hearts on the table

Go to Cindy's site if you would like to see more "tablescapes."  The  real "hearts" on my table are pictures of loved ones, no longer here,  who are a part of making me who I am today.

wrong number

Got a call on my cell phone today. "Hello. Cassie?" A female voice spoke into my ear. 

"I'm sorry I think you have the wrong number."  The Gardener was in my office when the call came. The connection wasn't good. "Do you think you didn't hear right and she was saying your name?" I could see that possibility so I called the number back while heading outside for a better connection. "Who is this?" I asked (a bit rudely I admit).  

"Is this (podso)?" My cousin's voice became clear. "I was sitting here wondering who I had called by mistake. Your voice sounded familiar. Let's talk now that we're connected." We laughed.

It'd been quite awhile since we've talked together. We had a segment of time when we were in close connection--when our parents lived in the same retirement community. Keeping in touch is still important to us, so we were glad that we connected. Just a serendipity in the middle of a mundane day: a wrong number turned right.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Barb!!!

slippin' and slidin'

The sweetest little waterfall came into our view when we were in the mountains this weekend. The cool water cascading over the rocks was so clear and clean, I had to dip my hand in for a refreshing sip. Friend Debbie and I quickly climbed to the top for a view from up there. Of course we had to slip over the ropes for a better look 

as, in spite of the warning signs, they were just begging to be climbed over. Funny, when the men arrived (quite awhile after us, by the way) they each and every one chided us for disobeying the signs. And then they promptly followed us across to the forbidden territory.

On our way down, Debbie decided to take a short cut, down a slippery bank that didn't have rock ledges to ground her feet, branches to grab, or trees to hug on the way down. I took a look. Hmmm ... I may be too old for such nonsense, but I couldn't let her go it alone. Slippery it was, especially without proper hiking shoes. Precious little to cling to or wedge our feet on. We got to laughing, especially with the positions we found ourselves in. Got to almost a PIYP kind of laughing, as we struggled to make our way down and arrive in some decent order. 

Friend Debbie has what I call an infectious laugh.  It doesn't matter if you know what the funny thing is, if you're in the same room and hear her laugh, you join in. (When we're with her we always have a good, laughing time, and come away feeling so refreshed.) So there

we were, two women well over 25, slipping and sliding down the side of a mountain. (The men were taking the long path.) 

When we got to the bottom a young woman, who had been sitting there watching our escapade, greeted us, "You were sure having fun!" Yah, but glad to have both feet firmly on the ground again!

from the mouth of little ones

My mom was in the hospital this week so I've been with her a lot, including sleeping at her house last night. (Note: no matter how old I get, or how our roles reverse, there's nothing like spending time at mom's house for it's coziness. ) I finally left her this afternoon after leaving charts for taking meds; fresh jello in the frig and water bottles placed for hydration purposes; and reminder notes here and there. I had to come back into her apartment twice for things I forgot. As I was leaving for what I hope was the final time, she called to me, "Listen to what John wrote about his grandchildren." (she was reading a letter.)  "The twins, Emma and Kate, aged 2 1/2, changed each others' diapers. And the five year old said, 'Grandpa, Jesus is God's nickname.'" I had to smile as I headed to my car.

Photo: my father's favorite chair sitting by my mother's view

Remnants

Maybe it's because I'm getting older, but I love things around me that bring memories, particularly pleasant memories. I found a way to use my old yarn -- for now, until I use it for something else. I can look in this jar and be reminded of baby caps, baby blankets, scarves, afghans, and yes, cotton dishcloths that I have made for friends. So, not only a collection of projects past, but a reminder of dear friends present. 

Assault At the Mall

Mustered up some strength--or whatever it is I gather up to go there -- and headed to the mall. I used to enjoy a trip there now and then, but it's had a "re-do" in recent years and is twice the size and many more times "upscale" than it was when I used to enjoy walking the corridors, and shopping at some familiar department stores.  They didn't ask my permission, but they really changed things on me. And even if a store's name is the same, the familiar inside is gone. I can't figure out where anything is, and it sure seems geared for the "under-35" crowd. The music has changed too. At B*lks, someone used to play a grand piano on the second floor--its delightful sound filtering throughout the store, but this day I could not help but notice a new, jarrring, driving beat kind of "music." It didn't fit as I walked past the lovely jewelry and perfume counters--at least in my humble opinion.

Even the days I "dress" just to go to this mall, I feel like the salespeople (who can't be any higher economically than I am) look  right through my middle class "dress" and know I don't really belong there, and treat me so. It's an odd feeling.

I sense a big disorientation there now, like a feeling of being lost. I have to "let go" the desire to figure out where I am. "Let's see, is this where Sears use to be?"  "What about the old food court? I'm sure it was near these four pillars." Let the old mall go ... to be what it wants to be.  After all, most everything else in life seems to be changing (rapidly, by the way).  

So there I was the other day, venturing forth between two "flagship" department stores. I can't even remember what I was looking for, but of course I didn't find it.  On my way back to the original store, through which I hoped to make a fast exit to my car, I passed by some of those small, sometimes irritating kiosks.  At one, as I tried to glide by quickly, a young woman approached me with a miniature dollop of hand cream in a small cup. "Please you need to try this ..." as she forced it, yes, forced it into my hand. I kept moving, but not fast enough to miss hearing, "Are those your nails? Oh my  G___." I felt assaulted as I kept moving, and she kept talking. I'm sure this young thing didn't get that good a look at my unpolished but trim nails (and by the way, if they weren't mine, who else's would they be?)

Watch your step, dear, I thought to myself.  I immediately mentally defended my, yes, aging hands with their signs of bygone glorious days in the sun. After all, these hands, along with their nails, are practical hands. 

They scrub pots, wash dishes, rake leaves, mow the lawn, cook meals, type on the computer, crochet blankets, write letters, change 20 baby diapers in a day, foam in and out of countless hospital rooms--and, more. (My guess is that the most her hands get roughed up is by punching her calculator or texting on her phone.)

 

Increasing twinges of arthritis make my hands even more endearing to me. They are what they are, so please don't attack how they, or their nails,  look.

Photos: my mother's beautiful, caring hands on the right, and my busy hands on the left. Above: my shadow last spring, pausing at this sign, probably wondering what there is to watch out for.

25 cent deed

"Rent-a-cart" grocery store. You may have one in your town. I've finally figured out how the system works (it takes me awhile), and quarter in hand, I headed to the long line of chained grocery carts. A young mother passed me on the way to returning her cart. Oh, of course, I thought to myself, let me save her the trouble. "Here," I said, thrusting my quarter towards her hand, "Wanna just give me your cart? Unless your daughter loves to do the coin thing..." I didn't want to take away a possible thrill from her little daughter.

"Just take my cart," she spoke softly, smiling into my eyes, "I insist. Happy Birthday or something." Such a small 25 cent thing, but so huge in the way it blessed me and made me smile. After shopping I headed again to the line of carts, thinking I'd be making 25 cents that morning, when I saw an older woman about to begin her shopping. I headed toward her, offering my cart, as she tried to hand me a quarter.

It sort of reminded me of the movie Pay It Forward. On a very small scale. And I was able to do a good deed, though it  cost me nothing. 

on a cold and frosty morning ...

The Gardener decided to walk to the store.  On one of the coldest days of the year (here). He bundled well but I wondered about his ears. He reminded me this would be considered mild during a Chicago winter. We lived through quite a few of those. I remember well the two weeks it never rose above 25 below. But today I decided to walk inside at the gym of a local church where we "work out." 

The parking lot was full but quiet when I arrived. Sports.  Mini (I call it) basketball and cheerleading on a Saturday morning. Walking the upper track around the busy gym, I had plenty of time to observe all the goings on. I could not help but feel sorry for these little kids--maybe 4 to 6 years old at the most. Dragged from their warm beds at an early hour on the only day they could have a morning at home ... just to fiddle around on a basketball court, "keeping up with the Joneses" I suppose. It's a mystery to me. I suppose if they wait til they're age seven to start, alas, they may be a bit behind. Entire families were there to watch--grandparents, siblings--all wishing, I'm guessing, that they could be somewhere else. If I could only impart to these young parents that, in the long run, sports at four and five doesn't make any difference in your kid getting into college.

But what really sort of saddened me was the fully decked-out cheerleaders. From outfits, to pom-poms, to megaphones, to perky pigtails in big bows, and hands on hips. Barely five years old. (No wonder kids are bored in high school.) At least these little ones were fairly conservative in their routines. At some recent college games we've seen half-time "entertainment" where the mini dancers wear make up and swing their hips so hard I fear for the future of those hips (read: arthritis, early onset). 

It is a shame little kids don't get much down time these days--time just to be kids. I remember the huge temptation to busy our kids with many activities. But that's enough on that. The Gardener enjoyed his walk to the shops and returned with his ears intact.

just in

A good friend in town loves to write letters. Receiving one is a gift. What would we have to write, you might ask, since we have blogs, email, and attend the same church and book club? She always has something gracious to say (and has a delightful habit of showing appreciation, in pen, for even the simplest thing), a quote to share, and a musing that is worth chewing on. Each one is worth reading more than once, and I save them all in a corner of my little office.  Her notes are charming both inside and out as the envelopes are often embellished with something to delight my fancy. Such as these blue and white dishes, decorating the envelope that arrived today. I have a tradition of brewing a cup of tea on the occurrence of such an arrival. Can you guess why?

nothing in my hand

"When I have nothing in my hand 

Wherewith to serve my King,

When thy commandment finds me weak

And wanting everything,

My soul, upon thy greatness cast,

Shall rise divinely free;

Then will I serve with what Thou hast,

And gird myself with Thee."

                             -Anna Waring

It's amazing the ways God chooses to speak to us. I have an old devotional book I read (Joy and Strength) that often has a nugget that pops out and knocks on my mind and heart. This little poem, for today's date, I have marked with the words, "Romania, 2000." I can visualize the day nine years ago as I sat reading this with the sun streaming in the window. I had to make a decision about leading a team of teenage girls to work in orphanages in Romania. I didn't feel like I had what I needed to handle such an assignment.  God used this simple poem to help me realize I needed to take my weaknesses and turn them into a larger trust in Him. And so I did, and so I went, and so it all worked out amazingly well. God helped me to have good friendships with the girls, to love the orphans (who could not?) and to safely get our little group from one country to another via a terrifying ride with a clueless driver ... but that's a story for another day. For sure, He gives us what we need for the tasks He asks us to do!

Chicken and the Sneeze that Didn't Happen

"Oh no! I'm gonna sneeze!" I was rushing across our living room floor with a pan nearly overflowing with hot chicken and red sauce. I chose this route as our dining room was filled with friends and this seemed the best path to the head of the table where The Gardener sat, ready to serve. Panic set in. A sneeze right now, no matter how controlled, would definitely spill at least some of the red sauce on our carpet, with a worst case scenario of everything splashed everywhere.  I, albeit a bit dramatically, let the guests know what was happening as they jumped up to prepare lots of room for the landing.

The sneeze never occurred; I guess I scared it away. The chicken dish landed fairly smoothly. "This could have been a post" someone commented. It has become a bit of a joke among friends who read my blog. We all are beginning to discern what might be something to blog about. It's not uncommon to hear, "I feel a blog coming!"

That's a small corner of culture that has developed into my life because of this thing called blogging.  I'm just thankful this particular post didn't develop any further than it did, and that our carpet did not end up needing to be cleaned. 

Photo: putting it all away

SLiver Moon Shuttle

We waited a very long time for the Long Term 2 shuttle to show up and take us to airport parking section X. There was a crowd waiting with us--probably because it was Sunday evening. Buses passed filled to the brim. Finally an empty one arrived and we piled on. The driver was wary of overloading and kept stopping folks from getting on before she needed to. As we pulled away from the curb she began a rant to a friend on the phone about how she felt liable for any people standing on her bus and therefore would not allow it. The irony was that she was driving one-handed while talking on the phone. Not all that safe either.

Her conversation continued--loudly. We learned she had spent $200 on her daughter's dental bill even without cavities.  She talked about going back to school bus driving. At this point everyone sitting on the bus was in stitches about "too much information." Following that we heard about discipline in schools today and particularly the trouble keeping kids in line on a bus. She seemed oblivious that her conversation was being broadcast over the loud speaker.

The moon was waned about all it could so the night was dark. Our bus driver was not particularly helpful at announcing the parking areas. People got confused, some buddied up to help each other out. In less than ten minutes a bond of sorts had formed with those of us on the bus--through the long wait, a mix-up of parking areas, and particularly the humor of the overhead phone conversation. A young, friendly bunch (and we were the only ones over 35) on a chilly southern night, just trying to get home. A nice moment in spite of frustration. 

Our car was at the end of the line. When we parked it had been pouring rain and we scurried to the bus, not paying a lot of attention to where we parked. So––a moonless night with a ton of neutral looking hondas––we wandered a bit. Our kind bus driver hovered, concerned for our safety. She finally came by and suggested trying the panic button.  Thankfully we had one, in this new-to-us car we were driving.  Amazing! There our car was, just on the other side of the bus, beeping loudly. Feeling very much our technically-challenged age, and thankful for her watching out for us, we silenced our car, jumped in, and headed to home-sweet-home. 

Note: I wrote this awhile ago and just found it quietly waiting to be posted. I hate to waste anything so ...

Not my photo.

A Full Cap

Each morning I ask God to "ordain" my day. Bring into it what He wants and to use me, always. Today I took my mother to an early morning eye doc appointment.  As we entered our third hour there I began to get restless, thinking about all I had planned "to do" at home today. Cleaning and other projects (I, being a "Type A" always plan way too much, and thrive on "missions accomplished.") 

I caught myself. Wasn't this God's plan for the day? Am I not supposed to live the moment as it comes to me, not wishing it away for something I think might be better. I began to be thankful that I could be there, helping my mother. Just being. Nearly four hours after arriving (and a few tests later) we left and headed for the grocery store. After dropping mom off, unpacking her groceries, and checking on things there, I headed to the grocery store for myself. With my head and heart straight for a change, and feeling rather peaceful.

And I did get a full baby cap crocheted while I sat at the doctor's. "Type A" pleasure!

Photo: My sweet mom is with her three girls in the photo at the top of this photo. You can probably figure out which one I am.

the past and the present

I wish I could have expressed this as well as Helen Thames Raley does:  "Deep are these roots, inescapable, restorative. I thought about how life had gone on, generation after generation. Perhaps the past is really never gone, but always a part of the present. Lingering here in the quietness, I gather up the people, the places, the little fragments of another time."   (thanks lulu)

Photo: My grandparents, aged 20,  with their first baby. See the water pump, the washing machine, and other evidence of living around them? How I would love to spend a day with my grandmother as a young mother!

all is bright

Stepping outside today with the full sun on shining snow is as bright as a day at the beach. Calling all sunglasses. Normally here in the south the snow usually melts by the end of the day so no digging out is needed.  This time our temperatures were low enough to keep some of the white stuff around. It's been a long time since I've seen so many icicles either. They are still glistening bright as they hang daintily like socks drying on a clothesline, just waiting for their chance to come crashing to the ground.

We used to grab those up and pretend they were ice pops (as well as eat snow) during my childhood Chicago winters.

 

Our December was so

warm here, the trees, 

 barely stripped of their fall leaves, have begun to bud. Craziness.

Because all is so glorious outside, I had to pull my laptop from my tiny windowless office and work here today.

bread and milk ... and corn

Anyone who lives in the south knows what "bread and milk" means. Whenever snow is predicted, the stores are quickly emptied of bread and milk. Last night a newscaster actually explained why. If you get snowed in, you want lots of milk for cereal, soups, mashed potatoes, etc., and the bread for sandwiches and french toast. When the Gardener went out for some groceries yesterday, I reminded him to get a can of corn, for it's our tradition to have corn chowder on snow days. We've done that for years--a recipe I got from a friend in Minnesota. Not that we have many "snow days"--nor am I always home when we do have one, but we are having one today, and we both happen to be home and are settling in for a cozy day.  As we watch parts of the events today, across the bottom of the tv are all the closings in the area, including all the schools. The kids will have some fun today.

Here's the corn chowder.  Of course any alterations usually make it even better!

3-4 medium potatoes chopped fine 

3-4 carrots chopped fine

3 stalks celery chopped fine

salt and pepper to taste

Cook in small amount of water until tender

Add:

1 large can of corn

1 can of cream of chicken soup

1 cup of milk

Heat and serve.

Enhancers:  grated cheese, onions, a little white wine, bits of chicken, bacon pieces, ETC ! 

answering a call

Looking through a emporium full of quaint little shops near my house, I came upon this sweet miniature teapot. "She" did more than catch my eye. She called my name. I went away and came back and she was calling even louder. She knew my weakness. You can guess the rest of the story. She's an old one too. And I love her unusual spout. She sings for me, "I'm  a little teapot, short and stout, here is my handle, here is my spout." 

Down Spout Showers

Water was a continual challenge the years we lived in West Africa. Though it didn't seem like it to us, apparently we lived on an elevation, and when the city water was actually working, it had trouble making its way through the pipes up to our house. The supply tank, on our flat roof, frequently ran dry and we'd find the taps at the sinks spewing out air rather than water.  

I've never taken water for granted since that time. We learned to do many different things with just a single bucket of water, and took advantage of every rainfall. Usually than meant collecting water in containers, such as barrels or buckets, but occasionally we donned swimsuits and showered under the abundant flow from the downspouts (quite luxurious, mind you, compared to washing with half a bucket of water or less.)

Before I left for Africa, a wise older woman reminded me to pack "flexibility" in my suitcase. That was certainly needed there ... as we learned to flex with erratic electricity, poor water supply, unreliable food sources, and suddenly changing plans.  Her words remain with me as flexibility is needed in my life now as much as then.  It's all about holding things in an open hand and being willing to go with the flow of what life brings. There's a lot less whining that way, isn't there.

Photo: our house in Ghana. At the center, near all the plants, is the area where we had our "roof run-off" showers.

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.