You’ll find out, sooner or later, if you are a return reader of the Jot and Tittle, that I am gardener. (See the previous post called “Pass the Youth Berries, Please”.) I have had a love affair with perennials for years, long before they were popular. Now they are extremely easy to find and sold almost everywhere. I remember when most of my purchases were through catalogues because it was the only place I felt that I could get a decent selection. Wayside Gardens had a fabulous pictorial catalogue, at the time, garnished with lots of information on each plant. I learned so much! I used to study those catalogues, planning and dreaming.
Most plants I recognize when I see them at the market just from reading about them. I amaze myself at times never having seen the real thing, and when I do, the name just pops into my head and I’m usually right. (Not always, but sometimes I wonder, “Wow, where did that come from?”) I have lots to learn. That’s where a gardening buddy would come in handy. I can’t talk to “T” about those living things we call plants. Even though she and I are a lot alike, this is one area where there is no common ground. The only plant she has is the Air Plant I gave her and neither one of us is sure if it’s dead or alive.
I have had four gardening friends at different stages of my life. The first one was a friend of my grandmother’s. I personally came to know her because of her great love of flowers. She lived along the road and I drove by her house all the time. She ordered lots of flowers through the mail, as I did and her yard was too irresistible to pass by. We became friends and every time I stopped for a visit, she gave me the grand tour and we inspected every plant. She always had a bag of dirt, a trowel, and was always trying to squeeze in just one more bulb or tuber amongst the already crowded beds. Her specialty was dahlias; many varieties of dahlias. Most of which were tall, the array of colors tremendous, and some as big as dinner plates; hence the name Dinner Plate Dahlias. Funny, one time when my son was very young, maybe 4 years old, we were driving by Mrs. McCullough’s house and he said, “Mom, is Ann your best friend?” I had to smile at that. He must have perceived how happy I was when I visited with her (and her garden). Ann passed away.
Along came another friend. (If you don’t know it yet, friends pass through your life, very few stay. I wish I were better at holding on to them.) Anyway, she lived in Ohio and our visits were relegated to just a few times a year. We became pen pals and much of our communication had to do with gardening. I came across some of her letters the other day and was surprised by the rush of emotion that came through each thoughtfully penned line. She talked about growing eggplant for the first time, planting a berry patch and her efforts at trying to revive poor soil. Letters were all I had left of her and decided it was time for me to do a little composting of my own. (That paper needs to be recycled!) She’s gone. I always knew she was weird and I loved her for it. Her laugh was nothing short of a cackle and most people, well, they just didn’t “get her”. We had so much in common! What does that say for me? Nothing really. When she got weirder, she just went away like a candle that slowly burns out. That was sad but I finally got over it….“Honey, don’t forget to set out the trash.” (Hey, I have plenty of love and was always a good friend but there’s something to be said for “moving on.”) Luke 9:5 “And whosoever will not receive you, when ye go out of that city, shake off the very dust from your feet as a testimony against them.” And that’s what I did…ten years after the fact.
The next gardening friend that came along was a new neighbor. (Looking back, it seems as though the Lord has always provided someone for me to enjoy the passion of gardening with.) She was different too. (I guess we all are) The first time I met her, I had gone up to their house, knocked on the door to introduce myself and welcome them to the neighborhood. She waved me in and proceeded to have an ugly, loud, sort of threatening argument with her bank over the telephone. I was uncomfortable standing there for what seemed to be a long time. It was almost like witnessing a crime. I wish I could have just slipped back out the door but I was sort of frozen there. Here, I was trying to think of a chivalrous way to get out of there but couldn’t come up with anything other than what would clearly be… an awkward departure. While standing there, I thought about the scripture that advises against “making friends with an angry man”. I understood, at that moment, the peril for doing so, was that I might very well be on the other end of her hurling abuse one day. Hum, scary. But, like a child I stood there wide eyed and waited for scene #1 to come to an end. She, did however, turn out to be a good neighbor. (Not with everyone) We had a reciprocal relationship. We went to a few auctions together and bought everything that wasn’t nailed down and laughed about it. (Just a country auction and mostly junk; shovels, spades, whatever.) I bought a big gold fruit basket for $4.00 that my husband hounded me into getting rid of. My mother scooped it up in a minute and it’s been over her fireplace ever since. I eye it with regret every now and then and promise myself that I won’t be goaded into getting rid of things that I really like anymore, no matter what! It’s happened too many times.
Anyway, my neighbor became my gardening friend. We didn’t see each other during the long winter months but as soon as spring rolled around and the hills and valleys of PA started greening up, she and I would reappear, as though we had been in hibernation, and resume our friendship. Shortly after moving here with her husband she created something in her yard that I didn’t think would work. After all, this was farmland and our houses were situated in “the fields.” Well, it did work. Her garden was lovely, peculiar for our area, just a little town; she had the only garden that was divided in sections, and each section with its own design. Really neat! The road was a little higher than their house making it easy for me to see her garden; a work in progress. They added to the garden, a pond with fish, a pagoda, a trail, an arbor for Wisteria and a lovely patch of Hollyhocks grown from seed. I stopped often for the tour and a chat. It’s a great learning experience. She was generous with me and I with her; sharing snippets of this and that. I still see the Red Hot Poker I gave her, it just gets better every year. Mine, however, seems to have fizzled out. I’ll have to check on it tomorrow and see if it is still there. A lilac bush now shades that spot and I probably need to move the Red Hot Poker to a sunnier, more agreeable location. Anyway, we remained gardening friends for several years until she got a divorce. Turns out her husband was giving her panic attacks. She was on medicine, could hardly work, but when she left him, she said that she never had to take another Xanax. She was healed…or had removed herself from the stressor. Funny, he seems like a nice guy. Who knows what the wild goose knows?? So, gardening friend #3 up and moved away. Her husband still lives there and guess what, he gardens. Trouble is, my husband isn’t keen on me having guy buddies, so I just, drive on by, drive on by, la, la-la, la, la. (Sung to the tune of “Walk On By.”)
Well, then came along gardening friend #4. Ahhhh….she had the prettiest garden on the smallest plot of ground that you’ve ever seen. She and her husband owned a townhome. They had a little patch of grass on each side of the driveway and a few feet of ground behind the house. She cultivated every square inch. No one could have done better; it was adorable and completely charming. I love old-fashioned flowers, shrubs and trees. She, on the otherhand, relished the latest varieties of hybrids, etc.; whatever was new. If it was new, she was the first in our area to have it. I often had no idea what she was growing. Her garden was always interesting, full of life and three dimensional. You name it, it was there: hardscape, sculpture, low-growing, climbing and always in bloom. When she mentioned that a toad was frequenting her garden I bought her a toad house. She chose an adorable, conspicuous location for the house…but the little dickens never moved in. Rats! Toads are so unpredictable. The clay dwelling inscribed “Toad’s House” looked none the worse, it just added more charm, if it were possible, to the already magical place.
She has given me more plants and starts than I could count, especially when they moved. She took most of her garden with her and what she couldn’t haul, she gave to me. This year I see her everywhere I look. My garden now boasts of many new plant varieties. The irises she gave me are large and a dark, sort of bloody red. That fabulous color has added so much to the look of my spring beds on the side of the house. I’m inspired to head in a new direction and revamp the whole thing. We'll see.
Since this is the first spring/summer that she’s gone, and I miss not being able to discuss the explosion of flowering plants and shrubs with her, I decided to write her a letter. With my pen I brought to life all of my garden’s glory, right there on paper. I knew she’d be delighted with every detail. Turns out, like most people these days, she doesn’t write much.
Doesn’t it say that man was not meant to garden alone. (No, I know it doesn’t. But it should, and one shouldn’t, garden alone, that is.)
The guy at the car dealership knows I garden. He’s always good for a solid fifteen minutes of gardening talk when I drop my car off for service. I have a mental picture as to what his garden might look like. I imagine it’s fabulous. I’ve heard him talk about the ground hog that vexes his existence and the year round hunt for the little guy. He, the groundhog, is quite elusive. I told him that my bird dog would take care of the situation within a week. (Of course, she'd have to do quite a bit of digging.) He looks as though he’s been in the military. I think he would rather hunt the enemy and, you know, get rid of him once and for all. No relocation program here. Anyway, gardeners love nothing better than to discuss what’s going on in their back yard. I guess that’s why garden clubs were invented. Hum, my plate is full, no room for a club.
By the way, there is a new housing development in our neighborhood. Approximately 20 houses have been built thus far and there are supposed to be about ninety in total. Maybe a horticultural enthusiast is headed my way. I’ll know just by simply driving by. If I see something more than a scant daylily, I might have to pick a bouquet of sweet smelling flowers and head over there to introduce myself. You know, like the welcome wagon, mulch wagon, whatever.
I’ll let you know if the miracle happens.
FYI - The abundance of peaches are so heavy on our tree this year, that the tops of the branches are touching the ground. We are just hoping to harvest the fruit before the tree collapses by breaking in half. (Time to prune!) This is a late peach variety and the peaches are just starting to ripen. It’s an absolutely delicious peach called The Georgia White Peach. I made my first peach crisp the other day and it was good. I used an apple crisp recipe, which turns out is not right for peaches. They need flour or tapioca, something like that to create to the right consistency. The crisp was a little soupy. Still heavenly, but soupy.
I can’t help but include another recipe. I’ve never had a peach pie like what I’m about to share with you ever! (And we come from a long line of pie bakers – we know good pie!) This recipe comes from my mother-in-law who is in her 80’s now, it was her mother’s recipe. If you want to delight your friends and family with a truly delicious dessert, this is it. It’s more of a glazed pie, you know, like they do with strawberries. The crust for this pie is the perfect compliment and you serve it with whipped cream or ice cream, if you like. Everyone will ask for the recipe….and that’s just peachy!
Fresh Peach Pie
Crust: 1-1/2 C. flour, 1 T. sugar and 1 t. salt. Mix together in pie pan. Add 1 T. mild to ½ C. Mazola oil in a small bowl and whip. Add to flour mixture. Press evenly into a 10”pie pan, bottom and sides. Bake at 375 degrees 10-15 minutes until lightly browned.
Filling: Mix 1 C. sugar, 1 C. water, 2 T. cornstarch in pot and cook until it bubbles – stirring on medium heat. Remove from heat and add 3 T. peach jello and cool.
Add 4 C. sliced peaches (about 7 med. Peaches) to filling. Pour into crust and refrigerate. Top with whipped cream.
8/5/08
...And That's Just Peachy!
8/1/08
Hey...Would You Like To Be In A Country Band With Me?
Well, with things changing so rapidly here at home I thought it was high time I invested a little in, yep that’s right, myself. I have played the violin now for about 18 years. I don’t usually tell people how long I’ve been playing because they would then expect me to be an accomplished musician by now. Instead I just tell them that I am a perpetual beginner. Well, I’m tired of playing so feebly. So I posted an ad online entitled “Fiddle Instructor Wanted” and told a little about myself and what I was looking for and awaited eagerly for a response. The first response I got was from some nut saying, “I know you not know how to play fiddle yet but when learn would you like to be in Country Band with me.” I felt like writing back and saying, “Yes, when you learn to speak English and I learn to play the fiddle, then you and I will form a band called, “The Idiots.” No thanks, I swerve when I’m headed for Crazy Town. (Sorry, that’s right, this is a Christian woman’s blog, I being the Christian woman, ask your forgiveness.)
The next and almost immediate response was from what seemed to be an accomplished musician who, again, seemed to know what she was talking about. If she was what she purported to be, she had the ability to take me where I wanted to go. (I failed to say that we recently bought my son a nice resonator banjo and he has been waiting to take lessons as well) As unbelievable as it may sound she was willing to come to the house and teach us both. We set a date for her to give us a preview of what she does with no obligation at all. (This is someone I found off of the internet after all. I had to leave myself a way out, in case she only thought she could play and was awful. It’s more prevalent than one would think. You never know who you’ll meet on-line, right? I made sure that she came on a day that my husband was home in case she was of marginal character.)
Well, the date was set for last Friday and I watched as she pulled in and at first glance I would judge her as a normal person of modest means. I invited her in, she seemed pleasant and cheerful and after a little bit of chit-chat she began to play. As soon as the bow hit the strings I was amazed and thankful that she had found her way to my door. The way she played the fiddle brought tears to my eyes and before she even finished the song I knew that she was the instructor for me. I said, “You’re hired!” Wow! I felt like the Lord had answered my prayers and not only brought me an instructor that comes to the house, but he saw my desire to learn fiddle style and provided a person with the ability to teach me! I had learned to play by way of the Suzuki method, but now it was time to learn fiddle style, you know, Bluegrass or Old Timey. An open door has been set before me…and only by lots of hard work and diligence will I be able to pass through it. (I’ve been stuck in the proverbial mud for so long, I don’t know if I’ll ever get out.)
Well, I’m determined to overcome. I’m going to push through and push through hard. Working to accomplish this goal would give me such joy. We love music; our family, and we also play at church. I’m the one in the background, nevertheless, enjoying myself. Music makes everything better, I say dreamily. Now to produce some that is more like a dream and less like a nightmare…I have to go to work. (Hi-ho! Hi-ho! Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to work I go…)
The moral of the story here is that self- improvement is hard. Let’s face it, whether you want to become a better painter, a better writer, have a beautiful garden; create a better blog, exercise or whatever; it takes time, dedication and hard work. I’m not an old dog but it is hard to learn new tricks. Yet, I’m determined.
Hey, would you like to be in a country band with me?
7/31/08
Pass The Youth Berries Please
Tonight I took my plastic containers and headed out to the side of the house where, about 12 years ago, we planted some blueberry bushes. (Currently, we only have two.) Originally we had four. I chose them so carefully from a gardening catalogue and impatiently waited for them to come. When they arrived they were the size of pencils, only in length mind you, and not as big around. They were so frail, I was disappointed. I wondered how many years it would take to get our first berry.
So we thoughtfully chose a spot to plant them and were consigned to watch and wait. What I realized the first year is that I was the only one that could actually see them in the yard, just inches above the grass. (How thoughtless) Our son, who was a teenager at the time, with perfect vision I might add, couldn’t see them. It turns out when the mower is clipping along at 60 mph, a stick that small isn’t visible to the naked eye. I immediately lost two of the plants. We invested in a little bit of chicken wire and fenced the remaining two; saving them from a similar fate.
We had planted them close to the house, which was a great idea (in hind sight) because they are easily accessible and being sort of self- contained, their size was never a problem. We have 4 acres and I know from experience that the old adage is true; out of sight out of mind. Besides, blueberry bushes are easy to care for. I would venture to say that you could plant one just about anywhere, as long as it has an adequate amount of sun. I’ve never had a problem with pests or disease and the fruit, they call “youth berries.” (Ah-hem…pass the berries, please) I always encourage people to plant them. Kids and adults alike, enjoy the hand to mouth experience of picking and eating. It’s so much fun! The ultimate low maintenance fruiting bush.
Recently, I haven’t been picking as much as I should. I’m well aware that the birds get their fill every day. If you look out the window you can see the branches jingling. Most people put some type of netting over their bushes to prevent the birds from doing so, but I don’t. (They can literally rob you blind.) As for me, I get plenty, they get plenty, and everyone is happy.
This evening I had two containers that were quickly filled and I had to go back to the house to get two more. Another little known fact is that dogs love blueberries too. My bushes were so heavy with fruit this year that all the branches have arced outward, bowed down, and the ends are just about touching the ground all the way around. My dogs have become pretty slick at getting their own berries. As I stand there picking, they go under the bush, moving the branches about, and the ripest, juiciest ones fall to the ground. You can hear the dogs under the bush licking their chops and filling their bellies. Every now and then I say sternly, “Get out of there. Go on, git!” It means nothing. They pretend to back off a little and the scene repeats itself just moments later. I turn to see one of the dogs helping themselves to the already harvested berries in my bucket. “Achh…That’s it! Get out of there and go lay down.” They know that this time I mean business and finally settle down. They lay waiting for me to finish as the fun is over and they’re ready to head for the house.
I have two Weimaraners, Maggie and Kia. (My all-time favorite breed of dog; besides mut.) Maggie, we got as a puppy and had her for a few years before Kia came along. Shortly after the flooding in New Orleans there was quite a lot of talk on the news about animals that were in need of homes. I went on the internet just to see what I could find concerning the subject. I had heard about a website called petfinder.com. While nosing around, I happened upon a young Weimaraner, named Kia, being held at a rescue sanctuary in Ohio, unrelated to the disaster in Louisiana. (I don’t want anyone to think that she is their long lost friend and try and step forward to claim her now. She and I would have to go on the run, for I couldn’t possibly give her up. I’m hers now. She’s claimed me. No one can take away “My Little Key.”) That’s a long story that I would love to tell some day, maybe in a future blog. (The perils and joys of pet adoption) However, we must get back to the topic at hand; blueberry picking.
Kia has been with us for about two years and last year was her first exposure to berry picking. I guess she followed Maggie’s lead and discovered the joy of blueberries and even the technique(s) for acquiring them. Even though they are just dogs, they know that I do not want them to eat the berries, at least not too many and I certainly don’t want them lapping at the clusters of fruit. (Especially not Kia with that little potty mouth) Maggie lumbers around the bush and quietly sneak a few berries here and there but Kia, I suppose because she lived the first year of her life as a starved animal, quickly adopted another method that I would say, probably wasn’t more effective but it sure was comical. She would run at us, the bush and I, and grab a few berries right off of the tree and tear out of there making a wide loop in preparation for the next “drive by looting”. Sort of like speed running but with a definite goal. It was funny to watch. (Dogs are so crazy.)
This year she is getting all the berries she can just by being bold and relentless. I still shoo them away and Maggie eventually gives up and lays right behind me. (I’m not completely heartless, I toss a few to her every now and then and she catches them in mid air and watches me steadfastly for more.) Not Kia, she’s working the bush. I shoo her away, she moves to the other side of the bush. I thought to myself, this dog was a starved and abused animal when we got her. Look how far she’s come. She’s eating berries under her vine and fig tree, so to speak. And I’m happy for that.
I’m happy that one living thing that was suffering, is suffering no more. Even if it’s just a little dog with a heart as big as Texas and gratitude immeasurable. I’ve never seen gratitude the likes of which in an animal before, and we’ve had lots of different types of animals through the years and always a dog or two. She remembers where she came from. We see proof of that all the time. (She’s sniffing the blueberry containers as we speak. Silly!)
I decided to include a recipe in this blog. I always clip every blueberry recipe I find. This one is especially good. It’s a cross between “a crisp” and a cobbler. A lot of people don’t make pies etc. from blueberries because, I suppose, they aren’t flavorful enough. No need to worry with this recipe. (I really think you could use just about any fruit.) It’s absolutely wonderful served hot out of the oven with milk poured over it. We used ½ and ½ instead of milk. Oh, it was so delicious! I made it again the next day and I’m thinking of make some right now but I’m too tired.
Tomorrow’s another day and there will be more berries for the picking. Last one down to the bushes is a rotten egg! Kia’s always first. She appreciates the little things.
Blueberry Nectarine Buckle
2 cups biscuit mix
1 cup sugar, divided
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/2 cup milk
1 t. finely shredded lemon peel
1 nectarine, pitted and chopped
1-1/4 cups fresh blueberries
1/2 cup flour
1/4 cup butter
Heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease bottom and sides of a 1-1/2 to 2 quart baking dish. In medium bowl, combine biscuit mix, 1/2 cup sugar, the egg, milk, and lemon peel. Stir until moistened.
Spoon batter into pan. Top with fruit. Mix flour and remaining sugar in a bowl. Using a fork, cut in butter until mixture is crumbly; sprinkle over fruit. Bake for 50-60 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into center comes out clean. Makes 9 servings.
*Serve warm with cream. Yum!
7/29/08
The Joys of Online Dating or “Did he really just ask me this question?”
Initially, I started writing a much different post. I even had J read it. It was very poignant. Full of the angst I was feeling at the moment and still feel somewhat. I wrote with the idea of posting it here in some attempt to relieve myself of those feelings of rejection and hurt. I kept telling myself I was trying to achieve some kind of catharsis. When I still hadn’t posted it this morning I got an email from J wondering why. My reply to her was I wasn’t sure if it merited posting. What I mean by that is, was this post really indicative of the person I am?
My answer is no it wasn’t. I don’t mean that I’m some super woman that life’s trials and setbacks are just tiny blips on my radar. Far from it. I often feel things deeply and they affect me more than I let on. But, that is not what defines me. So, instead of posting my previously depression filled and rejection ridden piece, I’ve decided to go another way and share some of the ridiculous things I’ve encountered in the world that is online dating.
I realize at the start of this, that some may not think this is the correct avenue with which to secure a spouse. I felt like that too, initially. However, I was still in my 20’s then and the dating picture didn’t seem so…bleak and my views were high and lofty. And now, well, here I am using online dating services and hoping for a love match. (I can hardly believe I just wrote that but there it is.)
I have, for the last several years, been a member of one of the more popular online dating websites. You know the one where the guy goes online finds the girl gets married, decides to get his mom on the site because he was so successful and lo, and behold, dear old mom finds a new husband too! Yeah, that’s the one. The testimonials are fabulous. They are all from successful participants. They had a few not so perfect matches but then one day, they were matched with their soul mate. Many of them say how grateful they are that they decided to commit to the service for a year and how wonderful that they did because 1 month before their membership was expiring they found “the one”. Sigh…it makes the heart of a hopeless romantic go pitter-pat. And of course, while still in that warm and fuzzy place where you’re thinking this could be me in a year, you enter, with hands shaking in anticipation, your credit card number and sign up for membership. You go to bed that night and sleep the sleep of the contented knowing when you wake in the morning you will have a list of possibilities at your disposal.
It doesn’t exactly happen that way. For me there is often a long (really, really long) wait between viable prospects. I’ve actually used the option where you can have the service refresh your profile to see if there’s been anyone new added to the system in the last 24 hours, only to be told “Sorry, there are still no matches for you.” (A little like the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld.) Now lest you think I’m being too picky, here’s an example of some I’ve been matched with.
Recently, I was matched with a guy that was near my age, a couple years younger from NJ. I do not live in NJ but I thought I would just give him a look. You never know maybe he’d be willing to relocate, right? I open his profile and he seems normal and he actually has a picture. You’d be surprised how many guys do not. (Don’t even get me started on the guys that post their high school football picture and then you are in for the shock of your life when you actually meet and he looks like a different person.) I decide to look at the picture a little more closely. I click on it and when it opens in a window large enough for me to see it without the aid of a magnifying glass, I realize something. The picture that he has provided, that after I read his profile and feel like this person could be an option, is one of him taken with a webcam in his pajamas. Yes, HIS PAJAMAS! And not even cool, GQ guy pajamas, not even the “hey, a t-shirt and sweats is how I roll” pajamas. These were oddly reminiscent of my grandfather’s plaid flannel pajamas. Is this really how you want to be portrayed to the members of the opposite sex? “Well, I wasn’t sure if he was the one but when I saw him in my grandpa’s pajamas, I just knew.” Do I really have to explain why I closed this match?
Another guy that I had actually made it through the guided communication stage with and was in the open communication stage with, asked me in the very first message if I had ever been pregnant. I was a little dumbfounded at that. Not because it isn’t a valid question, but perhaps you might want to space it out a bit and actually exchange a few pleasantries first. Oh, I don’t know like “Hi!” or “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you so far” or even, for the truly daring, “You have a great smile!” I felt like I needed to forward my medical records, or assure him that I still had all the original equipment and my warranty was still in force. Maybe he wanted to see pictures of my teeth or something.
One guy listed his age as 50; I still looked at this profile. I thought, you know, age is relative. When I got to the bottom of his profile, in the box provided where you can share whatever bit of information the profile didn’t cover, he has this note: “I’m really 10 years older than what I listed. I really want to have children and the matches they were sending me were all too old.”
Why am I telling you all this? Well, first it’s funny, who would believe it? But really I just need to know that in spite of the fact that I am single through no fault of my own, that God does see my plight and He does care. I hope that if you are married and reading this and know someone that’s single and is struggling through these same issues that you give them a hug when you see them next and add them to your prayer list. Please consider carefully the advice you give them. We know that we are supposed to be like Paul says: content in whatsoever state we are in. We know that Jesus too was rejected, and that when you’re married you trade your single problems in for married problems. And while every marriage isn’t hearts and flowers being single isn’t the best of all worlds either.
The impetus behind this particular post is the result of another false start. Someone I was matched with that in my eyes, and the eyes of a trusted friend, looked promising. He even lived only 45 minutes away! However, there was a sticking point on religion, one that to him seemed impossible to breach. We politely ended the messaging but I’ve been left feeling a little rejected and sorry for myself again. It’s not easy trying to put yourself out there time after time, hoping that someone realizes you’re wonderful and they can’t live without you, (ok, well that’s what you hope they realize), and when that fairy tale crumbles you have to somehow find the will to pick yourself up and try it over again.
As I said I’ve been given loads of advice over the years that run the gamut, from cut your hair, let it grow, lose some weight, buy some new clothes, wear more make-up, wear less make-up, change your perfume, just to list a few. The best advice I got was from J, my blogging buddy, who simply said, “It stinks, it really stinks." That was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. She also gave me the tip to beat a pillow senseless. :)
I only know this: I will continue to follow Paul's advice and try to learn to be content and be thankful for where I am. To remember that God thinks I'm wonderful even if I don't think that about myself. And in the meantime, move over Skinny Cow and hello, Ben and Jerry's. After work I'm going to get a gallon of Cherry Garcia and when I wake up from that sugar coma it'll be a brand new week!
7/21/08
A grand performance or the weirdest show they've ever seen
I love my own cooking; recipes that my mother and grandmother used to make, of which I never tire. Something as simple as a "sloppy joe" is a real treat. I don't make them often but today there is a fresh batch in the frig. I return home from work, the family is out and about, no need to cook for them, it's just me, so I microwave an ample portion; more than my bun can hold but I have plans for all that extra.
After I eat most of the sandwich, I'll slop up the remainder with the bun and when the bread is gone, I'll resort to a fork. Yum! I go to the frig. to retrieve a long time favorite; the Cellone's Egg Bun - a perfect combination! The meat is piping hot, I prepare the sandwich and much to my chagrin, I find that Cellone's has changed their egg bun recipe. It's drier; breadier. I hope I'm wrong, but how can I be when that is the bun that I've loved ever since I was a kid. I feel nothing, it's not the same. I invite the dogs to enjoy the rest, and they do.
Which brings me to Hostess Ho-Ho's. Did they recently change their recipe? Yes, they did! Why change something that has been a huge success for years? My husband had purchased a box to take along with some other treats on a recent fishing trip. I was unpacking the cooler after he returned home and was delighted to find that they hadn't eaten them all. One bite and I knew... "They changed the recipe." My husband confirmed by saying, "Yes, they did."
I guess that's my lead-in as to what's really bothering me; two of my kids are moving away and the one that remains wants a motorcycle.
Our daughter and husband are moving to Seattle, Washington which seems light years away. I've been reassured, that in fact, for the same amount of time it took to drive to their house, we can now fly. I really didn't know how I would respond when I was pressed into celebrating in the coming days. All I knew is that I didn't want to be a black cloud in the room, the decision was made and it was happening. I've set my mind to being happy. Even if my mind was set, when the emotions flooded in, would I be able to put on a grand performance and hide the tiniest glimmer of sadness. Or would the mid-life hormones kick in for the weirdest show that they had ever seen?
I have to say that just before our son-in-law got the job, my daughter called to talk to me about it. She said that they were praying and had asked God that if it wasn't good for them that he would not let it happen. (I'm glad they were prayerful) So, my only advice to her was, "If you serve God, he will bless you and be with you wherever you go." (Tomorrow I could be dead. That is advice I want her to remember now and forever. If she never remembers another thing I've ever said, I would want her to remember that.)
Their visit came and went and it was wonderful. The parents and grandparents gathered in, the food was out of this world, everyone so happy to be together, enjoying each other with lots of conversation and laughter. And the icing on the cake; a prayer after we joined hands and sang, "If Jesus Goes With Me I'll Go Anywhere." I was so pleased and thankful to God when I laid down that night that all had gone so well. Peace.
So he got the job and his company had given them 10 days to make the transition. They were making the best of it by seeing some of America's most beautiful sights along the way. They said Minnesota was like our hometown; nothing there. (Thanks. Fat chance of returning to....nothing.) I don't take it personally, we live in a small town, I'm aware. The badlands, Black Hills, ND, (she said South Dakota was the most beautiful land she's ever seen), traveled through the mountains, saw Yellowstone National Park and so much more. What an adventure! Young and so happy. And I'm happy for them.
Before they left home for their new life, my son who lives in MD informed us that he had bid for a job and if he gets it, will be transferring to SC...and of course, he got it. So, last Sunday we had a farewell dinner for our daughter and son-in-law, and this Sunday our son is coming home for the last time before he moves south, and we'll do it all over again, the meal, the family; the celebration.
How long could I wear the happy face. My kids are leaving. I can't protect them anymore. It's hard to let go.
Fast forward...
I was happier a week ago but I admit, after the second celebration, I felt lousy; miserable. I still feel that way.
I know I shouldn't think this way, but in some respect, I feel like I have failed. Why did they leave? Why were they moving so far away?
It bewilders me when I hear people say, "If I had to live my life over, I wouldn't change a thing." Are you kidding me? I wouldn't change the egg bread recipe, I wouldn't change the Ho-ho recipe but not mop up the mistakes and missed opportunities of the past...you've got to be kidding. Absolutely, I would. Is there an eraser big enough!
I guess I wish that home was so good that they would never leave. I only hope it was good enough that one day they'll pack up their things and come home.
After a few days or weeks I assume I'll be back to myself. I'll get used to the fact that the two older kids don't live around here anymore. I'll try to stay in touch often and get even closer to them as to not lose our connection; keeping their ties to home strong, like a tether.
And to keep me busy in the mean time...my eighteen year old wants a motorcycle. Let me repeat it 10 more times, no. Mistake or good advice? Who knows? Mom's just trying to do what's best seeing that I don't want to lose a child to distance or by chance.
7/10/08
Confessions of a techno geek...
I am a techno geek. I admit it. I should be in a 12 step program somewhere. I have not always owned up to this sickness, often I have conceded that it is a symptom of some other malady. (“My job requires me to use the computer…” or “I use it for research, you know for the scripture class I teach…”) I am here admitting to the blogging world that these things are not true. I WANT to do these things. I love the technology that is computers, PDA’s, cell phones and the World Wide Web. I have a deep-seated need to stay abreast of what ever new thing comes out. I was recently watching a news interview and heard a new description for this thing that I am. I am an “early adopter,” which for the uninformed, is someone that picks up the new gadget before it has become mainstream. I thought to myself, these are my people! I could even look at the featured “early adopter” a little piously; I was not as bad as he was. He had a 3 bedroom ranch that had slowly evolved into a shrine for technology, I could still fit my junk, uh... gadgets in my one bedroom apartment. I gleefully went about my business thinking I really was not that addicted now, was I.
When you love something, even as much as I do technology, it is so easy to fall into a predictable pattern. You begin to justify why you spend so much time, effort, and energy in pursuit of this thing you enjoy. Or worse yet, pretend you don’t have trouble controlling the amount of time you spend pursuing your “hobby”. I’ve had a couple of “hobbies” that have taken up way too much time in my day to day life. And since I’m confessing here, I’ll say that in addition to being a techno geek I am also a Star Trek fan. (I can hear the gasps across the internet link from our 2 subscribers.) Yes, yes, I know a double geek threat. One day, however, I realized that these seemingly innocent pastimes of mine were slowly edging out God and my service to Him.
The Lord showed me, in a quiet way, that this was not where he wanted me to spend my spare time. Instead of trying to be a vessel that He could use, I was filling my vessel up with things that were not spiritually edifying, that had no real redeeming value. Oh, I could probably win a Star Trek trivia contest, and I can usually fix computer malfunctions but what good was that going to do for me if called upon do a work for Him?
I tried to convince myself, even after the Lord’s promptings, that I could handle things. I could still do the things I like AND work for God, right? I was in a state of denial so deep I couldn’t even find the zip code. Thankfully, the Lord didn’t give up. I realized that anything that comes before my service to God is just as bad as worshiping idols. Some may read that and say, “wait just a minute, how do you figure that?” Well, the dictionary defines idol as any person or thing regarded with blind admiration, adoration, or devotion. In essence, that’s what I was doing. There was one point when my favorite version of Star Trek was moved from one weeknight to another. The new night was the mid-week service at church. This was, of course, a terrible tragedy. I made sure I remembered to set the VCR, (yes, it was VCR’s then, DVD recorders were not mainstream yet), to record the program while I was at church. When I forgot to do that I was inconsolable. This was when I knew I needed the 12 step program I mentioned earlier. The bible cautions us against having “idols” in our lives. It’s even in the 10 commandments. One of my favorite verses is Isaiah 2:8 “Their land also is full of idols; they worship the work of their own hands, that which their own fingers have made:” It was so easy for me to spend my time, energy and resources following these things that were fun, but at times I shirked the commitment I made to God when I promised to serve him to the best of my ability. And if I'm really honest with myself I was doing just what that scripture says.
So, I, reluctantly at first, began to reduce the amount of time spent in increasing my knowledge of the world of sci-fi and technology and increased the amount of time spent in scripture study. A funny thing happened. The Lord blessed me and allowed me to do things I would have never imagined I could do in my life. I found that giving up those empty pursuits didn’t really bother me that much. Don’t get me wrong I still enjoy watching a good sci-fi movie and I will probably always have some degree of technology envy, but I will never regret the choice to put God first in my life. Really, and truly first.
And besides, blogging doesn’t really fall into the whole technology thing, right?!? I wonder if there are bloggers anonymous meetings…I’ll have to Google that.
7/3/08
What Are You Forwarding...?
Who doesn’t love e-mail? Let’s face it, we all love going to the “Inbox” first thing in the morning (after prayer and scripture reading, of course) in hopes of receiving something wonderful. The computer says, “You’ve Got Mail!” Oh what glee! I’ve got my morning coffee with that special creamer that I love and I’m ready to be delighted. The pearl would be a personal note from a friend. (Since the hand written note is a rarity and almost extinct, we settle for “what is” and not “what was”)
The anticipation builds only to find that our Inbox, today, is full of “Fwds…” and not one personal note amongst all this communication. What is the world coming to? I slump with disappointment and begin scanning the unopened mail to see if there is anything of value. I admit, right here and now, that my finger is poised on the delete button ready to disengage, as it were, a missile that blasts these horrid intruders like an alien space ship heading for earth. “Forwards” are the junk mail that your friends feel you must have. I can’t hurt their feelings by saying; I loathe all that junk you send me, even though it could save my life someday. (If I could just remember all those emergency numbers when some guy is trying to hijack my car, with me in it. I can see it now, by the time I find my cell phone at the bottom of my purse, the intruder would have us speeding onto the interstate towards destination Desolation. I can’t remember what I need to get from the grocery store without a list. How will I ever manage to save myself via all this forwarded information?)
Before I start in on “Fwd’s…” let me take a moment to acknowledge all those sweet stories that are at time passed off as scripture study. I am amazed when every now and then they are used as text for a sermon, or heaven forbid, a Ladies’ Circle lesson. Their sweetness lost by the mere mass volume of them and the content very generic and milk-like at best.
Getting back to our morning check of the Inbox, I begin by looking at one Sender at a time. As I stare at the name and subject, which is “Fwd…” by the way, I whisper…. “why” to my friend and then proceed to the business at hand; my first task of the day….deleting junk mail. I have to admit; that once in a while my curiosity is stirred, and of course, yes, that’s right, I open a few to see what is so urgent or amazing that this friend or acquaintance of mine has felt that I must be a part of their forwarding frenzy. I acknowledge that there are some sights we may never see except for the happenstance of the internet and a doting friend. Example: A highway in Peru on the side of a mountain that rivals a goat’s path, where vehicles of all sizes must pass by each other so carefully as to not plummet to their death. Another is footage from a lost city that is so amazing, we pause to wonder at the mysteries of this great earth and its’ civilizations that now no longer exist.
There are also the stories that bring us to tears. (Hey, I’m a woman, and I admit I love a good cry.) One of my favorite stories was about a little dog named Skidboot who was so intelligent that if I believed in evolution, and I don’t, I would say that he is almost human. (Look out! apes and chimpanzees everywhere, a common household pet has surpassed your capabilities.) You’ve probably all been blasted with Skidboots’ story, I don’t know why I’m repeating it, but just in case there are a few of you who have no forwarding friends, pause for a prayer of thanks, the dog went blind and with difficulty now only performs a scant measure of his tricks at home with family in lieu of a stage and audience packed with fans and hearty cheers. His owner loves him so much that he vows to care for Skidboot and provide for all his needs as long as they both shall live. (Tissues, a must when reading that story.) With a compulsion beyond good reasoning, I pressed the forward button, and yes, sent it out to a few of my good friends. They just had to see this! Skidboot could do anything which included showing off his peculiar antics in turn for a handsome yearly income. My daughter responded by saying, “Why…………..! Why did Skidboot have to go blind?” And even though the story was precious for a dog-lover such as myself, I chuckled at the few words from an actual person whom I knew and could distinctly hear her voice and feel her personality piercing through the few lines of a typed page. (i.e. the longed for personal note.)
Okay, okay, enough about that. I’ve deliberately brought out a few good things about “forwarding” as to not be cited as a Negative Nellie or bring down my “Fwd...” loving friends. (I can see them now staring at the computer screen in utter disbelief that all of their “thoughtfulness” is met by groans. They probably wonder if this is really true. I say with a resounding “yes”, as I step forward to speak for those who are just too timid or polite to do so) Pity… no one likes to be the last to know.
Putting all that aside I want to broach the subject of the other type of “Fwd…” that makes me sit back in amazement at times, wondering why on earth would a Christian be sending this out when it could be misconstrued as part of their belief system. Examples: The money angel. Send her on to ten of your friends and you will be rich. If you fail to “Fwd…” her, guess what, you’ll never be rich. Or another example; this e-mail will bring you luck, IF you send it on to everyone in your address book. If not, bad luck is headed your way.
All of the above leads up to the point of this post, “What Are You Forwarding?” Let’s be careful as to the words we choose to express ourselves whether in a conversation or a seemingly innocent e-mail with a “Fwd…” attached.
Ephesians 4:29-30 “Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers.” Definition of corrupt: To degrade with unsound principles; to alter from the original or correct form; to cause disintegration.
Do we want people to think that we believe in good luck as opposed to the blessings of God? And on the other hand, take certain precautions to ward off bad luck? I would venture to say that no one who serves God would subscribe to those thoughts or foolish traditions. So let’s be careful not to send that kind of information as representative of our thoughts or belief system.This post has to do with our conversation, whether it is face to face or contained in an e-mail.
What does the scripture say concerning our conversation?
Matthew 12:34-37 “…For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things. But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned. "
We will give an account of every idle word one day. My kids have heard me quote this plenty of times. It causes even a child to stop and think. Let us, as Christians, be careful with the words we choose to use and the information that we forward to others.
To sort of go along with this topic, many people today use the OMG (Oh my God) abbreviation as an exclamation in their Instant Messaging, etc. This is not good. We must remember The Ten Commandments contains a Rule regarding the use of God in our conversation, that so many seem to feel comfortable overlooking.
Exodus 20:7 Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain. What does vain mean? It doesn't mean necessarily cursing using the name of God, which would certainly be included, but vain means empty, idle words; for nothing.
Let's take the commandment to heart and be careful not to sin in this way. I’ve heard these words used by some in the church and it really shouldn’t be found among us, like the accursed thing that was found hidden under Achan's tent, which brought folly and the displeasures of God upon Israel. (See Joshua chapter 7)
Recently, while searching for something on the internet, I came across an article, not a Christian paper, in which several people were interviewed concerning their thoughts on the use of OMG (Oh my God) today. Most people pass the use of these words or abbreviation off as nothing. One man claimed that he was an atheist, one who doesn’t believe in God, yet he uses the term all the time. It doesn’t mean anything to me, just an exclamation, he said. But what I found most interesting was another man, who by his own account, was raised Baptist as a child and taught never to take the Lord’s name in vain. He said that all these years later, he still will not take the Lord’s name in vain and when he hears someone else do it, even today, it still offends his sensibilities and he cringes.
Deuteronomy 11:26-28 “Behold, I set before you this day a blessing and a curse; a blessing, if ye obey the commandments of the Lord your God, which I command you this day: and a curse, if ye will not obey the commandments of the Lord your God…”
How much more should we, as the Saints of God, be careful and not just fluff it off as nothing. I work for a family who are so careful in all matters concerning God, church, and in teaching their children to do right. The children are cautioned never to use those words. We can each be moral and spiritual examples to another, as a people who obey in word or deed all that proceeds from the mouth of God. Let’s not look at ourselves as a shoe-in for heaven, but a God fearing people who are humbly obedient to the written word of God.
Let us remember that we represent Christ and be careful as to how we proceed from this day forward.
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