Omi

Today, if Omi (my paternal grandmother) was still here, we would be celebrating her Birthday.
I was scanning slides one day and came across this one taken in 1992.
She is 85 years old here, thinking she should try out the swing at the cabin.
I don't know . . . but maybe I see a lot more there than anyone else would.
It's a warm summer day and she is wearing thick stockings . . . she always did . . .
 a button up sweater . . . and a scarf tied around her head.
I also  see that she is at peace and smiling to herself.

Recently it dawned on me that she missed seeing her first great-great grandchild
by only six and a half years!
So I'll just tell a few things about her that this next generation would surely have observed.
When asked a question,
Omi thought hard and long and took a deep breath before she spoke.
She loved dipping Zwieback into her coffee.
If the coffee was hot, she'd pour some into the saucer
to cool off, and sip it from the saucer.
She loved the taste of butter and honey carefully spread edge to edge on her bread.
She enjoyed home fried potatoes with garlic.
She saved loonies for her great-grandchildren
and hid white peppermints in her pockets for them.

Omi played several instruments, her favorite being the piano . . .
The very last time she was in our home, she reminded me that
I had talked about recording her.
A lot was going on, with the extended family over . . .
I did not know it would be her last visit . . .
her last time to play the piano for us . . .
so the recording never came to be.
The beautiful ballads remain a secret for the ears that heard them.

The grandmotherly legacy she left for me
is a precious and fragile one to pass on.
 

Kitchen Clean-Up

One day I spent the better part of nine hours in the kitchen.
Okay . . . maybe that is nothing new . . .
but this time the mess I made was for another reason.



Some people move around enough that they never need to worry about spring clean up,
But when you stay put, the time comes when you have to buckle down
and just do it.

I pulled everything out of the pantry and the drawers and shelves.

Even when the main items got pulled out, there was
still all kinds of stray stuff going on.

This was my goal.

The only cleaning agent I needed was baking soda. I sprinkled it on any black
spots from utensils or pots being dragged. Using some wet paper towel,
the black marks came off perfectly.

I love the look of a clean cutlery drawer. The thing that remains to be seen is how long
I'll be putting everything back just so.

Top cupboards were looking sad.
Actually I think they kind of brought some joy to those
who noticed.

But no more!
I decided the extra cookbooks I've been given lately were more important than
a box of things I had forgotten about and a pile of plastic bags . . .
(for the "just in case a dirty diaper needs taking care of)
You know.

And when all was said and done . . . I bought some flowers
and pretty well wanted to declare my kitchen a no work zone.
The floor got mopped and the feeling was . . .
oh so good!
I can't quite decide what is better . . .
the clean feeling
or the fact that I don't have to think about this for a few years now.

Only Three Years Ago?



Sometimes when I don't know what to write about,

I scroll through my photos and re-live a whole lot of life within a short time.

There are instances I'm amazed how many years have gone by since a certain photo was taken

and other times I'm surprised it's only been as short as the date says.

For example . . .

this dinner around our kitchen table was taken

on the weekend that all ten of the Mennonite Girls Can Cook

got together for the first time.

I still keep checking . . . was it really only three years ago we all met in person?

These years have been packed with so much that it seems longer.

Publishing two cookbooks are the obvious . . .

the relationships built . . . more subtle, but deep.

To have a place . . . at the click of some keys . . . where we can

run through our day

share a funny story

realize we all face challenges

find encouragement

ask for prayer

weep with those who weep

and rejoice with those who rejoice
is a gift I give thanks for!
 

We are not all the same,

yet the strong thread weaving through our lives

has spun a friendship
that cannot be hidden amongst the recipes we share.
 

The Family Sleepover

As our kids were growing up, birthdays were always celebrated first thing in the morning
with breakfast . . . and gift opening, of course.
This past weekend, with Julene's birthday falling on a Saturday, we decided to
make this kind of a birthday morning a gift for her by packing our overnight bags and
heading to the Lakehouse on Friday already.
 

The grands debated on sleeping arrangements for a while
 and once they made their decision they piled on one bed and got their story in.
Papa always has something to tell them about when he was a boy in Paraguay . . .
like a story about a snake or meeting up with an Indian who chased him.
And then they are supposed to go to sleep.
After a few checks at their doors  . . . with a lot of shushes
and drinks of water and a
"mom, can I flush the toilet?" yelled down to where we were sitting
(because the question is not as loud as the flush) . . .
the adults got tired enough to get themselves up to bed as well.
 

The lake is always most beautiful in the morning. Here the view out of the bedroom window is partly hidden by a huge walnut tree.

From the kitchen door, I enjoyed the scene of the kids all wanting to help make a fire. . .
 just because.

Inside the table was set for twelve . . . we missed our Prairie family.

The birthday daughter /sister / wife / mom / auntie got a special place at the head of the table

and our family favorite was served.

Just how she loved it . . . reminiscent of old times . . .
breakfast and gifts first thing in the morning.



I imagine this weekend being even more than my dad could have dreamed of when . . .
thirty five years ago . . .  on the weekend of his first granddaughter's birth,
he purchased this piece of property
with visions of changing  the horse barn into a home for future family get-a-ways.
He loved this spot  . . . as do all those who never got to know him.
Thank you, Dad!
 

Happy Birthday Julene

Thirty Five years ago this weekend,
I woke up on due date morning and remember being disappointed at the thought
 that now our baby would be late. They don't come on due date, do they?
Well, you did.



You were happy and content from the very beginning.
I don't know what I would have done otherwise, you being our first.
It was almost like you knew my inexperience and decided to make me like having a baby.
As a toddler you loved singing and pretending  (let's 'tend) or
hide and seek and riding your tricycle.
You loved pretty things, such as jewelry, especially rings and flowers.

Birthday morning breakfast time has always been the time to open gifts,
a tradition we began with you.
Then, later on the same day, if possible, there'd be a special cake and a
party with friends and cousins.



Kindergarten . . . what was not to love about that?

 

By Grade five you had six years of violin lessons behind you and
it was becoming a part of who you are today . . . a violinist.
Recently I looked through your box of school notebooks and projects
 and saw again how you loved to put your best effort into your work,
especially title pages.
I'm sure you made many a teacher smile at your intricate artwork.



In high school you got involved in numerous choir and choral groups

and acting became one of your favorite pastimes.
As busy as these years were,
I loved them too.

High School grad - we could not have been more proud of you!
Our first goodbye came the following fall when we drove you to Prairie Bible College.
It was the first time I experienced part of my heart doing life away from home.
A year later you returned to attend university near home.

There was a young man whom you  met at Prairie who just could not forget you
and sometime later began calling, eventually moving to be near by.
Wedding bells rang soon thereafter.

Graduation from university with a Bachelor of Arts and then Education
were what you aspired to and achieved . . . your goal to teach children overseas.

Motherhood came right at the heels of grad . . .
along with other preparation for mission work.

 

With a two-year-old and a two-month-old, all your basic worldly goods were packed
into crates to go to Indonesia.

You learned to speak Indonesian . . .  to drive on the left side of the road . . .
to shop at markets and corner store warungs . . .
to cook with limited supplies . . . to care for your family in a foreign environment . . .
and to show your neighbors that you loved them with the love of Jesus.

 

I saw you hurting and I saw you happy . . . feeling used and feeling useful.

You felt weak and yet strong.

How does one put into words, the metamorphis one goes through in

a foreign country?

I saw you use your artistic gifts and your love for teaching . . .

and it did my heart good to see.

 

Not so long ago you came back as a family of five . . .

we thought to stay . . .

I hope.

 

 

 There is one thing we know for sure. The Lord has given you a sensitive spirit to discern.
A genuine heart to please and serve. A gift to give away in service . . .
be it near or far. May He lead you.

A verse for you with love and best wishes
from Mom and Dad

For You created my inmost being;
    You knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Psalm 139: 13, 14a
   

 

Welcome Visitors!

The globe thistle growing on the side of our house is quite eye catching at the moment.
Its beautiful green thistles bud tiny purple flowers that end up crisscrossing,
as though holding hands, covering the entire ball.
I enjoy the uniqueness of this cut flower.
I like that it lasts long and usually dries quite nice to keep in a decorative vase.
 

It's been close to five years since, through the encouragement of my MGCC friends,
I wrote my first post on FOR EVERYTHING A SEASON.

 More recently I've heard  that blogging is going out of style,
but for me it is a retreat into writing and reading that surpasses the quick things
said on other kind of social media . . .

one that has opened up a world of friends to me,

namely, those who come by to visit here.

Even though I have no idea who most of you are . . .

and maybe that is what intrigues me . . .

 I'm humbled and amazed when I think about this invisible audience

that keeps me accountable.


 

One site that has given me a pretty good idea of where readers
have come from over the past year is Cluster Maps.
You can usually find it on my side bar and click on it to see the visitors,
literally from around the globe.

If you can see a red dot on your city or coutnry on this map . . .

I just want to say a huge THANK YOU

May God bless you . . .

in Saskatoon, in Los Angels, in Curitiba, in Madrid and beyond . . .

If you ever feel so inclined, please leave a comment and say hello.

I'd love to hear where you live.

Update - (Aug2) - Cluster Maps deletes all visits after one year and starts again ... so the visits shown up until yesterday, Aug 1, 2013 are not there any more now. Sorry if you missed it. =(