Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts

Saturday, September 26, 2026

Apples

“Over the river and through the woods…” the lyrics flitted through Shelby’s mind. Whenever she heard this Christmas melody she couldn’t help but think about her paternal grandparents, especially her grandmother Irene.

Shelby was pretty sure her family didn’t cross a river during the hour-long drive to her dad’s childhood home south of Stetsonville, and she knew for certain she and her siblings had never ridden in a sleigh. Still, the song brought to mind Sunday visits that began with a hearty meat-and-potatoes meal, followed by an afternoon of Sheepshead or Pinochle, and games of Scrabble. Sometime after the sun went down, the visit ended with three generations gathered once more around the sturdy oak table, just before her dad and the uncles went outside to warm up the cars that would carry everyone home.

While the mid-day feast featured fried chicken, roast beef, or baked pork chops, the evening spread was always canned ham, sliced for sandwiches, homemade bread and creamy butter, with oatmeal cookies and canned apples for dessert. The canned apples were served from quart canning jars that Grandma Irene brought up from the cellar.

Each year apples grew and ripened on trees that lined the gravel driveway east of the house. The apples were smaller than the ones sold at the grocery store—each one the color of applesauce and  just a bit larger than a marshmallow. The homegrown apples were canned stem and all in a sugary homemade concoction—the recipe not written down, but kept within Irene’s memory. By the time Shelby was deemed old enough to play Scrabble (5th grade) Irene had been canning apples and garden produce for decades.

Irene carried a bouquet of lilacs when she and Grandpa Joe had married in the spring of 1931, less than two years after the Wall Street Crash that kicked off the Great Depression. Shelby’s dad, born in 1936, was their second child of seven—three girls and four boys.

As an adult, Shelby would encounter a photograph of the Irene & Joe's children taken near the apple trees and wonder why there were eight children, arranged from tallest to smallest. Grandma Irene explained that the “extra” one, Janice, was the only child of her sister-in-law, whose husband farmed the place a mile down the road. When Shelby asked why Janice was included, Irene shared that Janice and her mom always came by to help with picking and canning the apples—after all, apple canning was a family tradition.

-rjw

Thursday, February 28, 2019

Dinner from an Empty Refrigerator

As I put down the red silicone scraper and step back from the stove, something pleasing catches my eye, something beautiful, this food. 

I'd worked only one job today, and my small group was canceled due to icy weather so ... when I arrived home, the luxury of time met me at the door. The studio apartment -- all 461 square feet of it -- has been home for the past year. Many might consider it small. It all depends on where you are coming from ... 

... and when arriving here I'd come from a bedroom plus bath where I'd lived as a guest and grandmother-in-residence for 14 months. Yes, my son and daughter-in-law were inviting, loving, gracious and welcoming. The kitchen, living room, kids' bedrooms, play room and family room were open to me almost any time and there was a spoken expectation that I'd join the family for dinner, which was wonderful ... and yet the introvert in me felt more comfortable upstairs, in my bedroom plus bath, listening to the muffled voices of the grandchildren reading or playing or squabbling or getting ready for bed.

Tonight, my meal, the food -- a southwestern rice with beans and corn served over sauteed breast of chicken with a heaping spoonful of cream cheese blended with sour cream and salsa, plus fresh chocolate chip cookies -- looked so inviting! I am not much of a cook and readily confess that I'd rather be eating ... enjoying the aromas, textures, flavors. The feel of the warm ceramic bowl in my hands, the balance of the well-crafted fork, inspire delight. 

I wash the dishes, including a carafe of way-too-old-to-consume pineapple juice left over from my January birthday. The refrigerator looks quite empty. In the digestive aftermath of the meal I move on, choosing to sit on the futon snuggled up with a soft grey lap blanket gifted me one Christmas by my niece. 

The apartment is quiet. I miss the muted voices of the grandchildren.

Traffic moving along the freeway that borders this apartment complex fades into the background, except for the occasional semi. Without looking out the sliding glass doors (the only window in this studio), my senses tell me almost instinctively what time it is. Evening darkness and steady noise point to the 7pm to 1am travel of city-dwellers and suburbanites. When I awaken in the night a hushed stillness indicates a sleeping community, the highway nearly deserted. Soft morning light and limited but growing noise signal early commuters avoiding rush hour traffic.

Despite the delightful meal and my comfort in this living space, evening is difficult. This is when I most wish to turn back the clock to when evening meals were shared by two, the life I had before my husband died. One of us cooked; the other did dishes. In the oasis between dinner and sleep we returned to the kitchen table for a game of Scrabble, or settled into rocking chairs to watch a movie. 

Decades ago (before we married) my husband and I were not surprised to discover Myers-Briggs assessments categorized me as an introvert. After nearly 1000 days a widow, there is a shift as the woman that is me slides closer to recluse. The grey kaleidoscope of living alone is slowly becoming my normal. The shapes and sounds and tastes of life are dulled by loneliness. 

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
    and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Ps 34:18


Perhaps that is why I took the photograph... to capture the colors and vibrant promise of the meal, to embrace delight, to remember the Lord is close.

Rw

Friday, December 25, 2015

wings

In 2008 with our college-confined offspring living on scholarships, grants and student loans, we stopped spending money on Christmas presents and began focusing on presence.

In transition from presents to presence, my husband and I gifted winged ornaments for future evergreen trees -- an airplane painted in festive colors, softly feathered angel wings.

There can only be two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings. -- Hodding Carter

We come with empty hands and full hearts to celebrate Christmas and share a simple meal -- homemade potato soup, crusty bread, holiday cookies and Spumoni ice cream, or crepe-like pancakes, bacon and fresh fruit.

Friends and extended family often struggle to understand a Christmas without presents, and I struggle too, attempting to put words to a tradition forged over time ... and destined to change.

There’s a season for everything
    and a time for every matter under the heavens -- Ecclesiastes 3 more

As my husband and I spend this day together, just us two, we are quiet and content, having gathered with friends on the eve of Christmas to hear and share the miracle of Jesus birth, then caroling and prayer at fire stations and the hospital.

We celebrate tomorrow with our daughter, future son-in-law, son, daughter-in-law, and our two grandchildren at my parents' home with extended family -- nieces, nephews, uncles and aunts.

A new season is upon us. "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."



  
Rjw


Friday, October 30, 2015

treasure map

Traveling with toddlers is unpredictable even on short rides. Traveling 362 miles with a toddler, then turning around and driving back home the next day is a challenge.

Over the past three decades, with and without toddlers, these roads, this journey, has become too familiar.

Traveling hundreds of miles for short stays is part of our blended Iowa-Wisconsin family -- Albert Lea MN once seemed the perfect half-way point. Career opportunities did not take us there.

So as autumn moves into northern Wisconsin, we find ourselves traveling south for the funeral of the family matriarch, my mother-in-law, my husband's mother, our children's paternal grandmother. The little boy in the carseat is one of her eleven great-grandchildren. His father and his aunt occupy the front seats of the rented van; my hubby "Grumpa" is stretched out as best he can in a second row seat; i am riding co-pilot in the back row, next to the sturdy carseat that holds our most precious cargo.

"Why?" is his favorite question. "The Blu House" his favorite destination.

He treats us to nearly an hour of heart-wrenching appeals to go to The Blu House, punctuated with tears of disappointment and that favorite question, "Why?"  Our breakfast at McDonald's seems to change it up, perhaps because we invited him to choose the restaurant?  We spend the next six hours sampling the toys, games and books daddy and mommy packed for the trip, and making sure there are lots of running-playing-moving games as we visit rest areas and gas stations along the way.

For the toddler, the hotel pool offers respite, the promise of more adventure. The rosary, wake, visitation, funeral, luncheon and burial become places to meet new playmates, young life affirming hope in the dust of death.

The matriarch is remembered for homemade mac-n-cheese and sweet rolls, thoughts drift to noisy family gatherings around her kitchen table, the Thanksgiving ice storm that compelled us to stay an extra day, the weddings and funerals and baptisms that invited us to travel this way.

And then, our time here is over. We are back in the van. Reversing directions. Heading home.

The roadside running-playing-moving holds no allure. The toys, games and books packed for the trip have grown tired and stale. In an effort to avoid the "Are we there yet?" cliché i dig into my own bag of tricks and tear a blank page from my journal.

Together my grandson and i draw a secret pirate treasure map spanning three states, decorated by pictures of us as pirates with simple drawings of pirate landmarks; i soon discover that the map has turned the tables for i am the one redirecting the boredom, asking "Are we there yet?" and inviting sweet toddler fingers to find our location and inform me "Not yet!"

Over 724 miles and many-too-many hours on the road my grandson held onto hope.


Jesus said, “Let the children come to me and do not stop them, because the Kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." Matthew 19:14 GNT

Thursday, October 24, 2013

living in less

thursday is a good day

a later start to my work at the food pantry leaves time for reading and listening at the computer ... time with Harley on my lap ... quiet reflection ... working on whispered hopes and touched twice, breakfast with a friend ...

time for arranging sprigs of fresh eucalyptus harvested from my garden ... preparing two rooms for a guest ...

our old house ... two empty bedrooms

prayerfully and hopefully ...

a sanctuary?


the living room quiet ... the television silenced perhaps permanently ... the memory of submitting my life to God, agreeing to bloom where planted ...

believing that 'downsizing' our lives is not only about living on less, but living in less ... making room for more ... community

believing in abundance ...

enough eucalyptus for two bouquets ...

"... for every animal of the forest is mine,
    and the cattle on a thousand hills.
I know every bird in the mountains,
    and the insects in the fields are mine."
Psalm 50:10-11 NIV excerpt

Rjw

Monday, February 20, 2012

Cheap Trick

As a Freshman in high school, I remember being invisible.

The next year, my sister is a Freshman, and people make the connection,
"Oh, you're HER sister. She's really great."

When I am a Junior in high school, Heaven Tonight will be our prom theme, the title cut from the album by Cheap Trick.

There is a Cheap Trick concert nearby,
probably Minneapolis. In a moment of
bravery, I ask my parents if I can go.

I am told no.

I am disappointed.

I do not ask again.


A few days later a couple Senior girls ask my sister to go to the concert, invite her to see Cheap Trick with them. She asks and our parents say no.

Is she disappointed? I do not know.

What I remember is that she asks again. And again. And again. And again and again and again. In my mind's eye I can see her, smiling, asking, begging. Finally, my parents say yes. My sister, a Sophomore, goes to the Cheap Trick concert.

I stay home. My sister rocks.

In the hierarchy of high school, this is not a good outcome for me.

When Jesus tells the parable of the prodigal son, I am not the child who takes her inheritance and tastes life. Instead, I am the other daughter, the one who waits at home for her parents' blessing, is embittered by the freedom her sister tastes.

Most days, I am still bitter toward those with perceived authority. I often move forward without asking permission, bully my way through barriers. I've gotten pretty good at saying I'm sorry, begging and cajoling forgiveness in the aftermath.

"The older brother stalked off in an angry sulk and refused to join in.
His father came out and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen.
The son said, 'Look how many years I've stayed here serving
you, never giving you one moment of grief, but have you ever
thrown a party for me and my friends?'"
—Luke 15:28-29 MSG

I am a daughter. I am a parent. I am a mother who has experienced both joy and pain, watched her children leave and welcomed them home.

The prodigal is still my least favorite parable.

Is it because I can see myself in multiple roles? Or, because as I try to fit into the role of prodigal, I find myself unworthy of forgiveness?

And I am walking the Wounded Heart journey again WHY?

Rw
.
Photo Credit

Monday, January 9, 2012

Happy Birth Day!

When you arrive you will be named Bryan which means "strength, virtue, honor" (if you are a girl, we'll call you Andrea Nicole which means "womanly" and "victorious").





Mommy got up early to start the coffee ...

crawled back into bed at 7:11am ... a really hard pain ...

[the pains] keep up for 3 hours ...

we got to the hospital around noon.


We had an OB/GYN appointment at 2:30pm.
You were born at 2:10pm.
So polite.

I think you look like your sister - especially when you're angry ...

at 18 months you like to look at Lw your dad and say Mama.


I laugh as I read the notes in your baby book.

Rw

Ruth 4
.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Midway Telephone Company

Among the list of posts unpublished in 2011 were six drafts
~ the fifth draft entry contained this 1949 news:

The Medford exchange of the Midway Telephone Company installed its first dial tone Saturday afternoon, which was added to the equipment for the purpose of convenience to the customers. When the receiver of the phone is lifted and the line is clear there is a distinct tone that can be heard. After the first number has been dialed the tone disappears if the line is clear, and if it doesn't it is
a clear indication that the line is out of order or in use.
—The Star News, 3 March 1949 The Time Machine



dusty family treasures

The child-me remembers
the power often going out
in high winds, winter storms,
sitting around our table,
me with my sister and mom,
soft candlelight. When winds
rattled windows, dad wasn't
at home with us. As a lineman,
he was out in the storm, atop
telephone poles, making repairs.



me
1:25am arrival


The story of my birth is set in a winter storm, the onset of labor inviting my dad in from a bitter cold winter night ... when I finally arrive and my dad is called into her hospital room, mom bursts into tears, a response to the overwhelming exhaustion
and my dad's well-intended observation:
the long fingers of this baby girl.




morning glory
4:23am arrival





Decades later, holding my newborn,
family connections, nuances echo,
the hands of my daughter are crested
with the long slender fingers my dad
first noticed in me.






Morning Glory was in her first year of college, University of Minnesota, when a new family tradition began. A 4:23am birthday call from me, her mother, woke her from a deep winter's sleep.
The next year she set a alarm and answered a very chipper
"hello mom" - she'd been waiting for predictable me.


For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Psalm 100:5 NIV


Rw
.
17 Jan 1962 Weather temp -22º with wind chills approaching -40º
.

Friday, December 23, 2011

Christmas Countdown Day 2

4 ... 3 ... 2 ...

Dec 3 bake cookies with daughter, mom, sisters, nieces, nephew
Dec 5 write annual letter, begin mailing cards
Dec 12 think about getting a tree
Dec 13 help with a club Christmas party, bring cranberry juice and dessert
Dec 19 dust banister, hang stockings pine-garland and lights
Dec 20 think about getting that tree
Dec 21 wash sheets, prepare guestroom, deliver cookies and gifts to a club
Dec 21 invite our adult children to Christmas Eve dinner
Dec 22 shop for modest gifts with hubby, take time for lunch
Dec 22 attend beautiful wedding of friends, enjoy dinner, dance
Dec 23 write and mail remaining Christmas cards
Dec 23 wrap a gift for our mail lady, mail a book to a friend
Dec 23 clean house, get groceries, consider a last-minute dash for a tree?
Dec 24 cook dinner, bake chocolate cake
Dec 24 gather to worship, share late evening meal with our adult children
Dec 25 meet loved ones for coffee, gather to worship
Dec 25 lunch with our children and my family of origin


The stemware and holiday mugs, cloth napkins and winter stoneware wait for me, ready to replace the coming and going of Christmas cards on the dining room table. Pledge, the one with the broken top, mists the lemony smell of clean onto my dust rag, probably for the final time. The plastic top broken over a year ago symbolizes the deliberate frugal focus of this past year, a pledge to living on less, creating and celebrating more. The corner where I had envisioned our tree remains waiting and empty ~ perhaps anticipating a commitment from me to a new legacy, a Christmas that begins with the sundown of pre-holiday chaos and spans the twelve days to Epiphany?

After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea,
during the time of King Herod,
Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked,
“Where is the one who has been born
king of the Jews? We saw his star in the east
and have come to worship him.”

When King Herod heard this he was disturbed,
and all Jerusalem with him.
When he had called together all the people’s
chief priests and teachers of the law,
he asked them where the Christ was to be born.

“In Bethlehem in Judea,” they replied,
“for this is what the prophet has written:
“‘But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for out of you will come a ruler
who will be the shepherd of my people Israel.’
”

Then Herod called the Magi secretly and found
out from them the exact time the star had appeared.
He sent them to Bethlehem and said,
“Go and make a careful search for the child.
As soon as you find him, report to me, so that
I too may go and worship him.”

After they had heard the king,
they went on their way, and
the star they had seen in the east
went ahead of them until it stopped
over the place where the child was.
When they saw the star, they were overjoyed.
On coming to the house, they saw the child
with his mother Mary, and they bowed down
and worshiped him. Then they opened their
treasures and presented him with gifts
of gold and of incense and of myrrh.

Matthew 2:1-11 NIV1984


Rw
.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Grandpa

"Where did Grandpa go?" the child asks.
"He's in heaven now." her mother answers.
"What's heaven?" asks the puzzled child.
"Heaven is where God lives."
"Why did Grandpa go there?"
"Because it was his turn to be with God."
"Can I go too?"
"Someday, when its your turn."
"Oh. Mom, when I go can I take my teddy bear?"

The child struggles to understand what has happened to her grandfather, but the concept of death is beyond her grasp.

He had always been there ... a knight in shining armor chasing away the monsters that lurked under her bed ... a partner
in crime, stealing cookies when Mom turned her back ... a cherished companion offering the warm, safe refuge of his arms when she needed a hug. Grandpa had been her friend and more; he was
the center of her universe.

He made her feel she was someone special. She was not merely a child, but HIS grandchild, and for his grandchild he painted the "American Dream." She would go far in the world, accomplish great things. But all that was far, far away, somewhere out there in the future.

For now they could walk in the park and eat strawberry ice cream on the front porch. They could discover the treasure hidden within each Christmas package and birthday surprise ... build snowmen and sandcastles ... sing one extra chorus of her favorite song.

Suddenly he had been taken away to this place called heaven, with God and the angels ... that was where Grandpa lived now.


I was the little girl, only five when my grandfather died. His premature death brought him immortality, immortality of a special kind. I shall forever see my grandfather through the loving and idealistic eyes of a child. A child not yet disenchanted by life's cruel blows. I remember only the good, the kind-heartedness,
the love of my grandfather.

The greatest benefactors of my grandfather's love were the members of his family, especially the grandchildren. Family was
my grandfather's most valued possession. By the time of my debut into this family, grandfather's four daughters had given him five granddaughters. Surrounded by so many of the female persuasion, my grandfather must have prayed for a boy with each new child. If he was disappointed, it was not evident, for he enjoyed each of us girls, making us feel special and showering us all with love.

Each one of us felt his love in our own special way. Each one of us grew up believing we had been his favorite. Grandfather had given us a special gift; he had made each one of us feel that we were someone special, individuals, each with our own gifts to give.

My grandfather then was a man with his own special gift to give, and he gave each and every member of his family this most precious gift ... his love. This love remains with us forever, and for me remains forever untarnished because it is the pure, idealistic love of a grandfather for his grandchild.


I originally wrote this piece in 1987, a ceremonial speech for Communication Arts 104. I've been attempting to find it for about a month. Yesterday, while carrying Christmas decorations from our basement, two boxes marked 'Memories' caught my eye. I abandoned my decorating, emptied the contents of 'Memories' onto my kitchen counters, table and floor. The lost is found.

Today I take a moment, read my Grandfather's obituary, one I found online a couple of years ago. His obituary appeared in the local newspaper 21 December 1967. It does not list a cause of death. In hushed tones the adults whispered suicide.

The child now sees what she was told, his heart simply gave out.

Grandpa died just days before Christmas.



Sunday, December 18, 2011

Christmas Countdown Day 7

The whirl of Christmas, the world of Christmas,
There’s both magic and madness in the air.
Rich Perrotti, Christmas 1985

8 ... 7 ...

Santa and Elf in the Sleigh Pulled by Reindeer
In a whirling
of Christmas
magic, crayon
Santa in sleigh
transports me to Dec 1988 – designing our own greeting card, sharing a child's drawing, an image created by our daughter-artist age five.

Within days of sending our first homemade card we will officially become a family in a late-December wedding. Mom, Dad, Daughter and Son, young lives woven together, ready to celebrate this one on our own. My parents' house is no longer the place we call home for Christmas. For the first time we stay in, opt out of traveling, not-so-gently breaking my mother's heart.

Our plans for a first quiet Christmas Eve, a new tradition, are dashed when my soon-to-be-mother-in-law calls ... she is
alone tonight, could we visit, for 64 miles is not that far to go?
I begrudgingly bundle the children and we set out in the cold, drive miles north for a visit, then more miles back home.

This sounds like a Christmas giving story, though it is not.

In the days between then and our wedding, a plan is revealed. My soon-to-be-sisters confirm and agree, that multiple Christmas Eve invitations were extended, their mother turned down not just one, but three! Did SHE choose to manipulate, fake HER distress? In betrayal SHE pushed me away with both hands. My heart hardens in anger! Her scheme takes a toll.

I did not learn to love her. I mourn this today. All those years wasted! This cannot be the way.

In the pain and the hurt I discover a key: I choose Hope and the Strength to love differently.





Then Joseph woke up. He did exactly what 
God's angel commanded in the dream: 
He married Mary ... He named the baby Jesus.


Rw
.
24 Dec 1988 Weather low 19º with winds gusting to 28 mph

Friday, December 16, 2011

Christmas Countdown Day 9


When Jesus saw him stretched out by the
pool and knew how long he had been there,
he said, "Do you want to get well?"
John 5:6



Good question. Do I want to get well?

I am a person who sometimes hangs on
and on and on and on. And, I am learning
to let go. By no means did this change
come naturally. Healing change within me
is a Divine Intervention.

I am a work in progress.



10 ... 9 ...

The final countdown to Christmas is upon us and there seems to be a compulsion, a greedy need to clutch tightly the traditions
of Christmases PAST, to demand a son and his wife abandon her family - or a daughter and her husband desert his - to put US first, celebrate Christmas like we ALWAYS did.

I am tired of the drama, the competition for affection, the way it pulls apart newly married couples, strangles budding relationships, pits our families against one another.

This Christmas, will we stop demanding a holiday as it ALWAYS was, bemoaning the absence of those we coerce and manipulate with our neediness? Will we choose instead to encourage those around us in every thought and word, celebrate this Miraculous Birth Day with love, hope and faith in Christ?

Will we will hear and respond to Jesus' question:

Do you want to get well?


Jesus replied, "Moses gave you this law because you are so heartless. But in the beginning God made a man and a woman. That's why a man leaves his father and mother and gets married.
He becomes like one person with his wife. Then they are no longer two people, but one. And no one should separate a couple that God has joined together." Mark 10


Rw
.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Indicators

This morning, on our kitchen counter, there was a to-go cup from Mancino's restaurant -- a signal that one of my guys had lunch there, probably the reuben.

a tiny orange light indicates a Hot Surface on the stove top

a ding from the Chicken
signals that dinner is ready ...
... or perhaps that time is up

an empty cardboard tube
will soon hint at the need
for a new roll of paper towel
some years ago, the guys
acquired a Mood Indicator,
a gift for us girls

a tree for me

an apple for daughter/sister

that apple didn't
fall far from the tree
-- Dad


Much the same way fruit appears in an orchard,
God brings gifts into our lives:

—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity.
We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.
Galatians 5:22 MSG

love
joy
peace
forbearance
kindness
goodness
faithfulness
gentleness
self-control

Gifts.

As indicators?

Rw
.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Cookie Bake

Leading up to the sugar-infused holiday called Christmas, the women in my family gather together to bake cookies, each woman bringing favorite doughs and ingredients.

Oreo cookies

cream cheese

almond bark

mixed together in my kitchen



join a sisterhood of sweetness multiplied

mothers

grandmothers

nieces

cousins

aunts

daughters

sisters



Mary didn't waste a minute. She got up and traveled 
to a town in Judah in the hill country, straight 
to Zachariah's house, and greeted Elizabeth. 
When Elizabeth heard Mary's greeting, 
the baby in her womb leaped. Luke 1 MSG


Rw
.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Winter Thyme

This morning, the view from our bedroom window is a winter wonderland. A soft snow is falling, accumulating, reflecting the moonlight, gently lighting a quiet predawn world.

Last night my son and daughter-in-love stopped by, their first Christmas tree bundled and tied to the top of his Jeep. "Hey, Mom. Sorry we can't stay to visit. Can we get that box of ornaments, the Christmas decorations, from the basement?"

We walk downstairs, turn on the lights, find 5 boxes marked
with his name. The boxes contain the collections of childhood:
a Victorian Christmas village, his tree ornaments, a handful of Longaberger Christmas baskets, a set of holiday dishes.

We carry 3 boxes out to the Jeep, leaving the village in storage.

The MoM in me inquires about practical things,
"Do you have
a tree stand?"
The children
standing here
are married
adults with
college degrees
and student loans,
stepping into
adulthood with
mortgage payments,
experiencing
home ownership
for the first time.


Like a softly accumulating snow reflecting the moonlight, the
man and woman standing before me will light the world this Christmas, continuing on a few family traditions and beginning
new celebrations all their own.

The MoM in me is WoW'd.


Parents, don't come down too hard 
on your children or you'll crush their spirits.

Let the peace of Christ keep you in tune 
with each other, in step with each other.


Rw

.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Spumoni

Preferring tidy boundaries, I hesitate to mix things up. Faced with the multifarious offerings of Baskin Robbins, I choose two scoops, one flavor: maple nut. My husband lives more deliciously.

One favorite, Spumoni, is a 3-layer creation infused with pistachio pieces, chocolate chunks and bits of cherries. We first discover Spumoni at an Italian restaurant, after he is promoted from
the on-site construction team into the corporate office. His new job includes weekly travel, airports and suits-n-ties. Our Tuesday-morning routine is dropping Dad at the airport; our Thursday night his homecoming.

The taste of Spumoni takes me back to 1988, a rented 2-bedroom apartment, sharing one car, decorating sugar cookies Wednesday night, serving potato soup with grated and sliced cheese, and a crusty bread, for our dinner on Christmas Eve.

Our meal blends robust cheeses nestled inside gifted boxes with simple ingredients: whole milk, potatoes, parsley, butter, salt, bread. A poinsettia on our table, one just like it gifted to other couples existing the company holiday party, an upscale hotel.
A paper plate angel on our tree.
Sugar cookies as dessert.

Tearing off the outer wrappings, the crisp suits-n-ties corporate culture of this shiny American holiday, reveals a quiet simplicity
... a young family working and making ends meet at Christmas.

Sharing potato soup with grated and sliced cheese, and a crusty bread for dinner on Christmas Eve. We continue our tradition.

After all these years, I am learning how to live more deliciously.


"What I'm interested in seeing you do is:
sharing your food with the hungry,
inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
being available to your own families."

"Then the light of my blessing
will shine on you like the rising sun."


Rw
.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Bacon and Sausage

The alarm clock rang at 5am. I got out of bed, hit the snooze button, went to the kitchen to fry bacon and sausage. I don't remember the last time we purchased breakfast meats. Typically we're a bagel and fiber bar house, enjoying something heart- healthy with our coffee.

The hardier breakfast fare is a seasonal celebration. Today is the opening morning of gun season for white tailed deer. Sunrise 7:08am.

If I were a gambler, I'd put my money on the one in the middle to bring home a buck. She got up early to exercise, ate fruit and yogurt for breakfast.

The rest of us? Well...

Rw



"And there was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day. 
And God said, 'Let the land produce living creatures 
according to their kinds: the livestock, 
the creatures that move along the ground, 
and the wild animals, each according to its kind.' 
And it was so. God made the wild animals 
according to their kinds, 
the livestock 
according to their kinds, 
and all the creatures that move along the ground 
according to their kinds. 
And God saw that it was good. 
Then God said, 'Let us make mankind in our image, 
in our likeness, so that they may rule over 
the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, 
over the livestock and all the wild animals, 
and over all the creatures 
that move along the ground.'
So God created mankind in his own image, 
in the image of God he created them; 
male and female he created them."

.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Harley's First Snow

My husband and I grew up with winter, as did our Black Lab mix, Dozer. Our handsome rescued Papillon, Harley, came to us from Texas this past April.

As the weather cooled and autumn promised winter, my husband and I speculated on Harley's reaction to his first snow. We laughed in anticipation of Harley's confusion and surprise as he discovered cold white winter. When I looked out the window this morning, I quietly slipped a camera into my coat pocket, preparing to capture the moment on my morning walk with Harley.

Pocketing the leash and a couple baggies for any mess he might deposit along the way, I invited Harley on our morning walk like today was just another day. And Harley rose to the occasion.

With no other dogs in sight, Harley walked without his leash. Staying within the familiar and defined space of the wet concrete sidewalk, he sniffed at the strange white stuff covering the lawn, perhaps touching his nose briefly to the icy cold. He walked east. He sniffed and strolled at his usual pace, staying to the sidewalk, until we got to the 4th house on our block. Turning south in the walkway leading to the neighbor's front porch, Harley sniffed the shriveled flowerbeds. He turned, backing tushy-first over the plants, and did his business, keeping all 4 paws on the sidewalk ...

... then ran back toward our house at full speed, leaping up the steps of our front porch and skidding to a stop at the front door.
I laughed.

Every morning Harley is a languishing walker, expecting an extended route, several blocks of sniff and stroll. Today, in the snow, he was efficient in the space of a few adjoining front yards, getting back to the front porch a full 40 feet in front of me.


This is when I got out the camera, as Harley waited on the front porch, looking longingly at the front door, then back at me.

I could almost hear him saying, "Gitty up!"

Good people take good care of their animals, 
but the wicked know only how to be cruel.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

More Questions Than Answers

"... think about stories that you tell and the stories that others tell about you. It may help to think in terms of general categories ... Weather ... Object ... What kind of car did your family have?"
—Dan Allender, To Be Told Workbook pg 11

Dad drove Fords. For decades, I refer to the first family car held in my childhood memories as a 'Ford' Tempest. Today, my discovery? Our Tempest was a Pontiac.

Nestled within the stories of my family of origin, is Dad's career change from lineman for Midway Telephone Company to technician for Midwest Breeders Cooperative. Dad's new job came in the mid-1960s. I was in kindergarten when we relocated. In my softly faded childhood memories, I am comforted as Mom reads to me a book about the adventure of moving. I am excited when Dad takes me to pick out a black lab puppy. We name her Lady.

I didn't realize it at the time, but Dad was a young man on the forefront of a new industry. Dairy farmers across the upper Midwest were no longer keeping bulls on the farm, but diversifying the genetics of their herds using frozen semen.
Midwest is the world's largest member-owned artificial insemination cooperative. It was formed January 1, 1967, with the consolidation of Consolidated Breeders Cooperative of Anoka, Minnesota, and Badger Breeders Cooperative of Shawano, Wisconsin. Ken Peissig, director of operations for the cooperative, reported that in 1967, the cooperative provided service for 44,176 members in six states, including Iowa, Nebraska, South Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Missouri. Sales volume for the year was $3,975,984. First service cows bred for members totaled 679,576. The cooperative has 401 employees including 320 direct employee technicians.
THE INDEPENDENT
Thursday, March 21 ,1968

Pipettes of semen were held in a stainless steel tank, kept cold by liquid nitrogen. The tank weighed more than my sister and I combined - and didn't quite fit in the trunk of the car. The trunk lid was modified, probably by a body shop, so that our Tempest had something else no other car possessed - a 'hump' much like a large hatbox protruding from the center of her trunk lid.

a tank from ABS - Midwest's tremulous competition












remembering our family car - a brown Pontiac Tempest

Nestled within the stories of my family of origin, is a story of Mom, a woman coming of age in the Kennedy Camelot Years, now a young wife and mother. She and Dad share the brown Tempest, which she takes to the supermarket to purchase groceries. We laugh when she tells the story:

... the carryout from the supermarket was a young man. He followed me out to the car with my groceries, politely putting the paper bags in the back seat. Just before turning to walk away, he asked about the hump in the trunk lid. Without blinking an eye, I replied, "Oh, that's where my husband keeps his semen" then got into the driver's seat and pulled away. It was a minute or two later that I blushed, realizing what I'd said, picturing that young man laughing as he told his buddies all about it.

As I examine the objects of my childhood - cars, bikes, books, toys, clothes - I uncover more questions than answers, yet in these memories I am discovering more to love about my parents, unearthing their humanity.

Rw

Stick with what you learned and believed,
sure of the integrity of your teachers

Pontiac Tempest
ABS Tank

Friday, October 14, 2011

I am grateful

My sister's house celebrates a family tradition, designing costumes and dressing up for trick-or-treating, turning the garage into a haunted house then inviting 'unsuspecting' guests to explore, celebrating the abundance of autumn, sharing yummy fall snacks or a warm meal, campfires at night in the yard outside her kitchen door. Boxes of decorations and
props are pulled from the garage. Pumpkins grown in her husband's garden are carved and painted. Halloween becomes a celebration for all ages, a bringing together of friends and family. An warm and inviting open house. A season of generosity. Generations of family within a community of friends.

I change the cover on my dog treat jar from school bus to ghost, buy candy for the trick-or-treaters, turn on the porch light.

Sometimes it feels as though I do too little. Others might argue that we both do too much, negative people choosing to pick at us like ravens. Criticism lays bare my sister's abundant joy and my simple pleasures. Cruel words hold the potential to unleash the worst critic, the enemy masquerading, the cruelty that seems to come from within – within her, within me, within us all.

And, I am grateful?

Yes. I am grateful for comfort and protection in God's Word – available to the critics, to the joyous, to everyone.

"...You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors 
in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. 
We're going public with this ... Keep open house; 
be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, 
you'll prompt people to open up with God, 
this generous Father in heaven."

In Christ we find the power to banish the darkest enemy and take back the night.

Rw