Breaking the Bank

Gentle Gardener wisely commented the other day, "You know, piggy banks used to be made so you couldn't get the money out (easily)."  That's the way it was supposed to be.  I remember. One had to actually  break the bank to get out the coins, unless you were really good at shaking it upside down while inserting a table knife. I remember being disappointed at the number of pennies, rather than larger coins, that fell out with that method. I'd hold it over my head and peek into the slot, seeing all those coins that would not fall out.

When our kids came along the banks had twister holes on the bottom, not always easy to open, but definitely more accessible than a piggy bank that actually had to be broken to get the cash out.  Now, as time marches on, I understand there are play atm machines where, with a toy plastic card, a child can get money out. Just like mommy or daddy. 

What's wrong with that picture?

... Photo: not mine, my piggy bank was broken long ago.

seeing double

I always look forward to visits from my mom's baby sisters and their spouses. When I was little we called them "Aunt Twinnies" and even though I can tell them apart, there still are those moments.... Today was one of them. Wandering around a tourist spot in our fair city I at times had to stop and think or remember what each was wearing to be sure I had them straight.

When they arrived at our house during our time of greeting, I noticed they were wearing almost identical 

scarves with similar outfits. " Did you plan this?" Of course I had to ask, while guessing the answer, which was "no." The scarves were free gifts obtained at separate times with purchases at the same store. 

"Look at this," they said next, thrusting forth their feet. Same exact argyle socks. Exactly the same. Bought unbeknown  to each other, and put on that morning with no idea the other twin even owned a pair.  Sharing the same genes, what can you expect?

We had a fun visit ... as always. They bring lots of energy and conversation. They are always interested in everything. That might be the secret to why they seem much younger than they actually are.

Needles and Threads

Old friends are like old shoes. I think the longer the friendship, the more comfortable you are with each other. I still remember the night I met my friend Susan, probably 22 years ago. We were at a church supper and sat by each other. We both had big hair and small kids, and hit it off right away. We ended up seeing a lot of each other as we home schooled our children, and shared in activities. I helped her come along in her new faith in Christ, but that seems like very little compared to the many blessings she has brought to my life.

Just one example is her gifts of quilts.  Susan is an extraordinary quilter and she has made several for me--from a tiny broach and a bookmark, to a book cover, a wonderful, frequently-coveted-by-others tote for my mother's walker, a gorgeous quilt for my granddaughter, and, my pride and joy--the teapot quilt seen on the sidebar.

 

Personally, I can't imagine making a quilt. Having patience, the eye for it, or the skill. Susan has it all, and shares her gift with others so creatively.

 

So I was thrilled to visit an art gallery in a neighboring town the other day to see some of her quilts on display. They were preparing things for the big opening reception, but even though they weren't yet tagged, I could pick out a few that "looked like" my friend.  And I was right. Congratulations, Susan, and, by the way, happy birthday today!

music brings smiles

"Doe a deer, a female deer..."  I've never seen anything quite like it. Little One can be fussy or crying, but lean into her and begin to sing this wonderful little song and the crying stops, her eyes light up, and the hint of a smile begins. Apparently this is the favorite song her mommy and daddy sing to her.  The wonder of music! Good for the soul and good for crying babes!

EBC photo, used with permission. Little BKC has learned to give hugs!

h o o p s

The Gardener, a.k.a. "Chief" for this post, has taken up following some college basketball the past few years. ("Chief" was the Gardener's nickname in college even before he was captain of the team.) 

Usually he goes with other guys, but this year I've joined him a couple of times and it has been wonderfully fun to be back in a college gym watching an exciting, close match. We especially follow two brothers from our city at different colleges, whose dad was an NBA star. For sure, they may be too someday, they are that good. Meanwhile they are fun to watch at this stage of their careers.

Squint ... and I can be back in our college gym. Not much really has changed from years ago. I see the same kind of students sprawled on the bleachers, some of the same cheers (though we never threw cheerleaders in the air like they do today), the same occasional injured player in a flannel shirt and on crutches, hanging around the bench. While the longish hair length is similar to our "era," the shorts these guys were wearing are extremely different ... baggy and more like long culottes than the shorts of our era (see the Gardener in sidebar, early 70s).  I wonder how they can get around and even play the game, but they manage and are as fast as any. I find myself screaming at the ref, cheering, and yelling as if it were my home team. It doesn't really matter that much to me if the team I root for wins or loses, but apparently it's just easy to catch the fever.

As we left the gym the other night, I grabbed the "Chief's" hand, looked up at him, and tried to get the sense of walking out of a game with him just as we used to years ago. His hair would be wet from showering and he'd be limping with sore muscles. We'd head with our friends out to the local diner for a sandwich. Man, that was just yesterday.

not my photo

Remnants

There are some things that remain after Christmas is put away. It is hard to let go of the tablecloth my sister brought me when she visited, which she got at a sale of the household goods of an 80-something-year-old woman. I love it and it's so cheery-looking. The poinsettias will last a long while, the "veiled" lights will stay up until probably March, and the blue Christmas plate ... a little longer, please.  And who will eat all those candy canes?

story time

I love reading to children. Probably my very most favorite thing about the years we home schooled our boys was the time we had to read many books together. When we were young parents, an older, wiser parent told us that the three things a child needs are: balls, books, and blocks. Therefore I love to give books as baby shower presents. This photo, taken at Christmas of Little One being read to by her daddy, is already a favorite of mine. I bet you can guess why!

Rest

I took this photo at a Christmas home tour we went to at a nearby small town. It reminds me of what I'd like to do a bit of ... rest!  And read! What a lovely spot for just doing that! 

An Empty Page

When I think over the past, event-filled four years, I am amazed at all the unanticipated things that came into our lives. In many ways those years are like a blur, fast-forwarded on a DVD player. Sometimes I notice changes around our city from these years, and feel like Rip Van Winkle just waking up. 

And now another year is here. Maybe things will slow down a bit. Maybe they won't. The year ahead is like a blank page, waiting to be filled. There is one certainty, the rest are only guesses. God is faithful, as He has been in the past, and promises to be in the future.

A  tangible  peace fills me because of this certainty. I carry it, mixed with a big dose of joy and hope, in my pocket as the year moves ahead, for whatever may come to be written on those pages. "Be strong and of good courage ... fear not, nor be dismayed; for the Lord God ... will be with you; He will not fail you nor forsake you." (I Chron. 28:20)

shrimp a la new year

It was a busy day at the hospital and the thought of going to a proposed party was not too exciting on this chilly New Year's Eve. Rather, a warm fire and my feet up to a good book or dvd sounded better. But first, dinner. Shouldn't it be something rather special on this last night of the year? More Christmas leftovers didn't sound too great.

So I looked around. To start with I noticed some leftover toasted Ramon noodles from a previous salad. And half a bag of mini fully cooked shrimp in the freezer.  A box of pasta. A wee bit of asiago cheese.  A small can of mushroom pieces. Spinach leaves and salad fixings. And, to top it off, some tomato bruschetta.

The shrimp, mushrooms, bruschetta, and cheese joined pasta laced with olive oil. The ramon noodles topped it at the table.  A crisp salad and a tall glass of water rounded out what became a splendid 

meal, getting very near to gourmet.

It was sort of like a treasure hunt that happened to work out well. Oh yes, some candlelight only helped the tastebuds even more.

Happy New Year!

good-bye Christmas ...

... good memories.

The Echoes Remain

All is quiet now--the last guests left this morning--but echoes of rich family times are ringing throughout the house and in my heart. The unexpected visit of so many family members was delightful. After cooking for 15, I'm looking at leftovers for a few meals.  

My sister teases me that I get the laundry started before she even gets out the door. But she understands. 

Not always a good idea though, I've had people come back--car breakdowns, or canceled flights ... and the linens not yet out of the dryer!

The highchair seems particularly silent.

A Year in Review

Here are some of my favorite blog photos over the past year or 18 months. After all, a picture is worth a thousand words!  Click on for a better view.  Cindy, whose blog I enjoy, suggested a year in review photo collage. What a fun idea. Check on her blog, My Romantic Home, for many more!

Happy New Year!

Love at First Sight

When these two little sisters visited their great-grandmother's house, they went straight for this dollie. They had a little supervised visit with her before she, the doll, needed a nap desperately.  The doll was their great-great-grandmother's, and has been to the doll hospital once in her life. She has a new (35 years new?) set of clothes handmade by one of the girls' great aunties (not me).

they've arrived

the youngest of the six girls gets some space of her own.

Christmas Joy

"...for we have seen His star in the east and have come to worship Him." (Matthew 2)

Glimpses and Half a Dozen

Seven, 4, 3, 2, 6 months, and 2 months.  A half-dozen little girls all here at our house! Sometimes impromptu is the most fun, as we just found out our quiet Christmas will not be so quiet after all. More family members are joining us beginning Christmas evening. Our little granddaughter will already be here in town, but she will get to meet again, and for the first time, five little girl cousins, among other relatives. We will have some fun!

Photos: Some glimpses of our house this Christmas.

at the back of the tree

I told some friends who were over the other night that I was going to do a post about the ornaments at "the back of the tree."  Some of the wise guys immediately got up and began to check out the ornaments on the back side of our tree, looking to see if I had put any that they'd given me back there--teasing me for sure.  We don't have a tree that would grace the covers of any home or decorating magazines.  Our ornaments, except for some generic "fillers" are important to us because they have history. The ones hung at the back may have the most history, and are very special, and ones I would never give up, but I don't necessarily want them centered in the front.  There are rough plastic Santa boots and peeling antique ornaments from the Gardener's and his mother's childhood, the years when they had a tree. Or ones we handmade with clothespins the Christmas in Africa when the Gardener was so very ill. And some vintage crocheted ones I made in the 70s. We probably all have such ornaments.

But wait a minute. I just realized something. These back of the tree guys are really front and center, for our tree is at a window at the front of the house. They join the merry lights and shine out to anyone heading to our front door. So ... depending how you look at it ....  

And the stories they could tell ...

Anticipation

Part One: Just what is this feeling you get in December, like something good is going to happen? There is an anticipation in the air, and the twinkling lights on Christmas trees and front doors just add to the magical feeling. The bustle in the shops, the traffic, the smell of baking, the decorations at the mall--all herald something that's coming. Every year I think about this. And what is the actual apex or peak of the holiday experience? For me, Christmas Eve is the very best of it all while Christmas morning seems a bit paler, and by the time the presents are opened, there seems to be less sparkle to the tree lights.

Part Two: Often I pull back and look at it all through a different lens. The evergreen trees, the wreaths, the candy canes, the colors of red, green, white, and even blue ... are all rich in symbolism.  When I look at everything while keeping that symbolism in mind, there is much more to the whole holiday thing. The Christ story is beloved and  familiar, so amazing, and with that focus you see it everywhere.

It is the advent after all ... it's all readying and  looking forward to His birth. Of course we feel the excitement; it's built in us. All the stuff that goes on--it's just a big celebration about the Christ Child's birth so long ago. I know it, but what amazes me is that the secular world is caught up in it too--and probably many of them are so centered in tinsel that they either don't realize what they are celebrating, or they simply forget the true focus. If I regroup with the Advent front and center, then there is no pondering any more. Anticipation, yes, and, wonder of wonders,  the whole deal, all for puny me and you..

Tempered By Hope

Seems that pain shows its face at Christmas time. There are for many what we could call the awkward "family complications." And then, also, the memories of those gone before us rise right up into our faces and pull at our hearts. I think of my mom and the many family members and friends who have moved on ahead of her, and how lonely it must feel even as she focuses on a new generation of children. There have been colleagues and friends who have gone on to Glory this year--relatively young husbands snatched away by cancer, young mothers whose children still needed them, grandfathers and grandmothers who had grandchildren to love, a co-worker who added shine to my publication, and, a wee babe whose life God tenderly planned to last only a week on this earth. Such sadness sears our souls, but is tempered by the wonderful hope of seeing loved ones alongside our Savior some day, and a deep and abiding awe and joy when we are able to wipe our tears and see God's design in it all.

a simpler time

We aren't really "doing" Christmas presents this year, except for the  "little ones." (It's incredibly freeing, and we are giving, instead, money to some needy families and also to a container going to Haiti.)  And I'm not baking many cookies either. Rather than running to stores (though the half-off sales are very enticing) I find myself dropping by thrift shops. There is such charm there. They are usually crowded with people, obviously affected by hard times, looking for just the right things to clothe their families, to decorate their homes, or to place under their trees.  

Maybe finding a treasure there endears the places to me as well. At the back of a shelf at GW I found something I have always wanted. I already have enough teapots to serve tea to a roomful of people, so I didn't need another. But this teapot shouted my name. I brought it home. And it's moved up front and center to my favorite every day teapot. To justify the 2.99 purchase, I mentally noted I may give it away someday. But for now, I love the shape and the fact that it's in my favorite house color.

cozy afternoon

Sunday afternoon, after the lunch with visiting Little One and her parents, and after a nap, my mom and I lit the Christmas lights and settled into the couch with blankets to watch L*ttle Women.  We were waiting to go to a Christmas concert in the evening. 

I hadn't watched the (at least) ten-year old movie version in awhile. Funny how a beloved, familiar tale can be just so cozy to enter into again, no matter how well  you know the story. I read the book many times as a child and fancied myself  Jo March. Similar personalities, the desire to write, a bit of a tomboy, and a love of old attics, I guess. In 6th grade, our tight-knit group of the ten girls in our class decided while  huddled together against the Chicago chill one day at recess, to take names of boys. Well I guess it was names that could be either for a boy or a girl. Who knows why we came up with this idea, but I was "Jo," and my name stuck throughout the year and even into junior high. My mother and I enjoyed the movie so much, and I think we made a memory I will long cherish.  I count her among the blessings in my life.

younger minds

A fear of mine has come to pass: "What if I repeat a blog?"

After my recent post on soup (and yes, that tells you what happened: it was my latest on several  blogs about my love of soup), a couple of  younger readers with sharp, alert minds asked me, "Didn't you do that post on soup before?" 

I do remember one or two on the subject, but, now very curious, I went back to the archives and did a little reading. To my chagrin I found an almost identical post.  Well, beloved readers, I guess we all know for sure how much I love soup. I'll try to move away from the subject, now that you know.

Photo: Yummy taco soup at Barbarino's house. I'm not the only one who has this love of soup.

Try a little polish

Note to self: If your shoes are going to be featured so near Miss Adorable, try some polish next time.  And maybe not your oldest pair of pants, as cozy as they may feel. The shoes are my very most favorite, comfortable old shoes. I've replaced them with a better pair, but I just can't let go of these-- for they are as "comfortable as an old shoe." But I could try a little more polish, though it truly doesn't do too much for them, they are so tired.

But that's an aside. The main thing is this photo of Little One. She sat quite nicely there between my feet, as she learns to sit up. I think this little girl and I are going to have lots of fun together in the coming years!

Photo by clc.

soup day

I should add that today is what I call a "soup day" and not because of what's on the stove, but because of the weather.  December should know better. Beautiful Christmas tree lights peek out of steamed up, rain-soaked windows. It's so warm and humid I don't care for a jacket or a sweater. We've had torrential rains, some thunder, and tornado watches. I call it a big pot of soup outside, and look forward to winter returning soon, I hope!

soup doctor

It's no secret that soup is my favorite food.  There is such variety and potential in it, and it's so forgiving. A pot of soup accepts just about anything thrown into it. When I start to make soup I always check the frig just to see what in there might want to join in. Great use of leftovers.

Sometimes I start with a store-bought soup. Then the fun begins.  The other day I bought a broccoli and cheese soup (a dry mix). After cooking the suggested 10 minutes I added chopped up potatoes, some left over bacon (turkey bacon in this house), a can of chopped chicken, a can of white corn, some white pepper, and a touch of wine.  With a salad on the side, it became a hearty meal. Trouble is, I can never make the same exact soup twice. If it's a winner, I should really write down what all I did.

Making soup, to me, is art. Just as a painter pulls together different colors off his palate of paints, so I pull together different ingredients and spices, blending until it tastes just right.  

All the liquid in the soup makes soup a sort of diet food ... sort of ...

(The photo above is of a different soup.)

What I Found in the Attic

All the members of our family, living here or not, have their own personal attics in this house. How cool is that! Our cape cod has lots of storage tucked under the eaves. We have a common attic and our "individual" ones. A couple of weeks ago I did a major cleaning of one of the rooms in our house, arranged so that the little door to the Gardener's attic had all but been occluded. I freed up the door and crawled in to have a look (Did I mention the downer to this expanse of storage? The doors require one to crawl into the attics and all but one have no source of light).

Back to the Gardener's attic. During my look-around, I discovered an old mirror--an antique I imagined, that we must have bought at some antique shop or garage sale, and put there until we decided where to hang it. Apparently we had forgotten about it. I loved it and wondered why I didn't have a clearer memory of purchasing it. I pulled it out, dusted it off, and brought it downstairs, looking around for the perfect spot to hang it. Did I mention how much I loved it? And what a find it must have been. It's hard to believe I hid it away in the attic.

It was heavy so I knew I could not hang this one myself. The Gardener was invited into the conversation and we determined the right spot. I tried to exercise patience, wondering just when he would find the time to hang it.

Imagine my surprise to come home one day and find it hanging in all its glory. The Gardener, thinking to surprise me by getting it hung, now looked a bit chagrin, fearing he had hung it too high.  I was gracious. "It's level with that picture, and furthermore, YOU can see yourself in it! No problem." (About time that this gentle giant had a mirror he could see into without stooping.)

After I admired it for a few days, one day Eldest Son was hanging out in the den for a full five minutes. "By the way, what's my mirror doing hanging on your wall?"

"Yours? I thought it was an old mirror I bought a long time ago."

"Sorry, Mom, I put that in the attic when I moved out of that apartment. It's no antique, I bought it at  (-- oh no--do you hear a bubble bursting?---) I bought it at ... Walm*rt."

No wonder my memory was dim. There was nothing to remember. I think he may let me keep it.

Transition

One season ends as a new one begins.

(Prayers are needed for a  friend today).

about birthdays

Kind of a big birthday for the Gardener this year, so we celebrated all week long. Rather than a party (he'd rather not, he said), I mentioned to some of his favorite friends that this birthday was occurring and they cooperated with wonderful cards, jokes, cartoons, and emails.  One even took us out for dinner the other night. We had a special meal with the family (the pounded chicken marsala) with cake and trimmings at the beginning of the week and ended with a Christmas home tour and lunch with some pretty special friends. Quite a week! Oh yes, and his big request was a college basketball game, and that happens next week, taking up one of those "prime Christmas weekend potential party nights." Wow, he really is being celebrated.

One friend sent us a quote which I thought was kinda cool: "On our birthdays we celebrate being alive. People can say to us, 'Thank you for being!' Birthday presents are signs of our families' and friends' joy that we are part of their lives ...  Birthdays ... remind us that what is important is ... that we are, here and now. On birthdays let us be grateful for the gift of life." (Henri J.M. Nowen in Bread for the Journey.)

Garlic or the Delivery?

Little One was sitting on my lap during part of Thanksgiving Dinner. I  noticed that she, a very observant child, was really into watching us eat our meal. Her eyes would follow our hands to our mouths and then look at what was on our plates. I picked up a spoon--maybe it was the silvery shine that attracted Little One, but she started to reach for it. Since she has already started a little cereal, I thought an ever so tiny taste of mashed potatoes would be OK to try. (A tale in our family is how our grandfather used to "feed the babies watermelon and the mothers would screech.") 

Did she ever go for those potatoes! And lurched forward for more, opening her little mouth like a bird and swooping towards the spoon as I put on another teeny, tiny bit. No yucky, "what is this" look on her face. Pure delight. Big girl stuff. So she got a little more.  Maybe it was all in the delivery––the shiny spoon was attracting, as was the cool steel against her teething gums. Or maybe it was the garlic!  Anyway, it was definitely one of my favorite things about our Thanksgiving day!

Photo: Little One in her great-grandmother's arms.

postcards from the past

My mother has a wonderful treasure in her closet. My grandmother apparently had saved many of the postcards she received from friends, and then a lot from her then fiancee, my grandfather. Mom put them all into an album and they are fun to look through. The other night my aunt, Mom's sister, was visiting and we had fun reading some of these 100 year-old postcards. My grandfather's were mostly sent from his stations during World War I.  He certainly kept in touch well, and had short, but very sweet things to say to his young lady. I wonder if he knew we would be reading them some day?

 My grandpa and his "wheels." In my mind, this is probably how he went calling on his sweetheart. His horse was named Beauty. The "wheels" I remember is his caddy that had windows that would go up and down with a little button. Very fun to play with, but of course we were only allowed one time up and one time down. :-)

Bouncing Baby B

We had several visitors over the Thanksgiving weekend including this little one!

thankful?

Some of you have read Corrie ten Boom's book  The Hiding Place. If you haven't its worth a read once, if not twice. When Corrie and her sister, Betsey, were in a Nazi concentration camp (Ravensbruck), the conditions were dreadful, of course. Not only were they cold, hungry, dirty, and in way too overcrowded conditions, they were also infested by fleas. They had managed to snuggle in a Bible, and as they read it, they realized that they should be thankful for all things. When Betsey decided that meant to thank God for the fleas, Corrie had a problem with that.

Eventually she gave in and joined her sister in thanking God for this miserable part of their lives. But it was amazing to see what God had planned about the fleas.  Apparently the guards didn't like fleas either. So they stayed away from the barracks the women were in. That meant a lot more freedom for the women---freedom from assault, and freedom to cluster together to study the Bible and to pray. Yes, in the heart of a Nazi concentration camp.

idea for post taken from this guy .

at the foot doc's

The day started in the wee hours as the Gardener had a 6 am medical procedure. Seemed the rest of the day filled up quickly, and late afternoon found us at the foot doctor's for another small procedure. I was rather tired, and wanting just to read my book. But I was very aware of my surroundings. I had never been to a foot doctor waiting room before and was amazed at the variety of people that had something going on with their feet. I made particular note of each one's feet as he or she walked out of the office.

A 70-something woman wheeled in her husband. He immediately lost himself in his news magazine while she registered at the window. She looked exhausted. I was thinking of her small size and how in the world she managed to care for him. A mother and sister brought in their son/brother, a 40 or so year old man with c*rebral palsy. My, they had him in line. Turns out the mother, also in her 70s, had had recent knee surgery. 

But then the most amazing thing occurred. The door opened and it was as if a light filled the room. A beautiful woman in her 50s, well dressed with gorgeous shortly cropped silver hair, sailed into the room. She went right up to the office window and greeted everyone. Obviously she was a regular patient. She asked everyone intentionally about their Thanksgiving plans, and wished them all a happy holiday. I noticed she was wearing a long skirt with nice white sneakers. I looked again and noticed that she had a light limp. And then I looked again and realized she had a brace on one leg for support, and on the other---no leg at all, but an artificial, mechanical leg.

She finally sat down and started talking with the waiting mother-with-the-new-knees in conversation (remember, I had my nose in a book, but obviously wasn't terribly focused on my book.) She ask all about her Thanksgiving plans, down to the details of the menu and who would cook what. What an art she had in engaging others in conversation! Then the mother turned the conversation and asked the silver haired lady questions. "I can't help but notice you have only one leg, yet you are so happy. By watching you today, and how beautiful you are inside and out, I realize my problems are small, and how I need to count my blessings."

The silver haired lady replied in such a gracious manner, "Oh, I can handle this, because I am alive! I have had severe di*betes for years and needed a kidney replacement as dialysis did not work. Oh April Fool's Day some years ago I got a call at 2 am saying they had a kidney and a pancreas for me. My body accepted the transplant beautifully and all was well until I got a blood clot in my foot. They had to amputate my leg (di*betics have poor circulation in their feet, causing many problems, and potential for amputations). But I could so easily have died. Losing a leg is nothing. And it is all the Lord. He got me through it, and HE gives me joy each day."

This woman positively glowed. I felt like I was in the presence of the Lord. It was an experience I will probably never forget.  At this Thanksgiving, though I may fret over some challenges in life, there is SO much to be thankful for. And I am.   Happy Thanksgiving.