My Brown Eyes

I was born in a country where blue eyes, such as my siblings', were noticed. I can still hear the Spanish expression of admiration. They were unique and special, while brown eyes were - well, just brown and normal! I remember looking in the mirror in my grandmother's apartment and saying to her, "Omi, I have beautiful blue eyes, right?" She would look at me with her large, sorrowful blue eyes and say, "No, you have brown eyes, Anni."

I think she was fine with my eyes, but when you keep hearing the comments in public, you come to believe that blue is better, and I literally kept track of people's eye color all of my growing up years, including when I met my blue eyed husband.

Today I look at my brown eyed grands, with so much else going for them, but I just love the fact that they have a tiny something that I can say is  from me! I love their brown eyes!

And one of them happens to be three years old today!

Jade, you make us laugh and love you to bits!
When you walk in the door with your "pack pack"
your whole being seems packed with joy and anticipation
and it's hard not to feel the same.

♡♡♡
Papa and Mimi

Let's Race!

... that's what she calls out as she runs off ...

and you wonder how entertaining the scene could become.

Sigh... sometimes it's hard to know 

if I'm being energized or worn down.

What I do know is that I want to remember

the phrases, so much a part of a three-year-old's language
 yet so easy to forget  ... those tiny inflections that
really do make so much sense.

"Everybody doesn't like rain on their clothes!"

or 

"Her puts it on the seat beside where her drives." 

or

(while coloring a tiger)

"Thems guys be orange, right?"

Evy's absolute favorite lunch at this house is 

crepes sprinkled with sugar.

Her favorite DVD is Boz (Bananas, Bubbles and Busy Bodies).

Her favorite game is an an old Sesame Street  matching game

and she loves to read books over and over again.

♡♡♡

Sifting Through a Lifetime

After settling mom into the care home, 

Monika and I began to go through all of her closets,

dressers and cupboards.

Anything that belongs to her - as most things do -

since Abe moved in with very little and left his place as it was, 

for a summer home and the place his family meets up.

We went back day after day ... to work,

but somehow drawn in an inexplainable way.

I can only say that for me this was a good time to do 

what eventually would have to be done anyways. 

We sorted through clothes, jars, plastic containers,

dishes, boxes of cards, photos and  purses, 

taking bags upon bags to MCC and recycling.

Each time giving away a piece of her life ....

and sometimes getting back into my car with uninvited tears.

When we just ran out of time we took boxes home to sort...

finding small treasures to share with the family. 

I'm still not done with those.

We gathered her purses together and set one aside,

to remind us of how her purse could tell a story on it's own.

Cough candy, tissues, a plastic rain bonnet (either in her purse or coat pocket)

and evangelistic tracts could often be found in her purse.

I tried to tell her that people don't read them,

but she had a way of winning peoples hearts.

When she lived near a local high school, she noticed students

gathering by a certain fence for a smoke

and she'd meet up with them to hand out tiny Gideon Bibles or tracts.

Even they treated her with fun and respect as far as she was concerned. 

She never said that they gave her a hard time.

Sometimes Monika or I would cry out with joy over finding something 

we had not seen for a long time ...

such as a box of tablecloths, some of which have been 

packed up several times in the past 60 years. 

We divided them among us,

our only regret being that we cannot ask her any more which ones 

were handmade by her.
She only comments, "how pretty!"

The crocheted tablecloth was a wedding gift in 1956 -
the same date inscribed on a wedding band
I now wear with pride.

Sweet treasures.

This week we invited mom's granddaughters for

a wee lunch at her apartment.

We set out her china, doilies, aprons,

sewing machine, bake ware and jewelry -

for each granddaughter to choose some items 

that were meaningful to her or her husband.

We were eight altogether ...

the three that could not be there were 

included via photos and texts.

One mentioned that it seems a bit strange to do this

while Oma is still here,

but on the other hand, we agreed that

it was also good to know that we

can still go and say hello -

which always brings a smile to her.

What I loved most about this time, 

was seeing the love each one expressed 

by desiring to keep the special memories

tied to a specific item,

whether it was a teapot, a piece of jewelry, an apron

or, maybe even more so, 

her old well used, wooden rolling pin
a grandson was happy to claim.

It may seem strange to write about this.
At least, I have never read how others process this stage,
but I want to remember this day,
feeling so very thankful that
my children and my nieces and nephews value their Oma's influence.
It makes me so proud of them too!

♡♡♡

Mom's New Home

It's been at least a year of trying to figure out how the system works and what one needs to do to get a parent into a care home. Our health care system lives by the motto that "home is best," which sounds good in theory and works well for those who are able to manage, at least for a short time, once basic needs have been cared for and they are not in danger of hurting themselves. I  fought with my own thoughts on this, so often. When I was not with her, I thought, yes it's okay, she and Abe can manage. But when I was with them, I could not imagine how. He was understandably tired. Having a care giver come in here and there, does not help the husband who has to be aware of his wife wandering at night or worse, falling and not being able to help her up.  

When a person loses their way in their own home, has forgotten how to get up when she falls, is not aware of her reality or her space, what she is doing or what she wanted to do, one begins to question that motto. My first inclination to move mom came about when she was frustrated about not being able to manage taking care of food or making a meal. I was told that you cannot move a person because the kitchen frustrates them. I did not know how to explain that the space that has been her happy place has turned into a place of torment, because things burn, things rot and spoil and she does not know why. When we explained why these things were happening, she felt belittled. I could tell she felt like a failure. Her feelings and what she wanted to do were there even while her mental capabilities failed her. Her self esteem was shaved off bit by bit.

So, the day that we were able to move Mom into a care home, really was a day of relief. As much as it was emotionally difficult, we were also very thankful to know that now she would get professional care around the clock. 

Monika and I took her in with a bag of clothing and minimal toiletries. I felt like I was sending mom off to camp. She was not sad or scared. She was totally accepting of going with us and settling into a new room.  We explained as much as we thought she could maybe understand, and she just smiled and said it was okay. It seemed like she was feeling "freed up" of responsibilities. Going on a vacation.

A nurse dropped off a walker and we practiced walking with her. At first it looked like she would not be able to steer it, but by the next day, she did fine and was quite proud of herself. 

Abe came by a bit later. It was time for lunch and, because it was her first meal there, someone decided to bring an extra tray for him. There was a flu going around, so we all had to wear masks in certain areas and mom and Abe were given a private area to eat their meal. I love how she is laughing in this photo. 

 As I write this, five days later, I am still in awe of how accepting mom has been of her move. She has not complained about anything, not once.

The day after her move I was eager to see her and as I walked past the nurses' station, I noticed some patients dozing there, where an eye could be kept on them. Have you ever noticed this? It looks like a time out place. Anyways, I was just going to turn down the hall, when I looked once more and, there she was! She was one of them! Already!

I woke her and asked her how her night had been. She said it was good. She does not initiate conversation easily, so it is mostly about asking her questions that she will answer however she likes, true or not. I asked her if she'd missed Abe and she said, "He's around." I asked her who had dressed her and she said she had dressed herself! Even though it was not true, she was positive! When I complimented her on her walking, she showed off a bit. It was cute.

Mom's attitude has blessed me this week as I've gone through many of her belongings, little notes here and there, precious scripture, unsent cards beautifully written, envelopes she prepared and forgot about or lost the cards for and reminder notes. Her heart was to give unselfishly of herself as she trusted in the goodness of God and of people. The beauty she practiced in life continues to shine as she accepts the care of strangers.  God's grace is enough for her, even now.

In a City of Glass

Last Friday we came down the highway toward Abbotsford

wondering, as temperatures dropped, if we would hit snowfall.

But what we found was a city in the dark.

It was a strange feeling, seeing all the lights off ...

 the hotel, the mall, houses, streetlights, traffic lights ...

and with it, watching out for branches or fallen trees on the road.

Our power was off until the next afternoon,

others longer.

So these past few days driving up into our neighborhood, 

I've stolen quick shots ... 

pure delight in this momentary beauty,

such as when the sun catches each tiny ice covered twig.

or of cold crystallized trees standing strong.

Many have not fared so well.

Some neighbors who have delighted in seeing their trees show off spring blossoms, 

then turn to green and burgundy ... now see them broken from the weight of the ice.

In our yard, I took a closer look at some of the details.
Dried buds or pods and mini lights encapsulated in ice bubbles,
upside down icicles,

and fir branches hanging low with the weight of the ice.

Our Japanese birch resembling an icicle umbrella,

and the oak tree sending out spidery webs of ice

over frozen brown leaves left hanging.

We went for a walk down to the pond.

One part of it was cordoned off.

So we made our way to the other side,

catching some of the most breath taking winter scenes ...

along with some sadness ...

actually quite a bit of brokenness littering the path.

The intriguing thing about these scenes ... 

at home, at the park, on the road

is that I wanted to capture this beauty,

sometimes a haunting beauty

sometimes broken ...

and I don't really know why.

Is it something I can put into words ... I wonder.

These have been my thoughts as we have entered a new year.

A year in which I may look for the beauty 

that comes with brokenness. 

A beauty that comes with sadness alongside crystal perfection,

each fleeting in their own way

because spring will come again.

⭐⭐⭐