heaps of love ...

Clazina, known as Nita, was the oldest of two daughters in a line-up of eight children born to Dutch immigrants--which, if you can do simple math, means there were six brothers. I should say, eight kids that lived into adulthood. Her little sister came way at the end of the lineup--what some families call the "caboose."  My great-aunt Nita was a favorite of mine. She was a strong woman, and she never married. Aunt Nita was the executive assistant (as we would call it today) for her lawyer brother, and had the time to involve herself in many peoples' lives––including her nieces and nephews and their children––as well as to work in the family mission and, as the family matriarch, kept track of everyone in the large extended family.

I remember visiting my aunt when she lived with my great grandmother, taking care of her mother in her later years. But I remember her most when we would visit her in her one room abode tucked inside a big Dutch retirement home. I can still hear her resonant voice. And remember her long hair (that reached below her waist) which she wore in a bun. When she eventually, in her upper nineties, moved to the care center, they cut off her hair. She was disgruntled. In fact, the last visit I had with her she complained about it. When we would take our little boys to visit, she always had a some candy stashed away for them to eat. Her desk was piled high with letters ... and she answered every one. One time she showed me the little record book she kept of the letters she wrote. Well over 1000 a year.  We'd feel very special to see our photo on her mirror. (I think the missionary great-nieces were the ones to make the mirror post.)

 

But most of all I remember Aunt Nita's notes to me. After I got married, each year she would send us an anniversary card, with a note always included. She signed it as she had all the letters she wrote me in my childhood, "Heaps of love and daily prayers ..."  I did not take lightly her words, and indeed knew that she meant what she said.  Her prayers were a true gift to us, something we counted on in life.

When she went to Glory a few years ago, at age 103, I felt we had lost something more than just my Aunt Nita. But, I am left with a legacy, a memory, and a model.

It seems like yesterday. Thirty-seven years ago (tomorrow) we were married on the edge of Hurricane Doro. Things dried out enough to let all our guests get there, but a bridesmaid missed the rehearsal because of it. My mother told me tonight that she thinks it was so funny that we got dressed at our house (the parsonage) and then my bridesmaids and I marched in our wedding finery across the busy street to the church. I had forgotten that bit of drama.

It's been an eventful 37 years ... challenges we never dreamed of have met us along the way. But they've turned into precious memories of leaning on God and seeing His power! 

Best friends forever, we are.

note: A rare beardless photo of the gardener; probably the last time I saw his chin.

How Dreams Begin

Mowing the lawn is a lot like washing dishes. Kind of a mindless task that allows a brain like mine to get plenty busy thinking about all kinds of things. 

 

I used to day dream a lot in school. Back then no one knew about that little three-lettered brain syndrome that begins with "A" and ends with "D." I had it for sure (and still do.)  And I still day dream, especially when doing simple household chores. It's refreshing. Usually my brain is overactively trying to comprehend the newest change in my nursing job, or figuring out just how to rewrite an article for my editing job, or attempting to keep straight the refilling of my mother's long list of medications. So I think it deserves "down time."

The other day when I was tossing the grass clippings way at the back of our property where there is a mini-forest, I looked around and realized how much room there really was there. (Since we live on a cul de sac, most of our lot is in back of the house.) My mind went to cutting down some trees to clear the area ... why, another little house would fit just fine there. What about building a little guest cottage? I've always wanted to run a bed and breakfast. My mind began to plan what the place would look like--and almost got to decorating it. Curtains or blinds? Kind of fun. A little "cottage in the woods."

Well that's as far as that dream is going, but what a good mental vacation it was. I mentioned it to the Gardener who looked at me like I was daft and said something about property easements. But still as I look out across the yard I can see a vision of a little place with shutters and window boxes filled with flowers. "Breakfast at eight?"

not my photo

A Sea of Blueberries

Boniface brought us blueberries. What richness! This time I froze most of them to use later in our blueberry pancakes. They bounced around on the cookie sheet like little china balls. And as I carefully scooped the frozen berries into the freezer bag I was amazed at the thought that Boniface handpicked each and every berry.  We are blessed. Thanks, good friend!

A Light in the Window

We still miss the kids across the street who moved last month. But it's great to get emails from my friend, their mom, and to continue hearing about their adventures as well as seeing them on their blog. The other day their mom wrote:

"Jack found a Henry Huggins book yesterday...he started reading it in bed at 8:00.... When I went to check on the kids at 10:15 he was still reading, legs propped up, all kicked back. He just grinned. I told him he needed to get to sleep and he said he really needed to find out what happened next. He read all but one chapter of that book! He said, 'Well, mom, I guess you didn't expect to find me still awake, huh?' If we still lived in the cul-de-sac  you would have seen a little light still on in his bedroom window!"

I think Jack is just starting first grade (homeschool).

Photo: Jack's bedroom window on moving day.

T M I

"Brown never comes after 6 p.m. unless it's Christmas."

"He'll will be here in 10 minutes," eldest son insisted.

"And how do you know that?"

"I tracked it and he's on his way."

Sure enough, ten minutes later the brown truck pulled up and the long-awaited package was delivered.

In my mind, that's just a little too much information. Whatever happened to feeling some suspense about when a package might arrive? Now we can narrow it down to a ten-minute time span? No wonder I feel a bit confused and overwhelmed these days. Information overload.

I enjoy my friends who I see regularly here in town. But I have many more around the world, literally, that I keep in touch with--with far greater frequency than the days before email contact.  And then (skipping My Space for me) along came Facebook. Reconnecting with cousins and old friends, looking at their photos--it can almost be ... too much information.

Don't get me wrong--I love keeping in touch, and I'm known to be better at it than many. It's interesting to ponder, though. Facebook is superficial--like skimming over the water's surface. You learn and see only what people want you to (and, I might add, the "younger" generation exposes way more than the older), so that it can be--well, not really real life.

It's still something I'm figuring out--these new ways of keeping in touch. How long will we keep up such a pace of being connected? Will we ever go back to not wanting to know? Could "ignorance [really be] bliss?"

Just In

These birds flew in from the south for my birthday. Opening them was very suspenseful. My brother-in-law had packed them so well for my sister that I about (or actually did) broke into a sweat getting the parcel undone. Once inside, peeking out of extensive bubble wrap, were two blue and white print fabric sacks, each tied with a blue bow. And inside the sacks? These two guys.

My sister said they called out to her, saying they were needed on my porch. She pondered for a long time how to wrap them for a birthday gift, and then came up with the adorable sacks. I just love my birds, and even more, the idea that she knew me well enough to know I would like them.

I don't like to call attention to myself, and usually wish my birthday would slip by unnoticed. But this year some dear friends and family gave me sweet gifts that let me know that they really know me.  For one, my kids gave me some sleek, celery-green mixing bowls that spice up the kitchen and are such fun to use. Someone else gave me my first Will*w Tree Angel (angel of the kitchen!)

This caused me to consider my gift giving. Sometimes it's just to get it checked off my "to-do list," but how much more it means, both to me and to the recipient, to put thought into a gift and to be intentional about it. If you really know the person, you will know what to give, and you will get more pleasure from the giving.

I know God is involved in all aspects of life...even my gift giving and wrapping. It's such fun for me to run up to my little office where I store all kinds of things, including wrapping paper and ribbons (I'm a big recycler in this department)--never knowing for sure what I'll find. Somehow there's always just the right piece of wrap (usually second or third time around) and a piece of ribbon to polish the package, along with something for a card. This has become something I look forward to––seeing just what God will put together. In all His wisdom God said that it is better to give than to receive, and that is such a truth. 

hysterical but controlled ...

... so did the Gardener say about me this morning. A compliment of sorts. Our microwave had died two weeks ago, and in this day and age it's usually more costly to repair them than to replace them. It had run its lifespan, so we got a new one. It finally was delivered and installed yesterday. I wasn't home, but the Gardener assured me it had been tested. So, I plop some meat in to defrost. "What's that banging noise?" I call out to him. 

"What banging noise?"  Turns out nothing heated evenly, and the glass plate in it seemed uneven and got too hot. Things were not right. I was a bit upset. So later that evening we decide to call the company. They will call to set up a date to send a repairman out.

Suddenly I think, "What's wrong with that picture?" A repairman? I ask for the phone. I call the salesman and give him my spiel. "It doesn't sound right to me that I pay for a brand new machine, but get a repaired one."

He agreed that it made sense and he told me who to call in the morning. This morning in my phone conversation I suggested politely but strongly that the repairman bring a new machine on his truck when he comes. A few minutes later the phone rings, "We are bringing you a new microwave in the next half hour."  Yes!

When all was said and done, the Gardener, a.k.a. kind and gentle Spouse, said, "Well done my dear. It just needed a woman to take care of this ... hysterical, but controlled."

Note: the young installer asked both the Gardener and I how are days were going and answered for both of us before we could, "Well I guess I know the answer to that ... not well, huh?"  I thought to myself, if he thinks a bummer microwave is going to give us a bad day, he hasn't been around too long. Perspective ...

Knowing Its Own Mind

This may be one of my favorite posts of all times ... just because I love the colors on this house. Not that I'd have them on my own house, but I love that someone enjoys color enough to bravely do this. Here we go:

"Muddy colored walls are nothing but a blight. So are undecided colors that compromise ... [such as] blues that are neither sea, sky, nor good old cornflower. There should never be a doubt what your color has to say .... It may be chalk blue, watermelon pink, lemon yellow, grass green, chocolate brown, cafe au lait, warm gray––anything on earth you like, just as long as it knows its own mind."

So wrote Dorothy Draper (1889-1969)  in 1939, in her book Decorating is Fun! How to Be Your Own Decorator.

Hmm... what are the colors in my house saying?

oh the weather outside ...

There should be some comment made about the glorious weather we are having here. Everyone has noticed ... and rejoiced. It's as if we've been transplanted up to some northern state where they have bearable summers! Opening the house today, and feeling the cool dry air flow in ... ah, there's nothing like it! What a gift!

not my corner grocery

I've know I've posted about Walm*rt before, and I don't mean to rant, but sometimes I just need to comment. I rushed over to this store at the "witching hour" of 5 p.m.––on a Friday no less. The traffic just to get near the store was atrocious.  I felt like I was self-inflicting some pain as I went forth to conquer the parking lot. Who possibly could have designed one where you had to enter one lane, literally going opposite the traffic and painted arrow, and then  swivel around to get to another lane going the right direction? As I attempted to twist and turn to find a parking spot in the treeless, sunbaked tarmac, I felt like I was in a two-thirds world country. Monday mornings the place is spotless, but on a Friday afternoon I stepped over squished soda cans, sputem, plastic bags flapping in the breeze, and passed by people of every ethnicity, size, and shape, as I made my way to the door. Upon entering I began some serious walking exercise to get the milk I need from the rear of the store.

Oh yes, and my shopping list was on the kitchen table back at home.

I think I must have prepared myself for the worse, for it wasn't all that bad. I rehearsed what I could remember from my list, and headed up and down the aisles. There wasn't even a line at the check out (which is the advantage of shopping at a busy time that time of day––all the cashiers are actually working at their check-out stations.)

Sailed on home. The shopping list was not waiting for me on the table, but I found it later somewhere else. And I hadn't forgotten a thing on it. Exhausting, isn't it? And not quite like the Wednesday once-a-week shopping my mother did at the corner grocery store!

I'm a little busy right now ...

clc photo

birthday bliss

I had a quiet birthday.  Fitting that it be a bit sober on this birthday before a new decade. The Gardener asked me the day before what I would like to do for my birthday. I told him the truth. "Nothing."  My dream of a day. We were in the mountains for a week, in a wonderful cabin friends excitedly asked us if we wouldn't want to use it for a week. ("Of course.") It was tucked far away in a national forest in Western North Carolina ... near a beautiful lake.

So I got my wish. This is what I did. I slept in (well 'til 8 a.m.) and woke up slowly (isn't that a luxury).... Had a leisurely breakfast on the wonderful porch. Went for a walk in the woods, up the hill to beautiful views of the lake and mountains. And I read, read, and read on the porch ... and even took a nap (that wonderful kind where you are so relaxed you nod off while reading and wake up 30 minutes later). I got two phone calls (cell phones don't work there, but they do have a land line): youngest wishing me a happy birthday, and another call with some special news that could not wait for our return.  I already forget what dvd we watched that night, but it was my choice. And the meals were not memorable in what they were, but memorable because they were eaten at the porch table. A quiet day ... just what the birthday girl ordered.  A  little corner of bliss!

The Sowing Begins

"Thank the Lord, the rains have finally come. It is very late in the year to begin sowing but people have no choice. At first the rain was hit and miss in places but almost every one has been able to begin now. For many the difficulty will be in getting bullocks to plow. There are so few available and people line up to give their name and ask for help from those who have them. Now is when there is a lot of hard work to do and little food to give the energy and strength to do it. With the rain come more mosquitoes and the chance for a malaria attack."

A letter from a friend in northern Ghana reminds me of how easy life is for us here, and how difficult it is for much of the rest of the world. In the north of Ghana, simply put, they totally depend on the rains for their gardens and farms, and therefore their subsistence. It truly puts the relative ease of my life in perspective.

unknown photographer

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!