mom and her friends are really into them! I knew it was far more than the cloth diapers (called "nappies" across the pond) we used to use ... in fact, what they do could easily be called a "diapering system." 

I was intrigued as Katrina showed how the varied diapering systems worked.  She rattled off brand names that were so cutely bottom-oriented that you had to smile. The diapering was quite a process, but certainly no leaking could possibly come through! I especially liked the different colors. (At the shower, the mother-to- be received muslin-looking cloth diapers that we labeled "whole wheat.")

Everything comes back around, doesn't it? Gradually we're seeing a lot more of cloth diapers, (and not all by just "greenies"), glass baby bottles, home-made baby food, and moms choosing to stay home when possible.

But it's rather nice to be finished with those days, and to just sit back and watch (and pray for these young moms and their wee ones). 

The well-diapered baby being worn by his mom in an incredible wrap that also begged a demo.

A Cradle Full

A very old friend––not in her age, but in the years we've known each other (and mostly by correspondence, since those many years ago when we sang next to each other in a church choir––she a newlywed and now with a son in college)––wrote and said that she was so captivated by all our I Captured the Castle chatter that she went and ordered a used copy online. She told me about how this little book might jump ahead of this cradle full of her current books-waiting-to-be-read. 

Debven says, though, that she wishes the cradle was filled with another baby.  The books can go anywhere.

Photo credit: either Debven or one of her nine children.

We Captured the Castle!

1. This mother of eight who loves to read has a favorite books list on her blog.

2. A young homeschooling mom of three read her list and started to read one of the books.

3. Yours Truly needed a book that "captured" her attention, noticed the book recommendation, found it in the library, started reading and couldn't put it down.

4. Friends noticed the book "nod" on the blog. At a Bible study the book was brought up. Boniface, an avid reader, and mother of four tall boys and a delightful daughter,  had of course read it.  And she had given a copy lovingly found at a used book store, to Barbarina on her last birthday.  Barbarina, having saved the reading of it for a time, immediately began to read the book. Lydia Grace heard about it, as did Robin, and both began to read. Robin's mom picked the book up at her house and read it in a couple of days. Another friend took loan of the book to read it.

5. Several got the movie out of the library to watch, but declared it a bit of a let-down (with some unnecessary embellishments) after reading the book. (Isn't that always how it is?)

6. Sooooo ... we decided an impromptu book club meeting was in order and that's just what we did. Six of us met at a coffee house--not at all resembling a castle--but Barbarina gifted each of us with a mug with a beautiful castle adorning it. Each person brought interesting insights from reading this unusual book, and favorite quotes jumped from the pages of our notebooks.  

Amazing ripple effect of one person posting a favorite book list on her blog. We counted at least eight having read it, and most of us want to read it again! Thanks Melissa! Wish you could have been with us!

Old Men and Roses

Spouse, now A.K.A. "The Gardener," walked into a lunchroom filled with women a few days ago and declared, "A room full of roses!" They squealed in delight. Women generally love my genuinely nice, soft-spoken giant of a husband. The comment may have come because he has roses on his mind. He has finally "come into his own" with roses this year. 

When we moved to this house now nine years ago, he inherited a pretty lame rosebush. He learned how to prune, feed, and then even transplanted the bush. Possibly inspired by newer, younger bushes in our garden, this old guy decided to come to life in a big way this year. Its roses right now are spectacular. Here are four photos of the same three roses taken this evening, transformed in photo shop to four different shades. I like the pale rose the best.

Good friends of ours moved this past summer into a house surrounded by glorious rose bushes. (You can see some of theirs in the sidebar of this blog.) They bought the house from retired folks who had lots of time to tend their garden. Frederico took a crash course on rose management, and now he too is working wonders with his roses. What is funny is to hear Frederico and The Gardener (what Spouse thinks he might like to be called on this blog--but maybe just for the summer months) discuss their roses. They suddenly catch themselves at what they are doing and say, "We sound like two old men!" Well, all I can say is they are closer to that stage of life than they were 24 years ago when their friendship began!