welcome wagon

Yesterday I watched the moving van pull away from my next door neighbor's house. A young widow and her little daughter are abruptly pulling up roots and moving to be with her mother who has cancer. It doesn't seem that long ago that we met at the fence and she, with tears running down her cheeks, told me of her husband's terminal diagnosis. And 15 months ago the call came in the night, asking me to drive her to the hospital after the ambulance left, and could the Gardener stay with her little girl?

And so our lives intertwined in ways I would not have imagined on that day a few years back when I brought a plate of cookies to welcome them as new neighbors.

And any day now our newest neighbors will move in. I know nothing about them and wonder just how our lives will connect. Will they help us with an emergency? Will they have a baby? Will they keep to themselves? Will we, together, help our 89 year old neighbor? And so the rhythms of life continue to play out in our cul de sac.

f e r r y

 We are expecting a big (for the south) snow mid week. I looked at the weather map and it seems many places are expecting snow at the same time. Meanwhile, photos from a year ago this time when things were quite warm and sunny as we took a ferry headed south.

Joining in Mosaic Monday!

dreams made real

It's interesting to think about how every piece of architecture most likely 

begins with pencil and paper, or computer-aided drawings. All begin as a dream or idea.

 I'm always drawn to architecture of all types so I had a hard time choosing from among many 

photos for Mary's challenge today. These first three are all of the city where I live, 

and I love this one above that shows the contrast between old and new.

When our boys were little we often went up to the city to watch construction 

on some of these tall buildings, especially the tallest one in the background.

Chicago last fall.

 A large house in a small Pennsylvania town. As much as I love 

the geometric details of large city buildings, 

I think I prefer the gentle curves of an old home.

Please visit Mary's Little Red House for more on this subject!

oval delight

I recently made a crockpot breakfast casserole that I found on a cooking blog. It is basic and flexible––you can have about anything you want in it.  I'll just tell you how I made it.

Grease an (oval) large crockpot. Place one to two slices of old French bread broken into chunks. Next add whatever you want. I put in sliced mushrooms, olives, browned onions, some chopped pieces of turkey bacon and some small bits of broccoli. Once that's in, you mix 4 eggs with 1/4 to 1/2 milk and a pinch of salt and pour over other ingredients. Top with 1/2 cup of shredded Cheese. Cover and set your crock pot for 1 1/2- 2 hours on high.  What amazed me is that it lifted out perfectly intact. I pulled out my mother's 70 year old platter, and it gave it a beautiful presentation. This was sure yummy and served the two of us with leftovers.

action

It's hard to pin a 20 month-old boy down for a smiling, still photo when his main 

goal in life seems movement and climbing anything he can find to climb.

The other day he made me a plastic sandwich. 

Then he found a donut for dessert and leaned in close as he handed it to me 

and said "shoc-o-late." Love a little man who knows chocolate, and can 

say the word so well, repeating it again and again.

Littlest One moves up to Middle One later this month. 

He is in for a big surprise when Baby Sister arrives!

Joining Mary's Little Red House for Monday Mosaics.

full of hope

A bride's train, ready to head down the aisle, full of hope for a new life together ....

Cake dishes stacked in readiness to celebrate that hope ...

Love letters filled with hope for a future together ...

Joining Mary's white photo challenge today.

Due to some questions about this post, I will add that the photos making up the "story" are random: our niece's wedding train from last July; dessert dishes at a wedding reception a year ago, and, my parents' love letters. All filled with hope for sure.

love notes

All images have been used in the past on podso, now just embellished a tad! I am participating in Vee's monthly notecard party. Please see Vee's blog to enjoy a feast for your eyes.

And my thanks to so many of you for your kind words, thoughts, and prayers over the past seven weeks.

and then it snowed

 It seems that in movies at least, funerals seem to take place in the rain. And so it was for my mom.
A cold, damp rainy day that got surprised by rain changing every so often to big white
flakes falling from the sky. We were amused. We had hoped for some
snow all winter and it finally came on the day we celebrated her life.
The snow did not stick on the ground, but it surely added to the day.

The sun came out for a bit in the afternoon and then the sky suddenly darkened. 

Thunder clapped, lightening briefly filled the sky and suddenly snow fell in a serious manner. 

Huge beautiful flakes quickly whitened the ground and clung to the trees.

 It was a gorgeous way to end the day. 

Temperatures dropped and by morning we still looked out on a winter wonderland. 

How beautiful to see the snow clinging to spring blossoms against a deep blue sky! 

What a brief, but beautiful gift. If mom even noticed, I'm sure she smiled.

Please see Marys Little Red House for more Mosaics!

comic relief

Laughter is good medicine, even when sadness is squeezing my heart. When I was going through some of my mother's things this week, I found her lipstick and thought, "I can just bring this home and use it." I opened it to see how much remained.

Have you ever seen the funny chart that shows lipsticks and what personality traits they portray? I was simply amazed at my mom's lipstick compared to mine. Hers says so much about her: calm, sweet, always grateful, shy, never complaining ... and mine?

I can just picture my mom daintily patting her lips with her lipstick. For me, a quick swipe as I dash to the next thing. I don't really know what it means on the chart, but there's an obvious difference. I just know I wish I was more like my mother.

And, it makes me laugh.
(I should say mom's is the conservative-looking, tidy one on the right).

glory day

 I journeyed with my mother as close as I could to heaven's gate. 

Then it seemed as if angels took over. What a glory day that was for us.
I was privileged to be with her as she slipped away quite triumphantly, 

all suffering ended. It was a most beautiful experience. 

And then, what a reunion for her:

"But I know at my journey's end, they are saving [her] a place

At a table bright with candlelight and linens edged with lace.

The ones so dear from [her] time down here are saving [her] a place."

from a song written by R*bin and L*nda W*lliams

Photo: my mother's hands being held by our pastor as he knelt by her bed.

the sweetness of home

There is probably nowhere I'd rather be than home. Home is where we're surrounded 

by things that we love, things that express who we are,

memories of good times around our table,

and objects that tell about our history. I look at this cabinet and wonder about the homes of generations back in my family who owned it and loved it like I do. And while I love the outside garden, flowers and trees, it's the inside that brings the comfort and is where we feel most "at home." I get a similar sense when I think back to my home growing up, and even the comfort of my grandparents' houses. Such a sense of security.

This photo has a lot tucked in it to tell about us, but probably what I love the most is Rapunzel's braid. Do you see it? New happy memories are forming in our house with our grandchildren. I hope someday that they too will talk of fond memories of their grandparent's home.

Mary's blog is talking about home today. You will enjoy reading other posts there.

color

Pennsylvania city

Maternal Kiss by Mary Cassatt, 1896

Treat on the table at a recent writing class

not much pine

Years back the Gardener's college basketball coach wrote a book about "The Sweet Scent of Pine." It was about all you learn sitting on the bench, hoping for your turn to go into the game. The night before my mother became ill, we went to an exciting college game at the big arena in our city. There was not much bench sitting that day as foul trouble kept the bench active. I love a close game that keeps us on the edge of our seats, and this one did not disappoint. Plenty of action.

I was fascinated by the views of a packed arena. But what really impressed me was the people in blue standing at every section, facing away from the game (that must have been hard!) with full attention constantly focused on studying the stands. Watching for anything suspicious I guess. Yes I felt safer, but saddened that this has to be so. (phone pictures, sorry!)

Joining Mosaic Monday at Mary's Little Red House.

sacred ground

I've gotten into a sort of routine while I wait for God to call my mother home. I do things around the house in the morning and then head over to my mother's for a long afternoon at her bedside. I'm a "martha" so it's hard not to tidy up, do what I see to do in her room. I turn off the overhead lights and turn on soft lamplight. I play a classical music CD--not too softly, so she can hear since her hearing aids are put away. Or I play hymns for her on my i-pad piano ap and we sing--well I mostly sing alone now as she is too tired to join me. I decorate her window with valentine "clings" and try not to notice the dirty outside of the window as the sun beams through the gorgeous colors. I change the water on her pink roses and water her yellow tulips. I show her photos. We talk if she is awake.

I hold her hand and stroke it's thinness and think of all that hand has done for me throughout my lifetime. I think of the many letters written, sealed, and put in the mail to me and to many others. When we don't talk with words we look deeply into each other's eyes and talk that way. I often feel I'm an extension of this mother of mine, we are so alike.

It is a precious time for pondering, remembering, and trying to take in what life will be like without her.

We talked of heaven again yesterday. She said she knew she'd be leaving her pretty pink room soon. Was she afraid, I asked after she said she'd be moving to heaven. "Not at all," she responded. "Why would I be?" Always steady, never ruffled, that's my mom.

I reach over and offer some sips of water. Then I softly spread lip balm on her parched lips. I feel her brow, rub her shoulders, adjust her pillows, brush her hair that is due for a haircut. Her room is beautiful. She is beautiful. She is content. She is peaceful. She is always grateful and says so. Even if those are the only words she has energy to say, she will say, "Thank you for taking care of me." As she taught me how to walk, cut my food, put on stockings, plan a wedding, be a mother to my children, she is now teaching me how to die. A role model to the end.

The hours with my mother each day simply fly by. I feel like I am in a sacred place, on holy ground. I almost can sense angels. I feel so privileged to have these days with her as we walk along her path to Glory. I will never, ever forget what I am experiencing. I turn my face away to hide my burning tears. She is at peace, and she brings peace to me. And so we wait.

history at its smallest

  

I'm not sure how I got to be so sentimental. Well, maybe I know. My mother and her sisters are not particularly sentimental, though they seem to enjoy my comments, questions, and zest for family history. But my father, he was another story. He was sentimental. I remember he would occasionally get out the old reel-to-reel tape player and play a tape of his parents talking and singing, and I'd watch him wipe away the tears streaming down his face. He taught me to love all history and especially our family history. He told me the stories about pieces of family heirloom furniture that are now mine. He instilled in me a curiosity about the unknowns of my ancestors and the detective method of looking at clues to guess about the past. Yes, if sentimentality is genetic, it was passed from father to daughter––in our family at least.

The little corner shelves I had built on the right side of my kitchen window and sink are even a nod to history, for that is exactly where my grandmother and my mother had shelves. All this chatter is a background for this: Not long ago we took the plunge and got rid of our landline and switched to only cell phones. (Do you wonder where is this going?) Our phones were old and we collected them to take to some local charity. Before I did that (we are now getting closer to the main point) I noticed the little tape inside the answering machine part of the phone. I rewound it and pressed "play." It was long so I sat down to listen. It was a little amazing. There was so much of our immediate family history on that little tiny tape. Discussions between father and son after a fender bender (they had forgotten to turn off the answering machine as their conversation went on). Calls from the realtor about our house on the market. Calls from friends about this and that. Calls from coaches, and my parents. It contained a lot of stuff I had forgotten to erase.

So now the little "power" tape sits on the shelf in the kitchen, waiting to be thrown away. I don't have a machine to play it anymore, but it impresses me that on that tiny tape are the voices of many loved ones, reminding me of times I had forgotten. Hopefully I can "let it go" soon, but so often I regret it after I throw something away. Do you have trouble getting rid of things? What would you do?

on our range

I think eight makes a herd, don't you? And yesterday we had a herd of deer in our yard. The most we'd seen before was five, but they must feel quite at home as they brought some friends this time and stayed awhile. They even let me take pictures. Yes I think they look sweet, and I feel sorry for their life in such shallow woods as are in our neighborhood, but I am not crazy about the ticks they share with us and the trampling they do to our garden. Yesterday they were eating grass and azalea buds. I hate to have a "discouraging word," but I think they are feeling way too at "home on our range."

"Home, home on the range,

Where the deer and the antelope play;

Where seldom is heard a discouraging word

And the skies are not cloudy all day."

over a cuppa

We are enjoying a definitive cold snap right now which I actually love, still having a bit of "northern blood" in my veins. Cold weather is easy to take down here as we know it can't last too long.  I have a few more "over the back fence" comments but since it's so cold, I'll invite you in for a hot cup of tea, rather than standing at the fence.

The other day I went to a craft store and found what I want but was appalled at the price. "Don't you have a coupon?" I asked the young clerk, eyeing the flyers next to the cash register. "No I don't, but do you have a smart phone?" And she proceded to walk me through to a 50% coupon, which, she told me, is there on my phone for every time I shop in the store. I may be not quite up on the coupon aspect of a smart phone but at least she thought I might have such a phone.

Whereas when at my next stop at T-g-t, checking out clock radios (which suddenly sort of sounds like a "dinosaur"), the not so young saleswoman asked if she could help and then said, "I assume you just mean a clock radio, not one that would play an i-pod or iPhone." I was a bit taken back that she assumed I would not want such things--or maybe didn't even know about them. That's more like what a younger person would think about an older person.

At our mentor group this month we taught about basic mending--how to sew on a button, mend a seam or sew a hem. It seemed to be much appreciated, and I'm trying to remember how I learned to do such things. We mentors had made teacup pincushions for the girls to take home. You can imagine how easy they were to do, and yes we did glue the cup and saucer together, and the cushions got a shot of glue to stay in the cup. We bagged them up with a bow along with some pins, a spool of basic gray thread and a pair of scissors. Cute! Now, how about a second cup of tea?

lentil surprise

I found some already cooked lentils in the produce department the other day. The work of soaking and cooking was already done for me. I loosely followed the directions on the box with my own additions. It went something like this:

Chop and saute one onion, yellow sweet pepper and fresh spinach in olive oil and garlic. Add one finely chopped turkey kielbasa until slightly brown. Add lentils and one can of finely chopped tomatoes. Heat through.

I think I may have dusted it with a bit of feta cheese and served it over rice with veggies on the side.

The surprise was that it was so, so delicious. The Gardener  l  o  v  e  d   it.  We had enough for a second meal and the final bits joined a soup pot. 

a small thing

Dear Lydia Grace,

      You and someone else have made me the best chicken soup this week, as well as blessed me in other ways. You've watched over my footsteps during these days of sitting at my mother's bedside and have cared for both mom and me in beautiful ways.  But when you gave me this blue pen, you touched my soul in a deep place. It is a small thing, giving me your slightly used pen (the kind we can no longer buy) with the blue ink I love to write with. But the small thing is huge in love, from someone who "gets me," and what a gift to have a friend like that. 
     You read my blog about blue ink running low--blue ink I use to write in my mother journal. I was full of hope that it would last as long as I needed it to, but it is about dry. With this renewed ink maybe I can fill more pages, as God ordains my mother's each day here on earth. Thank you Lydian Grace,my friend.

                With love, 
                      my mother's daughter

old favs

Cleaning out long-neglected photo files, I found some old favorites. 

There's something so relaxing and fun about making a mosaic of photos. 

Maybe because it gives us a different view of the images.

So, totally random, here are a few of my favorite photos that I'm NOT tossing!

Connecting to Mary's Little Red House for her Monday Mosaics.