The Music Teacher

One Friday morning ( just over six weeks ago) I had the chance to be somewhere I often wish to be . . . and that is to be an Indonesian fly on the wall . . . yes . . . to be transported to a specific scene for a time . . . just to observe.
This photo was taken by Julene's front door on the morning that I went with her to watch and listen as she taught  a music class.  Does she not look beautiful? I miss you, Jules.

Mom's Lifestory

My mom-in-law, Maria, was born on August 7, 1917 in Blumenort, Siberia, Russia. Being the oldest, her childhood was short-lived when she had to quit school after just one year. Her help was needed with housework and care for younger siblings. In 1929, aside from the fact that life was difficult, it became unbearable when the government took over farms, closed churches and banned preaching. The following year the family with six children, moved to Moscow and eventually on to Germany and then by ship to Paraguay in 1930.

Their joy of a new homeland soon diminished when they realized what kind of a place they had come to. A hot wilderness with sandflies, mosquitoes, rattlesnakes and, to their surprise, Indians with loin cloths roamed the land. But even here God’s presence and provision was real. Bush was cleared with wild oxen, wells were dug and land was divided. They made bricks to build ovens, houses, schools and church buildings.

The family’s spiritual life became alive during this time also. Mom remembered church services held under the trees and prayer becoming meaningful. Six more children came along. When the first one died at infancy, mom’s father committed his life to God and began to lead the family in daily Bible reading. A year later, Mom also invited Christ into her heart at a church service in 1932.

As a girl and young teen, mom was a “daddy’s girl” in that she was the one to work alongside of him. They cut down palisanto trees and then peeled them and sold the wood for oil-extraction. She helped him plow, seed, hoe and harvest, never realizing that her schooling was realized in real life. She helped milk the cows and feed the horses. One would think there was no time for socializing, but that was done at youth meetings, weddings and Sundays.

Mom was baptized at the age of sixteen and when she was eighteen she went to serve at the Lengua Indian Mission for a short term. She told of how some enemy Indians of the ones they were serving, came to the door and patted their tummies. Fearfully, she led them to the kitchen and gave them some bread and beans. Later on she found out that she was the first white person to have been in contact with this particular tribe.

Mom married Dad on March 6, 1937 in Fernheim, Chaco, Paraguay. Once the newlyweds were able to afford it, they began to make bricks and cut down trees to build their home, their first child lying in a cradle, under a tree. Their second son was born soon after the home was plastered and window frames put in.

The first years of harvest were devoured by ants, until they discovered pesticides. After three more children the family moved to another farm, where they planted cotton, peanuts, wheat and corn. Four more children, including my H were added to the family and a new house was built on the farm. For many years mom entertained boarders. She also baked Chipas and sewed shirts to sell at the Co-op.

The oldest two sons got married and moved to Canada. With Dad’s health failing, it was advised that he also move. In 1967 Mom and Dad, with their four youngest children moved to Canada, settling in Vancouver. After five years they moved to Abbotsford, where Mom worked at the Tabor Home for several years before retiring. She had a revolving door of regular visits from grandchildren, always ready with Borscht, Rollkuchen and Peppermint cookies. When I joined the family, she was expecting her 18th grandchild.

Even after retirement, Mom was not one to sit idle, ever. She found great pleasure in walking to the supermarket at nine in the morning, having her batch of buns cooling on the counter already. For years, she baked Zwieback to sell, collected clothing and sewed patchwork blankets, out of free remnants donated to her, for needy children in Paraguay. Closer to home, she served at the Community Kitchen Center for more than ten years. I think these years, when she had time to give in this way were her best years.

Mom (and Dad) did not miss out on too many celebrations. Birthdays and other special days were kept track of and we’d be sure to get a call, asking when the party was happening. She was never happier than when she was having someone over of was invited. We had the privilege of celebrating their 60th Wedding Anniversary as a family, before Dad passed away in 1997.

In 2007 Mom moved into the new Assisted Living quarters at the Tabor Court. She was hospitalized in 2009, due to many falls, eventually having to move into the Menno Home.  At around midnight, on May 17, we were at her bedside, singing her favorite songs, talking in her ear, praying and reading words of hope from the Bible. It was a peaceful time. She slipped into eternity on the morning of May 18, 2011 at 8:45 AM.

These days her life is signified by a dash between two dates. But her family knows more of the breadth of a life well-lived therin.

My Kitchen Treasure

When my H's mom had to move into assisted living, she wanted to observe the process of each child picking something they wanted of what she could not use any more.

What I wanted most, of all that she owned,was her kitchen machine . . . and I can hardly believe I got it! I took it home and stored it, giving my machine another few years to prove itself. This week I decided it was time to try Mom's. It's old .. but like new compared to mine. I can tell she opted for hand mixing more often than not.

I put in the butter and milk, the salt and yeast and flour. It hummed like a mercedes, as I mixed my first batch of Zwieback in it.

When the dough was finished, I tipped it into a larger bowl to allow room for the rise.

and when it had risen, I pinched off the little double decker buns ...

the ones Mom made countless thousands of, I'm sure.

And I baked them a little darker than I usually would ... more like she would have done them. Her girls and I decided that there was no way we would not have Zwieback at her Home Going Memorial Service.
Thank you, Mom, for a gift that will always remind me of you!

Flower Pots and Memories

Usually I have my flower pots done by Mother's Day.



But this year, with spring coming along a little later . . .

it was quite appropriate that I would do them on this memorial day weekend.

As I enjoyed some alone time out in the yard . . . scrubbing pots, adding soil and planting,

I had some time to reflect on the process of memorial preparations and things that Mom liked.

I could not help but think about this photo.
She never did appreciate flowers in the house, but she sure loved them outside.
Even when all she had was a small patio.
This is one of my favorite photos of her.

The Last Call

So like at times before,

Her eyes are closed, as if in sleep.

But laying my hand on her forehead

Does not open them this time.

In this hallowed moment,

As each breath still brings assurance

Of being able to say what needs to be said,

I bend over and talk into her ear,

"I love you . . . and

I wanted to show the cookbook to you.

Your recipe is in there, with a story."

I really don’t know why I thought

I’d always have another chance.

Last Friday she called,

Asking where her children were.

In her own manner, she complimented me,

And I told her she had given me a wonderful son.

I did not know it would be her last call.

The last call of untold calls over many years,

Asking, "What you doing?"

“What you making for supper?” or

“Where were you?”

I leave her bedside,

More hesitant to do so than ever before.

Why is it that in the final end

I know I’ve misinterpreted her care.

I see a face, a soul that truly loved.

I see a mother and Oma who’s done all she could

With the little she had, with all her heart.

And I leave the home, her threshold to heaven,

More fully aware that the things of this earth

Grow strangely dim

In the light of eternity awaiting us all.

Addendum

Our mom, mother-in-law, Oma and great-Oma went to meet her Lord and Maker at 8:45 AM today.

She will be  missed.

Flat Stanley Visits

A couple of weeks ago Shaun and Kristal came by and we all packed into their van for a trip into Vancouver and a walk on the seawall.

I could not help but snap some pics from the backseat I was sitting in, as we drove through the heart of Vancouver, getting close to our destination.

Stanley Park is the third largest urban park in North America, taking up 1000 acres of green space on a peninsula that borders downtown Vancouver.  The park, also known as Vancouver's playground, is about as old as the city itself and offers beautiful picnic areas, a playground, several beaches, a water park, an aquarium, a nice restaurant and coffee shops, a nature house and more . . . for millions of people year round.

The main reason for our trip this weekend was to take our friend, Flat Stanley on a tour. Flat Stanley came to us via mail from a schoolboy in Virginia. Stanley is a character from a children's book written by Jeff Brown . As the story goes, a bulletin board falls on him and flattens him, but he survives and makes the best of his altered state, soon entering locked rooms by sliding under the door. Today school children are sending him across the continent or even around the world, so he can come back and tell them about places he has been.

When I was asked about hosting him, I said, "Sure, and we'll take him to see Stanley Park!" This was a surprise to my friend, not knowing that there really was such a park. In the meantime I have learned that Stanley Park was named in 1889 after Lord Stanley, Governor General of Canada at the time. 
I also found it interesting that the Stanley Cup Playoffs happening in hockey right now are named after the same person.



We unloaded the kids' bikes and they eagerly got on them as we joined others on the seawall.




The seawall stretches out for about 5.5 miles, running around the perimeter of the park. There is not a spot on it that does not offer some significant or majestic view.

The skyline across the harbor always amazes me!

We continued on our walk but, as we got further away from the city, I decided Flat Stanley needed to pose for a photo right then and there.



Koen, was always ready with a smile too.

We took a small detour off the path to see the totem poles, which are a favorite attraction. They are a form of BC's First Nations artwork that tell a family's story and mark important events.

Before too long, the kids tired of their wheels and we decided it was time to check out the playground.



We enjoyed the rays far into the afternoon and then we headed to White Spot for dinner, where they still serve kids meals in pirate ship packs. It was a perfect Vancouver day.

Rain Rain Go Away

Although today the sun is out . . . we have seen very little of it this spring.

Part of the path I walk around the pond has been flooded for some time. Good thing we live on a hill, but our back yard has been quite soggy too.

But in spite of all the gloomy wetness, my weekly little visitor somehow manages to remind me of spring and put a smile on my face.  Maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to visit the baby ducks on the pond soon.

He Asked - She said Yes

As I'm pondering a new chapter in my life, I've been wondering whether to write about it and decided that is just too significant not to  . . . it is, after all, another season to enjoy. So, allow me to tell it in "true story" fashion . . .


Once upon a time we were two families living in Vancouver. My very first friend in Canada became a close friend, and later my bridesmaid, due to the fact that our parents were best friends. Every Friday night and often on Sundays they would come over or we would go to there. I loved going to their house. Her mom was very hospitable and easy going about what kind of snacks we cooked up  in her kitchen. Our parents were the most relaxed when they were together ... playing card games and laughing. One thing I remember most clearly about visiting their house was the novelty of watching TV, since we did not have one at home. To this day, if I were to hear the intro theme music to  I Love Lucy, Gilligan’s Island, The Brady Bunch, My Three Sons or Bewitched . . . I know I would remember the feel of that rush of anticipated excitement, felt on that couch.


In the late 1970’s our parents, along with a third family, bought a joint property on Hatzic Island, a place to enjoy weekend get-a-ways. Over the years this has been a memory making place with many other guests as well.

My father passed away four years ago.  My girlfriend’s mother passed away last year. And somehow the lakefront property, with the two houses on it, has not had the same draw it used to have, as each family has experienced loss.

One can already guess where this is going. He lives in a big empty house on the lake and my mom lives in an apartment in town . . . but the phone line began to have a busy signal much too often, when we called. On both sides of the family, we began to clue in and observed, with smirks, love blossoming.

The invitation went out for this past weekend.  She wanted the children present when he would ask the big question . . . so we drove out to the lake and headed to his house. I could not help but take some pictures of this lovely lake and the trees with their fresh springtime growth.

The table was beautifully set for the occasion and we giggled our way through warm embraces from his family.

We enjoyed a wonderful meal and then we witnessed his profession of his love for her . . . and her acceptance of his proposal. When do kids get to do that?

Now we will let them plan for a Fall wedding and just be there when needed. I thought I was finished with wedding plans . . . but with a lingering premonition I wonder . . . why do I still feel like a mother of the bride?

Together - All Ten of Us!

I hardly know where to begin and where to leave off, when it comes to the events of this very full and wonderful weekend! Our "missing girls" came in one by one, starting on Thursday. Several book signings were planned for the weekend, but the highlight for us girls was a dinner hosted by Lovella and her beloved . .. as many of us know him by.

They set up tables in their shop and, although they did a lot of running back and forth to prepare, one could tell that they did it with joy as we were welcomed with big smiles. We were all so excited to be together and have our hubbies with us too.

As we are learning . . . Mennonite Girls Can Cook! We started on appetizers . . .

While Harv and Bev fried up the most delicious coconut prawns to add to the appies. Nothing like having them straight out of the pan. I have a feeling they will be served on all of our patios this summer.

The main meal featured Greek roasted Cornish hens and potato wedges, Greek style grilled vegetables, rice, Swiss chard rolls, green beans, several salads and warm toasted pita chips made from pita bread.

After being seated, Charlotte said a table grace in High German as well as in Low German. Ellen said a prayer in Russian and then we all stood to sing Praise God from Whom all Blessings Flow in English. With the acoustics in that room . . . it was very moving. There is something about hearing the language that was spoken by grandparents and parents ... for some of us even as children . . .  and then the familiar doxology in four part harmony, that made for a beautiful common bond.

We ate. Of course there was dessert too! Pies and ice cream . . . Then we sent the guys to visit on their own as we went about some of our business... fun  business!

On Saturday the group did book signing shifts between Winks and Lepp Farm Market. It was a lot of fun to meet old friends and new friends, some of whom we have met through blogging. We made excuses for photos . . . here is one of the three farmers wives . . . at Lepp Farm Market.

There were those who had received books already and came just to get them signed. I was excited to see my sister come by.

And some special little visitors, one of whom wanted to join me in the signing department. I used to think that when people got their books signed it was a treat for the person getting the book signed, but now I realize that it's a treat for the one signing. Ah... this could be short lived... so we just made the most of it!

I'm still getting used to the fact that Shaun and Kristal are really living here now. They came to check out the Farm Market Place and enjoyed some lunch at the bar.

Tonight we will be at House of James. There will be a short little program and we will serve some freshly baked desserts from the book. I'm really looking forward to visiting with those who can come!