Grammy's Suitcase Secret

There is a suitcase I found squeezed in amongst the storage shelves downstairs.
It was time to open it and take a look at it.
I don't really know what caused me to hang on to it, except for the fact that is is quite compact.

Inside is a gift I got from my parents while I was in high school.
 

If my grands ever wonder just how and where I got my typing skills,
when obviously I'm older than computers . . .
 

here's proof that there was life before that time. . .
and hey . . . the ink seems to outlasts the cartridges we keep having to refill today . . .
unless . . . it hasn't been that long, has it?

Insert: funny story . . . when we got our computer about 15 years ago . . . I sat down to type my name . . . and my fingers automatic movements went to my maiden name. I laughed with tears forming in my eyes . . . to think that fingers connect with a memory like that.

 

Back to the typewriter:
 I noticed the automatic repeat spacer and smiled at how fancy this was . . .
it needed a red button.
On the right side you can choose the color of your ink with a little lever . . .

And the ribbon adjusts itself



so that the keys will hit it in the right place.
 

The return lever is probably one of the things that could be confusing
for anyone looking for an enter key.
But all in all . . . not bad.

 

 I had all I needed for the time.
Today . . . I'm happy with my net book for reasons I could never have imagined!

The Little House on the Farm

Yesterday we enjoyed a special time with friends at the house on the lake . . .
the lake that is disappearing quickly this time of year. . .
but still a nice re-treat every time.
Lovella has done a fun post and I'll just direct you there
for a peek into a MGCC time with our hubbies.

In other news . . .



Not far from our home. . . but away from city lots and cul-de-sacs . . .
on a farmroad reminiscent of times gone by . . .
is where our American-born grands now live.
They'd been asking Papa when he would build them a playhouse -
like the ones he built for their cousins.



I documented the beginnings on the July long weekend, but the work
has continued throughout the past eight weeks.
After long days at the office, whenever he had a free evening,
he measured, sawed, sanded and nailed,
as he designed the workings and details of stairs, windows, hinges and trim.
 

And in spite of the fact that liberties have been taken to move in and out already
 . . . with blankets and pillows in tow . . .
I want to say that
 

the open house is finally here . . . on Grammy's blog!
I can't take any credit for the hard work . . . unless unsolicited opinions count.
In the end . . . I got to add one thing . . . you can guess . . .
and I was happy!
 

So come on in! Ask any child what they like best . . .
it's the upstairs. You get there via a little landing
and a second set of stairs going up.
 

Here's the second set of steps and the loft with a railing.
 

Here's the kitchen window view beside the front door . . .
in need of a bit of paint yet.

The back side view . . .

 

and our newest home-owners!

Wishing for many happy play hours
and spiders to keep out!
 

A True Story

 

 



A book I recently finished reading has run the gamut with my emotions, ranging from deep anger and sadness to pure awe and renewed faith. Captive in Iran is a story about two young Christian women, arrested for handing out New Testaments in a country that is not open to any other faith than what is held by the regime. What stands out in this story is that even though these women were locked away in the depths of one of the most notorious prisons in the country, their voices were not silenced.

In reading this story I was amazed over an over by the living testimony these women proved to be in how they related to the other prisoners - prisoners filled with hate for their unjust treatment - and rightly so. In a land where men's natural instincts overtake the religious system and allow them to lawfully abuse women, the consequences of prison sentences are hard to fathom. I was dumbstruck by the explanations that one of the lawyers was trying to impose on the women when it was evident that they would not give up their faith. He told them that in their own religion there is a loophole for a lie of convenience. Could they not call on such a loophole in Christianity in order to save face?

One example of how their lack of fear played itself out in a cell filled with deeply wounded, tortured and beaten women, tells of how one woman lay crying on her cot - when one of the Christian women asked if she could pray for her. Let me share this excerpt of what happened and why I feel God allowed them to share in the pain of these prisoners.

"As Mrs Mahjoob cried, we prayed - not loudly, but not hiding what we were doing. Gradually, the women around us stopped their conversations to listen. By the time we finished, nearly the entire room was silent. Someone called out, "Your heart is pure and God will listen to your voice. Will you pray for me, too?"

This is how a place that resembled a lawless pigsty became a haven . . . a church where there was no limit to what prayer and faith could do.

Part of the irony in this published story is that the imprisonment of these women has allowed us a view into the lives of other prisoners, their reasons for being there and their basic human need, so receptive to genuine love. The reasons for prisoners held in this place angered me, while the loving gestures these godly sisters doled out, filled me with awe. The effect of their actions in this prison was like a match lit in total blackness, one that I pray continues to shine a light on what is true, noble, right, pure and admirable.

Summer Wash Days

One of the things I love about this house is the laundry chute
going from our bedroom closet down into a cupboard in the laundry room underneath. 
I like it almost as much as the grands do!
Why else would they come up to the bedroom and ask if I have something
to throw in the wash?
One day they were playing and throwing things down as I was changing the bed,
when I suddenly realized the voice of Paeton went from being right there to sounding rather distant.
Wouldn't you know it?
He had gone down the chute!
(I'm assuming he thought it would be easier to ask forgiveness than permission.)
While the little girl inside of me was happy to know it was possible,
I had to make sure this experiment was done!
The other thing I love about this house is the wash line
just out the side door of the laundry room.
Taking in laundry from a wash line is old fashioned fun!
As is the chute.
 

Totally Spoiled

It began a few days before my birthday with a fat envelope in the mail
from those who could not be here . . .

then . . . lunch with a friend
and a bouquet of flowers delivered to my door by mom and Abe
 . . . phone calls . . . facetime . . . emails . . . voicemails . . . texts . . .
Not sure why this birthday was so special
 since I'm not even remotely close to any BIG birthday!

 

On Saturday, close to noon, Julene and Kristal picked me up -
I had no idea where we were going when I got in the car -
We took a short detour off the highway to pick up my sister, Monika,
and continued toward Vancouver . . . downtown.
On Granville Island we found a parking spot and the girls led the way



to this boat - by this time they had at least told me what to expect.

An afternoon high tea on the water!

We left the dock on Granville Island and headed into False Creek, then turned around . . .

cruised under Burrard St. Bridge




into English Bay . . . towards Stanley Park.

 

Two hours of bliss . . . sharing tea sandwiches, scones and pastries . . .
then stepping out onto the deck to enjoy the view.



The unique bridge towers caught my eye . . .
while looking out at well known landmarks such as
the planetarium, the Science World globe  and

 all kinds of other boats sharing our space.

 

 It was time together that I will treasure for 
 those times that we won't be able to do this kind of thing.
Love these girls!

Of the gifts I received there is one I want to mention.
Well, two . . . the "sister" ornament and the tray . . . because a sister picks up on things.
She knew that I had given the other nine mennonite girls a tray exactly like this one last Christmas and that I had not got one for myself.
Now she gave me one, saying that I should have one, just like the rest of them!
That's the way she is. Fair.
 

Back at Granville Island Market Place, I practically ran into my H.
Another surprise . . . and we were left alone to enjoy the evening downtown.
A perfect day!

August Delights

This time of year - where we live - is about stopping by farms or fruit stands
and realizing the riches of the season's harvest.
Large flats of local berries, bins of tomatoes and corn
or fruit such peaches, nectrines, plums and cherries grown just a few hours away
remind us of how blessed we are!
Have you made room in your freezer?
I tried a new jam last week . . .
there is nothing like fresh jam on toast!
Did you see it today on mennonitegirlscancook?