I don't normally do follow-up posts (because really, there's usually not much to follow up on. See: the bathroom remodel post), but I've got so many thoughts about yesterday's "Sad" post and I've got to get them down here.
Yesterday afternoon I was feeling so awful (which is kind of like every afternoon), and I sat down and just blurted a bit of it out on the blog and threw it out there without rereading it a bunch of times like I usually do and thought, "So be it." Since then I've gotten notes from people and comments from total strangers, and I realize, "Yes. There are a lot of us out there. I'm not alone."
One of my mom's best friends wrote to me, and I know she is so sad, too. She said what helped her was imagining Mom seeing Jesus welcome her to His home and the special room He has prepared for her. I love hearing what is helping other people because I just keep thinking about the time when I was four years old and David Fisher hit me on the side of the head with a baseball bat and I came inside, roaring, to tell my mom and then fell down the basement steps. She gathered me up in her arms and just said, "Oh, my baby, my baby," over and over again. And whenever anything bad would happen to me throughout life or I'd be upset about something, before she gave me words of wisdom or would pray for me, I'd get a hug and hear her say, "Oh, my baby, my baby," even up until her last few months. So after going through this worst of ordeals, I keep looking around for her and waiting for her to come back so I can tell her all about it and hear those words again.
There was one dear lady who remained anonymous in the comments on "Sad," but she said something so profound I'll never forget it my whole life. She just lost her 36-year-old son, two days after my mom died, in a motorcycle accident. She said, "I think of the children's book entitled 'We're Going On a Bear Hunt' which keeps repeating we can't go under it, we can't go over it, we have to go through it."
Like I said, I have no idea who she is, but I just want to hug her. Over the past year or so, my mom said to me several times, "There are worse things than dying of cancer." Oh yes, there are. Having your son die unexpectedly in the prime of his life is worse. Like my friends Jack and Alysa whose friend hanged himself in his garage, leaving behind a wife and three little kids. That's definitely worse.
Today was the last day of that Ruth study I was telling you about. I've spent six weeks reading every word of the book of Ruth and going over her story--how she was widowed so young and set out on a dusty road with her also widowed sister-in-law and mother-in-law. How they came to the crossroad and all started bawling and Naomi told them to go back. How tempting that must have been to want to go back home to her parents and family and the place she knew and the gods she grew up with and everything that was familiar. Watching her sister-in-law do exactly that and maybe wanting to run down that road after her, but instead, putting her arms around Naomi and looking up to God and saying, "I'm going with you and You," even though she had no idea what to expect. Would they have a home in Bethlehem? Would there be food to eat? Would anyone befriend or protect them? Let alone, would she ever get married again or have children?
But she chose to keep walking down the road into the Unknown, and the story ends with her married and bearing a son who became the grandfather of King David, and, not only that, but the ancestor of Jesus Christ Himself. And Kelly, the author of the study wrote this:
"I presume we have no idea how the biggest and seemingly insignificant decisions affect our lives and those around us. This doesn't mean we need to obsess and overanalyze and drive ourselves nuts wondering. It only means we have to pursue Christ. He works all the other things out. I am personally amazed at how God masterfully preserved the line of Judah so many times over by the fragile threads of foreigners like Ruth. Only the gospel can make such sense of things."
I handled all the little memorial gifts from my mom to her friends and family, and I included Revelation 21:4 in all the cards, "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain. For the old order of things has passed away."
And I got this picture in my mind today that I keep replaying over and over: everyone gathering around the throne in Heaven at that time, and it's not like there's this afterthought such as, "Oh, by the way, there's no death here. Pass it on." but instead Jesus, with His voice like a thousand rushing waters, shouting out, "No more accidents! No more heart disease! No more cystic fibrosis! No more AIDS! No more suicide! No more cancer!" and on and on, while all our cheers keep getting louder and louder until they echo through all the universes.
In Hebrews 11, there's a list of those who remained faithful. In my humble opinion, there's an ongoing list through the ages besides those that are included in that chapter, and maybe that will get read out when we get to Heaven too, so we can all celebrate together--after this long life of mourning together. My mom will for sure be on the list. Ruth, who made the fateful decision to keep walking down that dusty road instead of turning back, will be on it. I want my name amongst the faithful, too.
Only the gospel can make sense of such things. Can't go under it. Can't go over it. Have to go through it.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sad
Lots of people ask me how I'm doing. And mostly I just say, "Sad." There are a lot of words I could use: anguished, heartache, lonely, sorrowful, broken, etc., but I can kind of just sum it up with sad. I mean, I try not to spill my emotional junk all over people, but it's sort of ludicrous to tell them I'm fine.
I wake up in the morning, and I'm sad. What are we going to do today? Be sad. What's for breakfast? Sadness. Do you want to go to the park? Yup, if it's Sad Park, count me in. What do you want to watch? That Sad Show.
Here's what nobody can really tell you about bereavement until you experience it yourself and it's this: Life has an insidious, brutal little way of continuing on. Your car (or both of them) still breaks down. You still have to figure out what to cook for dinner. The bathroom still needs cleaning. Your kids still come home from VBS with a vial of colored sand and sprinkle it throughout your bed, and sand is all over the floor and the shower and the sheets and the pillows and the blankets and you have to rip everything off and throw it in the wash and remake your bed at 11:30 at night. (If you're wondering if I handled that situation with sweet grace and a tender mother's love, Readers, oh no, I did not.)
And as much as you just want to throw the (non-sandy) covers over your head and lie there, listening to Annie Lennox sing "Little Bird" on continuous repeat ("My, my, I feel so low, My, my, where do I go...") you don't get to.
When I think about this summer, particularly the beginning part when my mom was in the hospice, it seems like some awful techni-color nightmare. There were some beautiful, spiritual moments, and I'll forever count it a privilege that I held her hand while she took her very last breath. But there were the other times when she was so distressed and told me she was burning alive and thought she was going to hell. If I think too much about that time, and I try not to, I feel like I'm just going to freak out.
I told Darren, "It's like we were all in this massive car crash. I got out of the car and called the paramedics and made sure everyone was OK and got everything organized. But after it was all over, I discovered I have a broken neck and massive internal injuries."
Spiritually, well, that's another story, too. That feels like I got to walk up to the gate of heaven only to have it slammed in my face--consigned back to the regular world for me. It seems like whenever you feel far from God that pastors always like to tell you, "That's because YOU moved," but I didn't. I didn't move. So...where is He?
A couple months ago, Darren and I were visiting a Sunday School class and one of the questions was, "Do you ever doubt the Resurrection?" and everyone in the class (who spoke up) said they never doubted the Resurrection. Wow, I wish I had whatever they've got because I have doubts all the time. Like, at the mall. And the airport--surrounded by everyone else who seems to be doing just fine on their own. Am I the only one who believes this stuff? I'm thinking there have got to be a number of things that can really blow a hole in the side of a person's faith, and death is one of them.
I find myself going through the motions, and I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing. I say, "I believe, I truly do believe, Lord, please help my unbelief." I've been doing this Bible study on the book of Ruth all summer, and, while it's a great study, I don't think I am getting as much out of it as I would another time. Tomorrow is the last day, so this afternoon I went online and ordered a new study called "Rain on Me: Devotions of Hope and Encouragement for Difficult Times."
I hope I will find hope and encouragement from them, and if I do I'll try to post them on here. I feel as though I've been given a passport to another land: Those Who Are Left. I've got quite a number of friends there, too, and they're a great comfort. Like my friend Ann-Marie--her dad died when she was in college--who wrote me an encouraging note. Like Jamie--her dad died a number of years ago--who IM'd me from Switzerland just to say she was praying for me. Like Anna--her mom died five years ago--who said, "The weeks after the funeral are the worst. Call me day or night if you want to talk." And especially like Sarah who told me, "Oh, Alice. When my mom died, I couldn't even say the words 'my mom' for about five years without crying." They're a lot like Job's friends (before they started giving advice) when they just came along and sat down in the dirt and cried with him.
This post today is for my girls to read when they grow up...for Lucy who comes in and sits down next to me on the bed while I'm watching the slide show from my mom's memorial for the nth time and says, "Let's watch it again." For Elaine who looks up at me while I'm reading through my saved emails from 2003 that my mom wrote and says, "Why are there those tears in your eyes, Mom? Will you put this dress on Polly for me?" To them I say, "I think it's natural to feel this way. Life hurts so bad sometimes, and there's nothing that can fix it. Keep reading your Bible even if you don't feel like it. If you can't pray, just tell Him you don't know what words to say right now. Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. Hit the replay on 'Little Bird' as much as you want (or Supertramp's 'Take the Long Way Home'--that's another good one). Sad is normal. Sad is OK for now."
And to my dear friends, those I mentioned in this post and lots of others I haven't, thanks for sitting down next to me at Sad Park.
I wake up in the morning, and I'm sad. What are we going to do today? Be sad. What's for breakfast? Sadness. Do you want to go to the park? Yup, if it's Sad Park, count me in. What do you want to watch? That Sad Show.
Here's what nobody can really tell you about bereavement until you experience it yourself and it's this: Life has an insidious, brutal little way of continuing on. Your car (or both of them) still breaks down. You still have to figure out what to cook for dinner. The bathroom still needs cleaning. Your kids still come home from VBS with a vial of colored sand and sprinkle it throughout your bed, and sand is all over the floor and the shower and the sheets and the pillows and the blankets and you have to rip everything off and throw it in the wash and remake your bed at 11:30 at night. (If you're wondering if I handled that situation with sweet grace and a tender mother's love, Readers, oh no, I did not.)
And as much as you just want to throw the (non-sandy) covers over your head and lie there, listening to Annie Lennox sing "Little Bird" on continuous repeat ("My, my, I feel so low, My, my, where do I go...") you don't get to.
When I think about this summer, particularly the beginning part when my mom was in the hospice, it seems like some awful techni-color nightmare. There were some beautiful, spiritual moments, and I'll forever count it a privilege that I held her hand while she took her very last breath. But there were the other times when she was so distressed and told me she was burning alive and thought she was going to hell. If I think too much about that time, and I try not to, I feel like I'm just going to freak out.
I told Darren, "It's like we were all in this massive car crash. I got out of the car and called the paramedics and made sure everyone was OK and got everything organized. But after it was all over, I discovered I have a broken neck and massive internal injuries."
Spiritually, well, that's another story, too. That feels like I got to walk up to the gate of heaven only to have it slammed in my face--consigned back to the regular world for me. It seems like whenever you feel far from God that pastors always like to tell you, "That's because YOU moved," but I didn't. I didn't move. So...where is He?
A couple months ago, Darren and I were visiting a Sunday School class and one of the questions was, "Do you ever doubt the Resurrection?" and everyone in the class (who spoke up) said they never doubted the Resurrection. Wow, I wish I had whatever they've got because I have doubts all the time. Like, at the mall. And the airport--surrounded by everyone else who seems to be doing just fine on their own. Am I the only one who believes this stuff? I'm thinking there have got to be a number of things that can really blow a hole in the side of a person's faith, and death is one of them.
I find myself going through the motions, and I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing. I say, "I believe, I truly do believe, Lord, please help my unbelief." I've been doing this Bible study on the book of Ruth all summer, and, while it's a great study, I don't think I am getting as much out of it as I would another time. Tomorrow is the last day, so this afternoon I went online and ordered a new study called "Rain on Me: Devotions of Hope and Encouragement for Difficult Times."
I hope I will find hope and encouragement from them, and if I do I'll try to post them on here. I feel as though I've been given a passport to another land: Those Who Are Left. I've got quite a number of friends there, too, and they're a great comfort. Like my friend Ann-Marie--her dad died when she was in college--who wrote me an encouraging note. Like Jamie--her dad died a number of years ago--who IM'd me from Switzerland just to say she was praying for me. Like Anna--her mom died five years ago--who said, "The weeks after the funeral are the worst. Call me day or night if you want to talk." And especially like Sarah who told me, "Oh, Alice. When my mom died, I couldn't even say the words 'my mom' for about five years without crying." They're a lot like Job's friends (before they started giving advice) when they just came along and sat down in the dirt and cried with him.
This post today is for my girls to read when they grow up...for Lucy who comes in and sits down next to me on the bed while I'm watching the slide show from my mom's memorial for the nth time and says, "Let's watch it again." For Elaine who looks up at me while I'm reading through my saved emails from 2003 that my mom wrote and says, "Why are there those tears in your eyes, Mom? Will you put this dress on Polly for me?" To them I say, "I think it's natural to feel this way. Life hurts so bad sometimes, and there's nothing that can fix it. Keep reading your Bible even if you don't feel like it. If you can't pray, just tell Him you don't know what words to say right now. Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. Hit the replay on 'Little Bird' as much as you want (or Supertramp's 'Take the Long Way Home'--that's another good one). Sad is normal. Sad is OK for now."
And to my dear friends, those I mentioned in this post and lots of others I haven't, thanks for sitting down next to me at Sad Park.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Brightening Things Up
The two events in this blogpost really have nothing to do with each other, but life is blah and I've been a lazy blogger lately, so you're getting them both together.
Our upstairs bathroom needed a little brightening. Remember the downstairs makeover? I'm too lazy to even link to it. Well, the upstairs needed it, too, but without costing hardly any money.
Here it is before. The people who had our house before us did a beautiful job, but I'm disappointed in the wall mirror in this bathroom. I wish we could have two wood-framed mirrors, one above each sink. Don't you think? But...that's kind of a big project.
Here's a cabinet I am definitely not in love with. Also a project for another time.
It all needed a splash of color, so...voila.
And also...ta da! Courtesy of Kathy at One Elegant Lady...
Aren't they great?
These are my two favorites:
I brought the girls in to see the changes, and Lucy said, "Cool! Now we have a London bathroom." And Elaine said, "Whoa. Rock and roll, Mom!" (I swear to you, she said that.)
In other news, I went out this week. By myself. In the evening. For dinner. I got in my car and drove 90 miles to Chicago (it took three hours).
I met some of my favorite people, three of my mates from a job I used to work BC (Before Children). We met at my favorite restaurant (bonus), here:
We all worked together in the mid-90s as general office people in a huge commercial real estate corporation for this crazy guy. We loved him. In fact, I still have a dream at least three times a year that he asks me to come back and work for him. He used to walk on his hands around the office and play Stevie Wonder, "Superstition" over and over and over as loudly as possible. One time he made me leave work and go to a music store so I could buy the Jefferson Airplane album that had "White Rabbit" on it so he could sing, "Go ask Alice, she's ten feet tall," with accompaniment.
Anyway, we were all young(er) and getting our masters' at DePaul and whatnot but basically spent our time laughing and going downstairs to Seattle's Best. Now we're older and get together about every three years and laugh at all the same stuff. I've been so sad lately, so it was great to just get out and have fun.
I wish I had a before picture and I know we've had a bunch taken, but I can't find any. But here we are now:
Left to right: Anne--she's British and the only person I know who takes Masterpiece Theatre as seriously as I do. Next is Marie--she works for the city counsel and teaches at Malcolm X. She is hilarious and the master of the malaprop. Me--ummmm, mom/blogger. Last is Joel; he used to be a struggling actor. Now he's married, two kids, and works for the Lyric Opera. One of the funniest people I've ever known.
So ah, that's about it. I put new towels and pictures in the bathroom and went out with friends. Then I blogged about it. It could be a GuilfordRoad new low.
Our upstairs bathroom needed a little brightening. Remember the downstairs makeover? I'm too lazy to even link to it. Well, the upstairs needed it, too, but without costing hardly any money.
Here it is before. The people who had our house before us did a beautiful job, but I'm disappointed in the wall mirror in this bathroom. I wish we could have two wood-framed mirrors, one above each sink. Don't you think? But...that's kind of a big project.
Here's a cabinet I am definitely not in love with. Also a project for another time.
It all needed a splash of color, so...voila.
And also...ta da! Courtesy of Kathy at One Elegant Lady...
Aren't they great?
These are my two favorites:
I brought the girls in to see the changes, and Lucy said, "Cool! Now we have a London bathroom." And Elaine said, "Whoa. Rock and roll, Mom!" (I swear to you, she said that.)
In other news, I went out this week. By myself. In the evening. For dinner. I got in my car and drove 90 miles to Chicago (it took three hours).
I met some of my favorite people, three of my mates from a job I used to work BC (Before Children). We met at my favorite restaurant (bonus), here:
We all worked together in the mid-90s as general office people in a huge commercial real estate corporation for this crazy guy. We loved him. In fact, I still have a dream at least three times a year that he asks me to come back and work for him. He used to walk on his hands around the office and play Stevie Wonder, "Superstition" over and over and over as loudly as possible. One time he made me leave work and go to a music store so I could buy the Jefferson Airplane album that had "White Rabbit" on it so he could sing, "Go ask Alice, she's ten feet tall," with accompaniment.
Anyway, we were all young(er) and getting our masters' at DePaul and whatnot but basically spent our time laughing and going downstairs to Seattle's Best. Now we're older and get together about every three years and laugh at all the same stuff. I've been so sad lately, so it was great to just get out and have fun.
I wish I had a before picture and I know we've had a bunch taken, but I can't find any. But here we are now:
Left to right: Anne--she's British and the only person I know who takes Masterpiece Theatre as seriously as I do. Next is Marie--she works for the city counsel and teaches at Malcolm X. She is hilarious and the master of the malaprop. Me--ummmm, mom/blogger. Last is Joel; he used to be a struggling actor. Now he's married, two kids, and works for the Lyric Opera. One of the funniest people I've ever known.So ah, that's about it. I put new towels and pictures in the bathroom and went out with friends. Then I blogged about it. It could be a GuilfordRoad new low.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
A Slice of Life
I think I've said this before, but each morning when Lucy and Elaine wake up, they're supposed to get dressed, brush their hair, brush their teeth, make their beds, and straighten up their room.
The success of this plan is fair to middling, especially the "straighten up the room" part. Pretty much every day it's a disaster. Then I walk in, my head spins around a few times, and I say some variation of, "I'm confused. How is this clean? Get it done. Now." and walk away. Sometimes I think "Clean your room," might be engraved on my tombstone, but it will have to find room below "Fasten Your Seatbelt," and "Ladies Don't Eat Like Pigs at the Trough."
Then a few minutes later, I find the girls elsewhere in the house and I ask, "Is your room clean?" and, wide-eyed and innocent, they claim, "Yes, Mama, we cleaned it, we really did!" And it looks exactly.the.same. I can only believe that either a) they're trying to gaslight me, or b) they're the worst room cleaners in the world. I'm just more comfortable with Option b.
For example, here's their bookcase. Seriously. This is how they put books away, if they put them away at all.
I won't show you what the rest of the room looks like--I actually think I did that once before on this blog, and also Darren wonders why I keep exhibiting our shame on the Internet. I go in about once a week and fix the havoc they have wreaked. Here's the bookcase after I'm done with it:
Now, this is a complete side note, but see the top shelf? Here's a parental recommendation for you if you don't already do this. Get audiobooks for your kids, no matter how young they are. Someone (who doesn't read this blog) was telling me recently that each of their kids--same age as mine--have a TV in their room, and every night they go to sleep watching a movie. I'm not one of those no-TV people, but that's just sad to me. Audiobooks are a great way to fall asleep--and it helps your kids obtain a much higher reading comprehension level than they would normally on their own. Plus, they're just fun. So whether you download books on your iPod or your Kindle or whether you kick it old school with a CD player and CDs like we do, it's a great investment. I could do a whole post on my favorites, and maybe I will someday.
Moving on.
In the middle of my cleaning the bookcase yesterday, Elaine came to get me.
"C'mere, Mom, you gotta see my dolls. They're all at school," she said as she grabbed my hand. Now notice this--because their room is a pit and I am cleaning it, she is now messing up the guestroom. Gah.
Here are her dolls at school:
Wait a minute, what is this?
That's Elena. She's the doll Elaine got for her first birthday. Lucy named her, so it's not quite as narcissistic as it sounds. But what kind of mother lets her child go to school with hair like that? And naked to boot? This must be remedied.
So I take a break from book organizing to assist this poor creature.
Much better:
Suffice it to say, this often happens while I'm cleaning their room. The state of their dolls' hair and attire would shock you. It just can't go on. Then they (the girls, not the dolls, but really, who knows??) are so happy when I've fixed them up.
"How do you know how to do this?" Lucy asks. "You are awesome at fixing dolls, Mom. Did you take lessons?"
Of course I did, right between Literary Criticism and a seminar on James Joyce. Those haven't gotten me that far in life, so maybe with Lucy's praise it's something I should be adding to my resume soon.
After the doll dressing and bookcase cleaning, Elaine came back in the room because hey, who doesn't want to play in a clean room? The better to mess it up again. She wanted to pose in front of the bookcase with her favorite book. I think you'll agree that the resemblance is uncanny.
Now maybe some of you might be reading this and saying, "Hey Alice, sounds like you're a 41-year-old who plays with dolls." And to you I say, "From henceforth, I would like it to be referred to as styling."
So, if you have any dilapidated dolls needing such styling or bookcases needing organizing, please contact me. My references are impeccable, and my salary should be commensurate with my vast experience. I'll be waiting for your call.
The success of this plan is fair to middling, especially the "straighten up the room" part. Pretty much every day it's a disaster. Then I walk in, my head spins around a few times, and I say some variation of, "I'm confused. How is this clean? Get it done. Now." and walk away. Sometimes I think "Clean your room," might be engraved on my tombstone, but it will have to find room below "Fasten Your Seatbelt," and "Ladies Don't Eat Like Pigs at the Trough."
Then a few minutes later, I find the girls elsewhere in the house and I ask, "Is your room clean?" and, wide-eyed and innocent, they claim, "Yes, Mama, we cleaned it, we really did!" And it looks exactly.the.same. I can only believe that either a) they're trying to gaslight me, or b) they're the worst room cleaners in the world. I'm just more comfortable with Option b.
For example, here's their bookcase. Seriously. This is how they put books away, if they put them away at all.
I won't show you what the rest of the room looks like--I actually think I did that once before on this blog, and also Darren wonders why I keep exhibiting our shame on the Internet. I go in about once a week and fix the havoc they have wreaked. Here's the bookcase after I'm done with it:
Now, this is a complete side note, but see the top shelf? Here's a parental recommendation for you if you don't already do this. Get audiobooks for your kids, no matter how young they are. Someone (who doesn't read this blog) was telling me recently that each of their kids--same age as mine--have a TV in their room, and every night they go to sleep watching a movie. I'm not one of those no-TV people, but that's just sad to me. Audiobooks are a great way to fall asleep--and it helps your kids obtain a much higher reading comprehension level than they would normally on their own. Plus, they're just fun. So whether you download books on your iPod or your Kindle or whether you kick it old school with a CD player and CDs like we do, it's a great investment. I could do a whole post on my favorites, and maybe I will someday.
Moving on.
In the middle of my cleaning the bookcase yesterday, Elaine came to get me.
"C'mere, Mom, you gotta see my dolls. They're all at school," she said as she grabbed my hand. Now notice this--because their room is a pit and I am cleaning it, she is now messing up the guestroom. Gah.
Here are her dolls at school:
Wait a minute, what is this?
That's Elena. She's the doll Elaine got for her first birthday. Lucy named her, so it's not quite as narcissistic as it sounds. But what kind of mother lets her child go to school with hair like that? And naked to boot? This must be remedied.
So I take a break from book organizing to assist this poor creature.
Much better:
Suffice it to say, this often happens while I'm cleaning their room. The state of their dolls' hair and attire would shock you. It just can't go on. Then they (the girls, not the dolls, but really, who knows??) are so happy when I've fixed them up.
"How do you know how to do this?" Lucy asks. "You are awesome at fixing dolls, Mom. Did you take lessons?"
Of course I did, right between Literary Criticism and a seminar on James Joyce. Those haven't gotten me that far in life, so maybe with Lucy's praise it's something I should be adding to my resume soon.
After the doll dressing and bookcase cleaning, Elaine came back in the room because hey, who doesn't want to play in a clean room? The better to mess it up again. She wanted to pose in front of the bookcase with her favorite book. I think you'll agree that the resemblance is uncanny.
Now maybe some of you might be reading this and saying, "Hey Alice, sounds like you're a 41-year-old who plays with dolls." And to you I say, "From henceforth, I would like it to be referred to as styling."
So, if you have any dilapidated dolls needing such styling or bookcases needing organizing, please contact me. My references are impeccable, and my salary should be commensurate with my vast experience. I'll be waiting for your call.
Monday, July 19, 2010
What We Did On Our Summer Vacation
We've been gone all week on vacation in Door County, and, in the words of Peter Gibbons, "I did nothing, absolutely nothing, and it was everything I thought it would be."
Basically, the girls and I went to the beach every day (Darren worked). We brought our camera, and I meant to take great, artsy pictures like Julie K. and Alysa do: striped beach umbrellas, the girls' little feet in the sand, them eating copious amounts of a revolting ice cream called Blue Moon that tasted like Fruit Loops, stuff like that, but I realized I forgot the camera card, so I didn't even take any pictures of this glorious doing-nothing party.
The girls played in the water, and I sometimes I played with them or we looked for shells or made sand castles, and the rest of the time I laid on a beach towel and read. I reread To Kill A Mockingbird (and cried at all the same places I always do), Maeve Binchy's Circle of Friends, Rumer Godden's The Greengage Summer, and Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale. Then for the first time I read May Sarton's Journal of Solitude.
When we weren't at the beach, I played Crazy 8s and Go Fish with the girls and watched House Hunters on HGTV. For part of the week, my dad and Chuck and Rome came up too, which was great. We went to the park and climbed to the top of the tower like we always do. And I watched Elaine and Chuck play this hilarious passive-aggressive game they have made up (actually, Elaine made it up) called "Martinelli's." She stands in front of him with a pad of paper and a pen. Here's a sampling of their dialog:
Elaine: Welcome to Martinelli's. What would you like to eat?
Chuck: a hamburger and fries
Elaine: We don't have hamburgers and fries. What else do you want?
Chuck: Chinese food
Elaine: We don't have Chinese food. What else?
(This progresses on indefinitely as his requests get more and more outlandish, like shark fins, none of which can be found at Martinelli's. Then finally, Rome will try to help.)
Rome: May I have some salad?
Elaine: Sure, I can get you some salad.
Chuck: Why does she get salad? I don't think you have any food at this restaurant. I'll just have the Number 8 soup
Elaine: We don't have Number 8 soup. And we don't have Number 9, either.
Chuck: I don't believe you're writing anything I order on that pad. You're just scribbling on it.
Elaine: I am NOT just scribbling.
Chuck: Well then, read me what you wrote.
Elaine (lifts the paper up to her eyes, sighs, and begins with exaggerated patience in a robotic voice): It is im-poss-i-ble to read this to you because you are so mean.
They play variations of this game every time they're together.
Another highlight of the week was that I discovered Julie's Upscale Resale in Sister Bay. What a great store. It was filled with clothes (overpriced), accessories, and housewares, displayed really well--including having various pages from home/decorating magazines in all the little nooks throughout the shop, saying "Try this!" or "You could do this with this table!" etc. Brilliant idea.
I bought this tres cute Gucci purse for fall:
And these two scarves (she had lots of beautiful scarves). This one will look great with a red sweater...
And I love the cityscape pattern on this one...
So, that was Door County. Then on Saturday we headed to Minneapolis to a memorial for my cousin, Jon. He died unexpectedly of a heart attack at age 43. His family had a really nice service for him--a lot of good memories. I hadn't known him very well (we have a huge family), but I was glad that we could be there.
There was a luncheon afterward, and I'm still not sure what happened, but I started feeling sick and sicker as I was sitting there. I finally went outside to lie down in the car (in the 93-degree heat), and then Darren and the girls joined me. We started to drive to our hotel (with me still lying down and saying, "I'm dying. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die soon."), and Darren asked "What are your symptoms?"
"Please pull over right NOWWWWW...." I moaned. Yep. That was a pretty self-evident symptom.
We finally made it to the hotel and then to our room on the 10th floor where I pulled the shades, blasted the AC, and became one with the bed for several hours. Doubletree Minneapolis, I love you so.
While I was unconscious, Darren took the girls swimming and then out to dinner. When I finally woke up, I felt somewhat better, it was thunderstorming like crazy outside, and I found When Harry Met Sally on cable.
The next day we came home, and today Darren's gone to his office while I've got two little suntanned girls and loads of laundry to do. It was a good week.
What have you been doing this summer?
Basically, the girls and I went to the beach every day (Darren worked). We brought our camera, and I meant to take great, artsy pictures like Julie K. and Alysa do: striped beach umbrellas, the girls' little feet in the sand, them eating copious amounts of a revolting ice cream called Blue Moon that tasted like Fruit Loops, stuff like that, but I realized I forgot the camera card, so I didn't even take any pictures of this glorious doing-nothing party.
The girls played in the water, and I sometimes I played with them or we looked for shells or made sand castles, and the rest of the time I laid on a beach towel and read. I reread To Kill A Mockingbird (and cried at all the same places I always do), Maeve Binchy's Circle of Friends, Rumer Godden's The Greengage Summer, and Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale. Then for the first time I read May Sarton's Journal of Solitude.
When we weren't at the beach, I played Crazy 8s and Go Fish with the girls and watched House Hunters on HGTV. For part of the week, my dad and Chuck and Rome came up too, which was great. We went to the park and climbed to the top of the tower like we always do. And I watched Elaine and Chuck play this hilarious passive-aggressive game they have made up (actually, Elaine made it up) called "Martinelli's." She stands in front of him with a pad of paper and a pen. Here's a sampling of their dialog:
Elaine: Welcome to Martinelli's. What would you like to eat?
Chuck: a hamburger and fries
Elaine: We don't have hamburgers and fries. What else do you want?
Chuck: Chinese food
Elaine: We don't have Chinese food. What else?
(This progresses on indefinitely as his requests get more and more outlandish, like shark fins, none of which can be found at Martinelli's. Then finally, Rome will try to help.)
Rome: May I have some salad?
Elaine: Sure, I can get you some salad.
Chuck: Why does she get salad? I don't think you have any food at this restaurant. I'll just have the Number 8 soup
Elaine: We don't have Number 8 soup. And we don't have Number 9, either.
Chuck: I don't believe you're writing anything I order on that pad. You're just scribbling on it.
Elaine: I am NOT just scribbling.
Chuck: Well then, read me what you wrote.
Elaine (lifts the paper up to her eyes, sighs, and begins with exaggerated patience in a robotic voice): It is im-poss-i-ble to read this to you because you are so mean.
They play variations of this game every time they're together.
Another highlight of the week was that I discovered Julie's Upscale Resale in Sister Bay. What a great store. It was filled with clothes (overpriced), accessories, and housewares, displayed really well--including having various pages from home/decorating magazines in all the little nooks throughout the shop, saying "Try this!" or "You could do this with this table!" etc. Brilliant idea.
I bought this tres cute Gucci purse for fall:
And these two scarves (she had lots of beautiful scarves). This one will look great with a red sweater...
And I love the cityscape pattern on this one...
So, that was Door County. Then on Saturday we headed to Minneapolis to a memorial for my cousin, Jon. He died unexpectedly of a heart attack at age 43. His family had a really nice service for him--a lot of good memories. I hadn't known him very well (we have a huge family), but I was glad that we could be there.
There was a luncheon afterward, and I'm still not sure what happened, but I started feeling sick and sicker as I was sitting there. I finally went outside to lie down in the car (in the 93-degree heat), and then Darren and the girls joined me. We started to drive to our hotel (with me still lying down and saying, "I'm dying. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die soon."), and Darren asked "What are your symptoms?"
"Please pull over right NOWWWWW...." I moaned. Yep. That was a pretty self-evident symptom.
We finally made it to the hotel and then to our room on the 10th floor where I pulled the shades, blasted the AC, and became one with the bed for several hours. Doubletree Minneapolis, I love you so.
While I was unconscious, Darren took the girls swimming and then out to dinner. When I finally woke up, I felt somewhat better, it was thunderstorming like crazy outside, and I found When Harry Met Sally on cable.
The next day we came home, and today Darren's gone to his office while I've got two little suntanned girls and loads of laundry to do. It was a good week.
What have you been doing this summer?
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
A New Shop
I have so many artistic friends. I have friends who make accessories and friends who make scrapbooks and friends (more than one) who are photographers. Most of them have etsy sites. Are you familiar with etsy? It's a great place where creative people can have their own little online shops and sell stuff. Looking for unique Hello Kitty themed accessories for girls? Try etsy. How about custom-made Chinese-theme handbags (as I always am!)? Go to etsy. It's a fun place to find one-of-a-kind items and throw a little support to independent designers out there. Sometimes I feel a little inadequate because I am practically the only person I know without an etsy site, but then I reassure myself that my ministry is consumerism.
All that to say, my friend Kathy is just opening her new etsy site: One Elegant Lady. Kathy makes gorgeous cards and collages and killer handbags (have I lost any men readers I have at this point?) My friend Peg has a robin egg blue and black damask handbag by Kathy, and it does cause me to stumble, readers.
And I've been to as many of those card-making parties as you have, and while they're fun and you can make some cute stuff, Kathy's cards are works of art. My particular (current) favorite is her Ooh-La-La Paris line. She also told me she's got a London line coming right up. She uses quality cardstock and designer papers, which she hand picks.
I don't know if you've bought cards at Hallmark or Target lately, but just buying a few for your family can cost over twenty dollars. Kathy's little gems are reasonably priced, and honestly, I would frame hers and put them up around my house.
She's still adding items and pictures (she doesn't have any handbags shown yet), and she's planning to start a One Elegant Lady blog, too. I'll keep you posted, and in the meantime, check out her cool new shop!
And while you're at etsy looking at One Elegant Lady, remember to visit Becky at Bowture and Betsy at Yellow Elm. You too can join my consumerism ministry!
All that to say, my friend Kathy is just opening her new etsy site: One Elegant Lady. Kathy makes gorgeous cards and collages and killer handbags (have I lost any men readers I have at this point?) My friend Peg has a robin egg blue and black damask handbag by Kathy, and it does cause me to stumble, readers.
And I've been to as many of those card-making parties as you have, and while they're fun and you can make some cute stuff, Kathy's cards are works of art. My particular (current) favorite is her Ooh-La-La Paris line. She also told me she's got a London line coming right up. She uses quality cardstock and designer papers, which she hand picks.
I don't know if you've bought cards at Hallmark or Target lately, but just buying a few for your family can cost over twenty dollars. Kathy's little gems are reasonably priced, and honestly, I would frame hers and put them up around my house.
She's still adding items and pictures (she doesn't have any handbags shown yet), and she's planning to start a One Elegant Lady blog, too. I'll keep you posted, and in the meantime, check out her cool new shop!
And while you're at etsy looking at One Elegant Lady, remember to visit Becky at Bowture and Betsy at Yellow Elm. You too can join my consumerism ministry!
Monday, July 05, 2010
Friendship Day
Yesterday you celebrated Independence Day, right? I've celebrated it every July 4th of my life in much the same way: parades, cookouts, baseball games, fireworks, the usual. And it's good that way, it really is. Except last year my brother-in-law and sister-in-law and I watched the hot dog eating contest on ESPN, and not only will that put you off hot dogs, it could pretty much put you off food for the rest of your life. Really, it's pretty much everything that is wrong with America, encapsulated right there.
Yesterday though, we did something different--we celebrated American-Filipino Friendship Day, which is also July 4th, didja know that?
We went to Chuck and Rome's. She told me, "You don't need to bring anything," so I didn't. Also, she produces this show, so really, what could I bring except something made with Cool Whip and bring total dishonor to my family's name? Someone tells me "don't bring anything," and I believe her.
Except she also told her many aunts not to bring anything, and they all brought at least three main dishes. Also, I'm all about helping the hosts in the kitchen, but I just beat it out of there because it was clear the experts had arrived. Everyone was chattering around in Tagalog, and it was a great kick-off to 4th of July.
Lucy whispered to me, "Mama, us and Tio and Packa--we're the only white people here!"
I repeated this to Rome, who burst out laughing and said our friend Bob was coming so there would be one more white person. Her family is the nicest big group of people ever, and they'll switch over to English for you too, so it didn't matter anyway.
Lucy and Elaine quickly found other kids to play with, and the girls busied themselves chasing the lone boy round and round the house and yard, trying to get his baseball cap off his head and smear him with glitter makeup.
Then it was time to eat, but first Rome's dad (who, along with her mom, are visiting from the Philippines this summer) read some verses for us and said his prayers had been answered because he was getting to spend his birthday--also July 4--with his daughter and with Chuck and, as he gestured to my dad, "his compadre," which made me tear up a bit and laugh too because my dad needs a compadre right now and also he's about twice the height of Rome's dad.
Then he prayed for the food, and we started to eat.
And eat.
And eat.
I can't begin to tell you everything that was on offer for this unique 4th of July/Friendship Day, but here is a sampling (heh, most of which made its way to my plate): orzo with shrimp and dill, mahi mahi, steak/pepper/pineapple kabobs, fruit salad, something that I think is called "pased" (pronounced with two syllables)--it's noodles with shrimp and chicken and vegetables. I absolutely love it, but Chuck rolls his eyes at it. He said, "Yeah, I liked it too the first twenty times I had it at potlucks. It's everywhere, all the time. It's like how someone always brings lasagna to American potlucks so you just don't take it anymore." Well, I still like it. There was also shrimp curry and grilled tuna (Darren's favorite), oh, and a traditional lamb dish w/ rice that was fantastic, and like I said, I can't remember everything else. Oh, and fried chicken.
After we ate all that, it was, of course, time for dessert, which included something that looked like egg rolls but they're sweet and filled with banana, chocolate bundt cake, some other sort of double chocolate cake, caramel rice pudding, leche flan (Lucy's favorite), a Ghiradelli cheesecake, and the traditional American cake with white frosting decorated like the flag with strawberries and blueberries.
By the way, I know I'm probably missing at least 8-10 other things there. So we sat on the deck on a hot, muggy July day and celebrated birthdays, and family, and friendship between nations, and um, food.
People kept coming and going throughout the day, and finally as we were getting ready to leave (which involves working the entire crowd, shaking hands with all the men and cheek-kissing all the women), another family with little boys arrived. The lone boy with the baseball cap now firmly in place took them aside and told them, "The girls here are CRAZY. You have to watch out for them."
We finally went home in the dark, watching all the various town fireworks go off around us, while the girls fell asleep in the backseat with sweaty hair and their eyes smeared with hot pink glitter eyeshadow. We got home around 10 and carried them up to their beds, still asleep.
It was a great day.
Yesterday though, we did something different--we celebrated American-Filipino Friendship Day, which is also July 4th, didja know that?
We went to Chuck and Rome's. She told me, "You don't need to bring anything," so I didn't. Also, she produces this show, so really, what could I bring except something made with Cool Whip and bring total dishonor to my family's name? Someone tells me "don't bring anything," and I believe her.
Except she also told her many aunts not to bring anything, and they all brought at least three main dishes. Also, I'm all about helping the hosts in the kitchen, but I just beat it out of there because it was clear the experts had arrived. Everyone was chattering around in Tagalog, and it was a great kick-off to 4th of July.
Lucy whispered to me, "Mama, us and Tio and Packa--we're the only white people here!"
I repeated this to Rome, who burst out laughing and said our friend Bob was coming so there would be one more white person. Her family is the nicest big group of people ever, and they'll switch over to English for you too, so it didn't matter anyway.
Lucy and Elaine quickly found other kids to play with, and the girls busied themselves chasing the lone boy round and round the house and yard, trying to get his baseball cap off his head and smear him with glitter makeup.
Then it was time to eat, but first Rome's dad (who, along with her mom, are visiting from the Philippines this summer) read some verses for us and said his prayers had been answered because he was getting to spend his birthday--also July 4--with his daughter and with Chuck and, as he gestured to my dad, "his compadre," which made me tear up a bit and laugh too because my dad needs a compadre right now and also he's about twice the height of Rome's dad.
Then he prayed for the food, and we started to eat.
And eat.
And eat.
I can't begin to tell you everything that was on offer for this unique 4th of July/Friendship Day, but here is a sampling (heh, most of which made its way to my plate): orzo with shrimp and dill, mahi mahi, steak/pepper/pineapple kabobs, fruit salad, something that I think is called "pased" (pronounced with two syllables)--it's noodles with shrimp and chicken and vegetables. I absolutely love it, but Chuck rolls his eyes at it. He said, "Yeah, I liked it too the first twenty times I had it at potlucks. It's everywhere, all the time. It's like how someone always brings lasagna to American potlucks so you just don't take it anymore." Well, I still like it. There was also shrimp curry and grilled tuna (Darren's favorite), oh, and a traditional lamb dish w/ rice that was fantastic, and like I said, I can't remember everything else. Oh, and fried chicken.
After we ate all that, it was, of course, time for dessert, which included something that looked like egg rolls but they're sweet and filled with banana, chocolate bundt cake, some other sort of double chocolate cake, caramel rice pudding, leche flan (Lucy's favorite), a Ghiradelli cheesecake, and the traditional American cake with white frosting decorated like the flag with strawberries and blueberries.
By the way, I know I'm probably missing at least 8-10 other things there. So we sat on the deck on a hot, muggy July day and celebrated birthdays, and family, and friendship between nations, and um, food.
People kept coming and going throughout the day, and finally as we were getting ready to leave (which involves working the entire crowd, shaking hands with all the men and cheek-kissing all the women), another family with little boys arrived. The lone boy with the baseball cap now firmly in place took them aside and told them, "The girls here are CRAZY. You have to watch out for them."
We finally went home in the dark, watching all the various town fireworks go off around us, while the girls fell asleep in the backseat with sweaty hair and their eyes smeared with hot pink glitter eyeshadow. We got home around 10 and carried them up to their beds, still asleep.
It was a great day.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
Overheard
(while the girls were playing with Polly Pockets the other day)
Lucy: We'll do a play. This will be the title of the first act in our play: "Meteoration." Do you know what "metoriation" means? It's when you meet people.
Elaine: Oh. OK. Moto benny.
Lucy: No, they're not going to speak Spanish at the Meteoration. Just English.
Lucy: We'll do a play. This will be the title of the first act in our play: "Meteoration." Do you know what "metoriation" means? It's when you meet people.
Elaine: Oh. OK. Moto benny.
Lucy: No, they're not going to speak Spanish at the Meteoration. Just English.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Another viewpoint
Alysa wrote about Mom's service here. And, since she's a gifted photographer, there are some pictures too! It was cool to read about that day through someone else's eyes. And she gives our family a lot of love in it, but let me assure you, the feeling is more than mutual. If I want to have a laugh/cry, I think about one of the many weekends we shared at my house during college. We woke up, and there was some sort of massive bug in our room. We shrieked at the top of our lungs and, I think, ran in to my mom's room (where I'm sure she joined our shrieking) until my dad came upstairs (disgustedly) to kill it for us. HEY. It was a big bug.
Anyway, thanks Alysa--for doing life with us and getting up to sing in celebration of it!
(P.S. I'm fat in that last picture because I'm seven months pregnant. Just to clarify.)
(P.P.S. Those adorable boys in the pictures with my girls are our nephews, Ryne and Joseph.)
Anyway, thanks Alysa--for doing life with us and getting up to sing in celebration of it!
(P.S. I'm fat in that last picture because I'm seven months pregnant. Just to clarify.)
(P.P.S. Those adorable boys in the pictures with my girls are our nephews, Ryne and Joseph.)
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Boot Camp
Back when summer started, I had a grand plan for the girls. (Do you remember?) We were going to do chores, clean, cook, and do projects. It went great for the first week. Then June happened. In the midst of everything, the girls had loads of attention from all sorts of relatives, were fed by their dad [a note: Long ago, I decreed the only fast food they are allowed to eat is Subway. In some mysterious way though, whenever we're out driving Elaine can easily identify McDonalds, Burger King, Applebees, Buffalo Wild Wings, Beef-a-Roo, Dunkin Donuts, Pizza Hut, and Arby's or as she calls it "Barbies," even though she can't read yet. THAT's being fed by their dad.] Wait, where was I? Oh and staying up late, watching TV all the time, running around with no schedule, and generally living in mayhem.
This week, it was time to reel them back in. I knew the end had come when Lucy told me, "Mom, you have to stop saying that Chuck E. Cheese is gross. They're a proud supporter of PBS Kids!"
I told them on Sunday night, "It's back to Mom's Boot Camp this week." "Ohhhhhhhhh," they answered, with long faces. "Boot Camp." This means that first thing in the morning they have to: get dressed, make their beds, brush their teeth, and brush their hair. Then they're supposed to sit on their beds with a book until I'm ready to give them breakfast. After breakfast, they put their dishes in the dishwasher and start their chores. The first day we did this, Elaine laid down on the floor and wailed, "I don't like all this woooooooorrrrrkkkk!" She revived when I said she could wash the windows. She lives to spray copious amounts of liquid on any surfaces. Lucy learned to clean bathrooms and do laundry, and they both learned to sweep and Swiffer the floors.
I have this what I thought was a positive, sort of Jillian Michaels-motivational type approach with tough love thrown in. "You call that a decently made bed? It looks like junk! Try it again!" which when I listen to myself I sound much more like Miss Hannigan from Annie. I'm one step away from screeching drunkenly, "And make this floor shine like the top of the Chrysler Building!" I promise I'm not exaggerating because I actually heard the girls singing "It's a Hard Knock Life For Us" while they worked. (They also sing a lovely version of "My Favorite Things," which goes "When the dog bites, when the bees stings, when Daddy spanks us, when we're feeling sad..." I guess they have very mean parents.)
I reward them for a job well done with a trip to the bike path, which they love, and then a special outing on Fridays--usually to the pool, but this Friday we're meeting Katie and her boys at a splash park. And unbeknownst to them, I'm sure we'll have a pajama ride to the drive-in sometime soon.
I know something big happened in my girls' world too, and I want them to have a fun summer. The best way to do that, at least for us, is to instill a little structure and routine. Once they get going on their tasks, they're so proud of the job they're doing. They even took wipes and cleaned on the inner window sill by the screens, which I don't think I've done since we've moved here.
Another plus is that after all the working and bike riding and their swimming, they're usually ready to fall into bed between 7:30 and 8:00, leaving me free to watch Season 3 of thirtysomething, the greatest TV show ever made, which they just started to release on DVD less than a year ago.
Also, I'm reading the classics. So far since June 1 I've (re)read: The Great Gatsby, part of This Side of Paradise, Rebecca, Jane Eyre, Across Five Aprils, An Old-Fashioned Girl, An Episode of Sparrows, and two contraband mysteries. In July, I'm scheduled to read House of Mirth and the companion novels Mr. and Mrs. Bridge. And hopefully Les Mis, (I promise, Mary!)
Oh, and I must tell you that a brand new TV movie version of Murder on the Orient Express is on this Sunday that you must see. When my cousin Joseph was here, he said, "I thought you'd sworn off mysteries this summer," but I think it's more of a withdrawal than a cold turkey process.
It's a hard-knock life for me.
This week, it was time to reel them back in. I knew the end had come when Lucy told me, "Mom, you have to stop saying that Chuck E. Cheese is gross. They're a proud supporter of PBS Kids!"
I told them on Sunday night, "It's back to Mom's Boot Camp this week." "Ohhhhhhhhh," they answered, with long faces. "Boot Camp." This means that first thing in the morning they have to: get dressed, make their beds, brush their teeth, and brush their hair. Then they're supposed to sit on their beds with a book until I'm ready to give them breakfast. After breakfast, they put their dishes in the dishwasher and start their chores. The first day we did this, Elaine laid down on the floor and wailed, "I don't like all this woooooooorrrrrkkkk!" She revived when I said she could wash the windows. She lives to spray copious amounts of liquid on any surfaces. Lucy learned to clean bathrooms and do laundry, and they both learned to sweep and Swiffer the floors.
I have this what I thought was a positive, sort of Jillian Michaels-motivational type approach with tough love thrown in. "You call that a decently made bed? It looks like junk! Try it again!" which when I listen to myself I sound much more like Miss Hannigan from Annie. I'm one step away from screeching drunkenly, "And make this floor shine like the top of the Chrysler Building!" I promise I'm not exaggerating because I actually heard the girls singing "It's a Hard Knock Life For Us" while they worked. (They also sing a lovely version of "My Favorite Things," which goes "When the dog bites, when the bees stings, when Daddy spanks us, when we're feeling sad..." I guess they have very mean parents.)
I reward them for a job well done with a trip to the bike path, which they love, and then a special outing on Fridays--usually to the pool, but this Friday we're meeting Katie and her boys at a splash park. And unbeknownst to them, I'm sure we'll have a pajama ride to the drive-in sometime soon.
I know something big happened in my girls' world too, and I want them to have a fun summer. The best way to do that, at least for us, is to instill a little structure and routine. Once they get going on their tasks, they're so proud of the job they're doing. They even took wipes and cleaned on the inner window sill by the screens, which I don't think I've done since we've moved here.
Another plus is that after all the working and bike riding and their swimming, they're usually ready to fall into bed between 7:30 and 8:00, leaving me free to watch Season 3 of thirtysomething, the greatest TV show ever made, which they just started to release on DVD less than a year ago.
Also, I'm reading the classics. So far since June 1 I've (re)read: The Great Gatsby, part of This Side of Paradise, Rebecca, Jane Eyre, Across Five Aprils, An Old-Fashioned Girl, An Episode of Sparrows, and two contraband mysteries. In July, I'm scheduled to read House of Mirth and the companion novels Mr. and Mrs. Bridge. And hopefully Les Mis, (I promise, Mary!)
Oh, and I must tell you that a brand new TV movie version of Murder on the Orient Express is on this Sunday that you must see. When my cousin Joseph was here, he said, "I thought you'd sworn off mysteries this summer," but I think it's more of a withdrawal than a cold turkey process.
It's a hard-knock life for me.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Victory
I'm sitting at my dining room table, postponing a bit on starting life over again with our new normal. The last of the company has gone home. I've got dirty dishes to wash, sheets to change, little girls to get back into routine. But first I have to get down the events of Friday because even now, it's seeming far away and I need to capture it forever in words.
The previous Saturday (the 19th), we buried Mom privately. We went to southern Wisconsin, to a quiet little cemetery out in the country, which is filled with all sorts of Nichols relatives. Under a shady tree, we laid Mom to rest, just our family and Mom's brother and his wife, who did the short committal service for us. We sang two hymns, said the Lord's Prayer, and recited the 23rd Psalm. At the end, the girls, my sister-in-law, and I scattered rose petals over Mom's casket and around the grave. We had so many rose petals that we scattered them over the other relatives, too. It was quiet and peaceful, and I think it was exactly how she would have wanted it.
This Friday (the 25th) was the memorial service. Mom adamantly did not want a funeral. She didn't want stiff funeral flowers or an organ playing "Abide With Me," or a eulogy or hushed voices or anything else traditionally associated with death. She wanted Easter Sunday all over again. So, we set out to do that for her.
My dad ordered two baskets of flowers from their florist friend whose shop is next door to my parents' house. They were filled with beautiful, bright flowers and butterflies, and the florist, who loved my mom, made extra arrangements as a gift: birdbaths with gorgeous spring-like arrangements inside them. It looked like a garden.
I dressed the girls in white eyelet dresses that my mom had made them a couple summers ago that fortunately still fit. As our family came in to the service, they walked beside my dad, holding his hands.
The program for the memorial had Lucy's drawing that she did for Mom last winter: the one the pictures Heaven with God and Jesus on their thrones and Mom and Lucy in their white robes, up in the clouds and with the streets of gold by them, with the words "Together Forever" and "by Lucy" written below. Sometimes when she didn't know I saw her over the last few months, I watched Mom pick up that picture and whisper "together forever." She also told everyone she knew about it and would read them I Thessalonians 4:13-18.
The pastor, Bruce, started the service by welcoming everyone and explaining that we were here for a different kind of service...a resurrection service. We said the Apostles' Creed, but the special Easter version that we've always said at College Church: with special emphasis on the resurrection of the body and extra "He is risen indeed!"s and "Alleluia!"s in there.
Then we sang "Come Christians, Join to Sing" and a hymn that my mom used to sing while she worked around the house, "Praise the Savior." After that, one of my mom's dearest friends, Ruthie, came to the front and read Mom's testimony that she had written out a few months ago titled "How I Met Jesus." Then we watched a video tribute with family photos to the song "Amazing Grace My Chains Are Gone" by Chris Tomlin, created by my sister-in-law, Rome.
Chuck got up and read I Thess. 4:13-18, and Bruce preached a message called "Anticipation." I wish I could encapsulate everything he said here because it was so beautiful, but I can't. But he gave the good news of Jesus and he said that because of what He's done for us, we don't need to rely on what we've done to get to heaven. We can throw ourselves on His grace and mercy, and when we get there, Christ will say, "They're with ME!" He also talked about Mom's high school yearbook picture--how for her career goal it said "Missionary." She started a mission school in the West Indies and her whole married life in the U.S. she did mission work here. On one of her last nights, while she was in the hospice home, a night nurse went in her room to care for her. Out of nowhere, Mom reached up, put her arms around the nurse, and prayed for her. Bruce said that even the service today was one more day of Mom's missionary work because all she wanted in life was for everyone to know and love Jesus.
After the sermon, we sang "Up from the Grave He Arose." Then a group of us went to the front to sing the final song as the congregation stood and sang with us. We sang the song that Mom kept in her Bible and would listen to in her final months, whispering "Glory!" when she heard it. In fact, it was the last song she and I listened to together at her home--Travis Cottrell's version of "In Christ Alone/The Solid Rock."
As I stood on the platform, singing (with my pal Katie and I holding each other up, crying and smiling through the whole thing!), it was so loud in there that I think the walls shook, the roof might have raised up a bit, and I'm pretty sure I could hear my mom's sweet voice singing it along with us. And though I know I'm prone to a little creative license, I overheard so many comments afterward, such as "Was that not the best music sung to the Heavens you have ever heard?!" and "I was singing at the top of my voice, and I think the walls were shaking!" and "I think Heaven opened up a bit because I heard the angels singing, too!"
It was a great finish to the Easter service, and afterward our family went to the fellowship hall to greet everybody. Oh, and when my friend Jeanette came down, she told me that the postlude was "Victory in Jesus," which people just started singing along. (Mom would have been so on board with that.)
I was floored and so touched at how many people were there. Of course friends and family but also people I was shocked to see--like my friend who was my manager at work seven years ago. My brother's business partners. Cousins I don't think I've ever even met. People who had traveled from all over the country.
There was a spread of food from the church like you wouldn't believe unless you go to a church like that. I told Jennie--who said "Everyone's gone through the line, and the ladies just replenished it all!"--"Welcome to evangelicalism!" And my cousin Joseph said, "I haven't had cheese potato casserole since I was here last summer. If I lived here, my life expectancy would be much shorter."
Every person I talked to said they'd never been to a service like that before. It's not that I didn't see tears, but they were tears of joy. It was one of the happiest days ever: my mom is completely healed and we're going to see her again! The worst part of the day was that I kept waiting for Mom to walk in so I could tell her how wonderful everything is, but the best part of the day is that I'm pretty sure she knows already.
Quite a few of my blog readers were at the service, so they got to read the note I wrote that was in the program from our whole family. But for any of you who weren't there, the note is to you as well, so I'll include it below to close this. Thank you to all of you. He is risen!
--
To our family and friends,
Thank you for being with us today. This service was mostly planned by Mom (she never could resist planning a party), to be an encouragement to everyone and remind them of our hope in the Resurrection. Every person who is here today is here because they love Mom and us. To each one who has prayed, called, cried, hugged, sung in the dark, brought meals, visited, written notes, sent flowers, made incredibly generous offers to help in any way we have needed—you have held up our arms during this time. Any service offered or rendered was given to Him, and He saw each one. You are the Church, and you do it so well. We are humbled and can never thank you enough, but we’ll spend the rest of our lives trying!
And to Mom,
Remember when we were growing up and would play our stereo in the basement too loud? Dad would yell at us to turn it down, but if anyone happened to walk by the kitchen, they might have seen you dancing along to the music. We can only imagine what your reception Home was like, but we’re guessing the citizens of heaven are witnessing some never-before-seen dance moves now that you have arrived. Dance away, Mom—No more pain! You are exactly where you were always meant to be. For the rest of our time here, there will be an empty spot at the table and in our hearts where you have been, but we’re looking forward to when Jesus gathers us all together at His table—never to be separated again. Together forever! We love you.
Charlie
Charles and Rome Nichols
Darren, Alice, Lucy, & Elaine Daniels
The previous Saturday (the 19th), we buried Mom privately. We went to southern Wisconsin, to a quiet little cemetery out in the country, which is filled with all sorts of Nichols relatives. Under a shady tree, we laid Mom to rest, just our family and Mom's brother and his wife, who did the short committal service for us. We sang two hymns, said the Lord's Prayer, and recited the 23rd Psalm. At the end, the girls, my sister-in-law, and I scattered rose petals over Mom's casket and around the grave. We had so many rose petals that we scattered them over the other relatives, too. It was quiet and peaceful, and I think it was exactly how she would have wanted it.
This Friday (the 25th) was the memorial service. Mom adamantly did not want a funeral. She didn't want stiff funeral flowers or an organ playing "Abide With Me," or a eulogy or hushed voices or anything else traditionally associated with death. She wanted Easter Sunday all over again. So, we set out to do that for her.
My dad ordered two baskets of flowers from their florist friend whose shop is next door to my parents' house. They were filled with beautiful, bright flowers and butterflies, and the florist, who loved my mom, made extra arrangements as a gift: birdbaths with gorgeous spring-like arrangements inside them. It looked like a garden.
I dressed the girls in white eyelet dresses that my mom had made them a couple summers ago that fortunately still fit. As our family came in to the service, they walked beside my dad, holding his hands.
The program for the memorial had Lucy's drawing that she did for Mom last winter: the one the pictures Heaven with God and Jesus on their thrones and Mom and Lucy in their white robes, up in the clouds and with the streets of gold by them, with the words "Together Forever" and "by Lucy" written below. Sometimes when she didn't know I saw her over the last few months, I watched Mom pick up that picture and whisper "together forever." She also told everyone she knew about it and would read them I Thessalonians 4:13-18.
The pastor, Bruce, started the service by welcoming everyone and explaining that we were here for a different kind of service...a resurrection service. We said the Apostles' Creed, but the special Easter version that we've always said at College Church: with special emphasis on the resurrection of the body and extra "He is risen indeed!"s and "Alleluia!"s in there.
Then we sang "Come Christians, Join to Sing" and a hymn that my mom used to sing while she worked around the house, "Praise the Savior." After that, one of my mom's dearest friends, Ruthie, came to the front and read Mom's testimony that she had written out a few months ago titled "How I Met Jesus." Then we watched a video tribute with family photos to the song "Amazing Grace My Chains Are Gone" by Chris Tomlin, created by my sister-in-law, Rome.
Chuck got up and read I Thess. 4:13-18, and Bruce preached a message called "Anticipation." I wish I could encapsulate everything he said here because it was so beautiful, but I can't. But he gave the good news of Jesus and he said that because of what He's done for us, we don't need to rely on what we've done to get to heaven. We can throw ourselves on His grace and mercy, and when we get there, Christ will say, "They're with ME!" He also talked about Mom's high school yearbook picture--how for her career goal it said "Missionary." She started a mission school in the West Indies and her whole married life in the U.S. she did mission work here. On one of her last nights, while she was in the hospice home, a night nurse went in her room to care for her. Out of nowhere, Mom reached up, put her arms around the nurse, and prayed for her. Bruce said that even the service today was one more day of Mom's missionary work because all she wanted in life was for everyone to know and love Jesus.
After the sermon, we sang "Up from the Grave He Arose." Then a group of us went to the front to sing the final song as the congregation stood and sang with us. We sang the song that Mom kept in her Bible and would listen to in her final months, whispering "Glory!" when she heard it. In fact, it was the last song she and I listened to together at her home--Travis Cottrell's version of "In Christ Alone/The Solid Rock."
As I stood on the platform, singing (with my pal Katie and I holding each other up, crying and smiling through the whole thing!), it was so loud in there that I think the walls shook, the roof might have raised up a bit, and I'm pretty sure I could hear my mom's sweet voice singing it along with us. And though I know I'm prone to a little creative license, I overheard so many comments afterward, such as "Was that not the best music sung to the Heavens you have ever heard?!" and "I was singing at the top of my voice, and I think the walls were shaking!" and "I think Heaven opened up a bit because I heard the angels singing, too!"
It was a great finish to the Easter service, and afterward our family went to the fellowship hall to greet everybody. Oh, and when my friend Jeanette came down, she told me that the postlude was "Victory in Jesus," which people just started singing along. (Mom would have been so on board with that.)
I was floored and so touched at how many people were there. Of course friends and family but also people I was shocked to see--like my friend who was my manager at work seven years ago. My brother's business partners. Cousins I don't think I've ever even met. People who had traveled from all over the country.
There was a spread of food from the church like you wouldn't believe unless you go to a church like that. I told Jennie--who said "Everyone's gone through the line, and the ladies just replenished it all!"--"Welcome to evangelicalism!" And my cousin Joseph said, "I haven't had cheese potato casserole since I was here last summer. If I lived here, my life expectancy would be much shorter."
Every person I talked to said they'd never been to a service like that before. It's not that I didn't see tears, but they were tears of joy. It was one of the happiest days ever: my mom is completely healed and we're going to see her again! The worst part of the day was that I kept waiting for Mom to walk in so I could tell her how wonderful everything is, but the best part of the day is that I'm pretty sure she knows already.
Quite a few of my blog readers were at the service, so they got to read the note I wrote that was in the program from our whole family. But for any of you who weren't there, the note is to you as well, so I'll include it below to close this. Thank you to all of you. He is risen!
--
To our family and friends,
Thank you for being with us today. This service was mostly planned by Mom (she never could resist planning a party), to be an encouragement to everyone and remind them of our hope in the Resurrection. Every person who is here today is here because they love Mom and us. To each one who has prayed, called, cried, hugged, sung in the dark, brought meals, visited, written notes, sent flowers, made incredibly generous offers to help in any way we have needed—you have held up our arms during this time. Any service offered or rendered was given to Him, and He saw each one. You are the Church, and you do it so well. We are humbled and can never thank you enough, but we’ll spend the rest of our lives trying!
And to Mom,
Remember when we were growing up and would play our stereo in the basement too loud? Dad would yell at us to turn it down, but if anyone happened to walk by the kitchen, they might have seen you dancing along to the music. We can only imagine what your reception Home was like, but we’re guessing the citizens of heaven are witnessing some never-before-seen dance moves now that you have arrived. Dance away, Mom—No more pain! You are exactly where you were always meant to be. For the rest of our time here, there will be an empty spot at the table and in our hearts where you have been, but we’re looking forward to when Jesus gathers us all together at His table—never to be separated again. Together forever! We love you.
Charlie
Charles and Rome Nichols
Darren, Alice, Lucy, & Elaine Daniels
Sunday, June 20, 2010
The Cardinals
My dad loves birds. He always has, for as long as I can remember, and consequently, a number of our family memories are marked by statements such as, "Remember the time Mom looked out the kitchen window and saw the apple tree completely filled with cedar waxwings?" or "Remember when we saw the wood-duck sitting on top of the Knippen's house next door?" or "...the time we spent a good portion of Christmas morning not opening our presents but watching hundreds of birds come to the feeders for their Christmas breakfast?"
As kids, Dad passed all sorts of bird trivia on to us so that I thought that kind of knowledge was normal and am shocked when confronted with adults who can't tell a sparrow from a starling or a wren from a pine siskin. When I went with Elaine's class on the trolley trip along the river, it took all my social skills to remain silent when I heard statements such as, "Those are geese. Or maybe they're ducks. I don't know, I just call everything ducks." (Hello?)
Since cardinals are our state bird, we have a lot of them around and I know from Dad that their singing (which sounds like either "Cheer, cheer, cheer" or "Pretty, pretty, pretty,") is the absolute first sign that spring might be coming--even before my beloved robins show up. Cardinals, despite their bright color, are actually shy and secretive birds--you'll never see their nest, even if you know its location, because they usually tuck them deep into cedar bushes and don't even make them look like nests.
Cardinals also mate for life. In each house I've lived in, I've had a cardinal couple living here, too (in a cedar bush). The cardinal couples are so loving toward each other; they'll even feed one another, and I promise you that one day I saw my cardinal neighbors perch on the fence, lean over, and kiss with their little red beaks.
In these past two weeks that I've lived at my parents' house and the hospice home, I've gotten to hear the story retold several times of how my parents met--because everyone wants to know. My dad was the principal of a Christian school in Chicago, and he desperately needed a fifth grade teacher.
My mom's was one of the resumes he had, so he called her on what was the night before her going to Pennsylvania to accept another job. But she said she had a several-hour layover in Chicago, so she would come to interview anyway. She decided (after praying, of course) to take the Chicago job instead, with my dad as her boss.
His first impression of her was that she was a wonderful teacher, but it didn't take long for him to get interested in her as a person, too. He had suffered a broken engagement several years before, and though people had tried to set him up in the meantime, he just wasn't interested until this little missionary teacher crossed his path.
On the night of their first date, Dad says it was almost their last because he had been up all the previous night, dealing with a tree that had fallen on his garage and then had gone to work all day. Mom had carefully prepared a list of topics for them to discuss, which she kept surreptitiously pulling out of her purse, but Dad met every attempt with a yawn.
They did survive the first date though, and went on to many more, which had to be kept top secret since there were strict rules about couples not working together. After that year, my dad resigned and took a job in Wheaton while my mom stayed at the Chicago school. Then they could openly be engaged, and Dad wasted no time telling people that he was planning to marry his fifth grade teacher.
However, Mom got the last word. The school gave an end-of-the-year banquet for the faculty and invited Dad back as a guest. Each of the teachers was asked to get up and give his or her testimony about what God had done in their lives the past year. When it was Mom's turn, she talked for a bit in her sweet, serious way and shared the verse that had been special to her that year: Psalm 84:11 "No good thing will the Lord withhold from them that walk uprightly." Then she paused, turned, dramatically pointed at Dad, and said, "THIS is the no-good thing that the Lord did not withhold from me."
As Dad says, she brought the house down.
They were married a month later, on June 17, 1966. They lived in Wheaton and had their family and were active in their church. They did not have a perfect marriage, because they were human. But they did have a great marriage.
When they retired, they moved out to the country and lived much the same way, quietly, but active with their family and with their church. Every afternoon at three o'clock, they would stop and have tea together.
Over the past sixteen months, I've watched my dad take care of my mom--he was very protective of her--and I've watched him grieve what he knew was coming. One day that I saw her at home (during her confusion time) she said to me privately, "Your dad and I have this little game we play together. You know how we love plum preserves? Well, I have to hide some of the jars, otherwise he'll eat it all and there won't be any left!" Then she drew me a little diagram of the shelves in the basement to tell me where she had hidden some jars. I said to her, "Actually Mom, that sounds like just a little game YOU play!"
When Mom was in the hospice home, I watched my dad kiss her each time he came in or left. Sometimes he would ask, "Do you know me?" and she would whisper, "You are Charlie." She didn't want anything to eat, so he went home and got their homemade bread and some of the secret plum preserves she loved, and then he sat on the side of her bed and fed it to her.
One afternoon I left the hospice and went to their house to do some things. I saw on the counter a tray with his afternoon tea things--the teapot, the sugar bowl, a solitary cup. It was then that I told him thank you. Thank you for what a good job he's done, taking care of Mom all these months and years. He hugged me and said, "Well, at the beginning of 2009, the Lord gave me an assignment: to escort one of His very special jewels all the way to the gates of Glory."
On Mom's last day, the hospice called us early in the morning and told us we needed to come as soon as we could. We got there and sat down on either side of Mom's bed. We turned off her oxygen since it wasn't making any difference. We turned on her hymn CD. We opened the french doors to her room and let the sun shine in, the breeze blow, and the birds sing. We held her hands. When we knew it was the very end, Dad leaned over, kissed her, told her he loved her, and said, "Say hello to Jesus for me, sweetie." Then she was gone.
They were married 43 years and 364 days.
If you've read this blog long enough, you'll know that we like to name all the bird couples we meet. There are our mourning doves, Henry and Margaret; our robins, Frank and Eleanor. But we've never named the cardinals--just Mr. and Mrs. I realize now that that is because I've known their names all along.
They are Charlie and Lois.
As kids, Dad passed all sorts of bird trivia on to us so that I thought that kind of knowledge was normal and am shocked when confronted with adults who can't tell a sparrow from a starling or a wren from a pine siskin. When I went with Elaine's class on the trolley trip along the river, it took all my social skills to remain silent when I heard statements such as, "Those are geese. Or maybe they're ducks. I don't know, I just call everything ducks." (Hello?)
Since cardinals are our state bird, we have a lot of them around and I know from Dad that their singing (which sounds like either "Cheer, cheer, cheer" or "Pretty, pretty, pretty,") is the absolute first sign that spring might be coming--even before my beloved robins show up. Cardinals, despite their bright color, are actually shy and secretive birds--you'll never see their nest, even if you know its location, because they usually tuck them deep into cedar bushes and don't even make them look like nests.
Cardinals also mate for life. In each house I've lived in, I've had a cardinal couple living here, too (in a cedar bush). The cardinal couples are so loving toward each other; they'll even feed one another, and I promise you that one day I saw my cardinal neighbors perch on the fence, lean over, and kiss with their little red beaks.
In these past two weeks that I've lived at my parents' house and the hospice home, I've gotten to hear the story retold several times of how my parents met--because everyone wants to know. My dad was the principal of a Christian school in Chicago, and he desperately needed a fifth grade teacher.
My mom's was one of the resumes he had, so he called her on what was the night before her going to Pennsylvania to accept another job. But she said she had a several-hour layover in Chicago, so she would come to interview anyway. She decided (after praying, of course) to take the Chicago job instead, with my dad as her boss.
His first impression of her was that she was a wonderful teacher, but it didn't take long for him to get interested in her as a person, too. He had suffered a broken engagement several years before, and though people had tried to set him up in the meantime, he just wasn't interested until this little missionary teacher crossed his path.
On the night of their first date, Dad says it was almost their last because he had been up all the previous night, dealing with a tree that had fallen on his garage and then had gone to work all day. Mom had carefully prepared a list of topics for them to discuss, which she kept surreptitiously pulling out of her purse, but Dad met every attempt with a yawn.
They did survive the first date though, and went on to many more, which had to be kept top secret since there were strict rules about couples not working together. After that year, my dad resigned and took a job in Wheaton while my mom stayed at the Chicago school. Then they could openly be engaged, and Dad wasted no time telling people that he was planning to marry his fifth grade teacher.
However, Mom got the last word. The school gave an end-of-the-year banquet for the faculty and invited Dad back as a guest. Each of the teachers was asked to get up and give his or her testimony about what God had done in their lives the past year. When it was Mom's turn, she talked for a bit in her sweet, serious way and shared the verse that had been special to her that year: Psalm 84:11 "No good thing will the Lord withhold from them that walk uprightly." Then she paused, turned, dramatically pointed at Dad, and said, "THIS is the no-good thing that the Lord did not withhold from me."
As Dad says, she brought the house down.
They were married a month later, on June 17, 1966. They lived in Wheaton and had their family and were active in their church. They did not have a perfect marriage, because they were human. But they did have a great marriage.
When they retired, they moved out to the country and lived much the same way, quietly, but active with their family and with their church. Every afternoon at three o'clock, they would stop and have tea together.
Over the past sixteen months, I've watched my dad take care of my mom--he was very protective of her--and I've watched him grieve what he knew was coming. One day that I saw her at home (during her confusion time) she said to me privately, "Your dad and I have this little game we play together. You know how we love plum preserves? Well, I have to hide some of the jars, otherwise he'll eat it all and there won't be any left!" Then she drew me a little diagram of the shelves in the basement to tell me where she had hidden some jars. I said to her, "Actually Mom, that sounds like just a little game YOU play!"
When Mom was in the hospice home, I watched my dad kiss her each time he came in or left. Sometimes he would ask, "Do you know me?" and she would whisper, "You are Charlie." She didn't want anything to eat, so he went home and got their homemade bread and some of the secret plum preserves she loved, and then he sat on the side of her bed and fed it to her.
One afternoon I left the hospice and went to their house to do some things. I saw on the counter a tray with his afternoon tea things--the teapot, the sugar bowl, a solitary cup. It was then that I told him thank you. Thank you for what a good job he's done, taking care of Mom all these months and years. He hugged me and said, "Well, at the beginning of 2009, the Lord gave me an assignment: to escort one of His very special jewels all the way to the gates of Glory."
On Mom's last day, the hospice called us early in the morning and told us we needed to come as soon as we could. We got there and sat down on either side of Mom's bed. We turned off her oxygen since it wasn't making any difference. We turned on her hymn CD. We opened the french doors to her room and let the sun shine in, the breeze blow, and the birds sing. We held her hands. When we knew it was the very end, Dad leaned over, kissed her, told her he loved her, and said, "Say hello to Jesus for me, sweetie." Then she was gone.
They were married 43 years and 364 days.
If you've read this blog long enough, you'll know that we like to name all the bird couples we meet. There are our mourning doves, Henry and Margaret; our robins, Frank and Eleanor. But we've never named the cardinals--just Mr. and Mrs. I realize now that that is because I've known their names all along.
They are Charlie and Lois.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Home
"Lucy woke out of the deepest sleep you can imagine, with the feeling that the voice she loved best in the world had been calling her name." --Prince Caspian, C.S. Lewis
"Then her face lit up till, for a moment (but of course she didn't know it), she looked almost as beautiful as that other Lucy in the picture, and she ran forward with a little cry of delight and with her arms stretched out. For what stood in the doorway was Aslan himself, the Lion, the highest of all High Kings."--The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C. S. Lewis
Lois E. Nichols:
Born on August 5, 1933
Stepped from faith into glorious sight at 12:25 p.m., June 16, 2010
"Then her face lit up till, for a moment (but of course she didn't know it), she looked almost as beautiful as that other Lucy in the picture, and she ran forward with a little cry of delight and with her arms stretched out. For what stood in the doorway was Aslan himself, the Lion, the highest of all High Kings."--The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, C. S. Lewis
Saturday, June 12, 2010
The Journals
Last Saturday (was it really only a week ago? It seems like a thousand years), we had Lucy's and my brother's birthday celebrations with Mom and Dad. Mom was able to sit with us for a little while in her wheelchair, and we heard her sweet voice sing "Happy Birthday." Later in the evening, we could tell that she was feeling very unwell, and at around 2:30 the next morning, my dad woke me up to say we would need to take Mom to the hospice home immediately.
As Dad ran around gathering up things, I held Mom's hand and told her that everything would be better soon; that her nurse was on the way. A look of fear crossed over her face, and she said, "That's not good. That means everything is changing. We can fix this, if we just have a cup of tea!" I smoothed her hair and told her not to worry; the nurse would soon come and help her.
We got her into the car and drove in the darkness the few miles to Serenity Home. In the silence, Mom said, "If this were my brother, I would take care of him, too." My dad answered her, "I know you would. You've always taken care of everybody your whole life."
The first few days in the hospice Mom alternated between waking and sleeping, mostly sleeping. It is the most beautiful place, quiet and serene, like its name. She recognized Dad and me and would sometimes ask, "Where am I? This is a beautiful place." Her body was agitated though, and many times she would try to get up, though she (nor any of us) knew what for.
A few weeks before this, Mom had told me, "When I go, I want you to get my journal. It'll either be on my bookcase or my bedside table. Be sure you get it." So, I got the journal and in between, Dad and I have found any number of other little journals Mom wrote in over the years. I recently read something Beth Moore wrote about after her father died: she read his journal, cried, and wondered, "Dad, why didn't I know you?"
Reading my mom's journal, I smile and cry, but not because I didn't know her--because these journals are vintage Lois. They have almost no sort of linear thought; they are interwoven threads of the following: lists of chores (both for herself and for my brother and me), written out prayers, how much she loves the Lord and what He's teaching her, her family and friends, and everything she cooked and/or ate.
These are private journals for the eyes of her family only so I will not share them here, only one small entry that if there were room on her tombstone for it, I would want this engraved there. In February 2009, the time she found out she had cancer again, she started a fresh page and wrote "A New Chapter" at the top. She details the initial doctor reports, her fears, how she and my dad had to tell their children and friends. But on one day, here is an entry: "Dr. Carter called today and told me I have a tumor the size of a lemon in my lungs. Oh, I am so glad I know and love Jesus! Made chili for supper."
On Thursday of this week, Dad and I were at the hospice early in the morning. We sat with Mom, and she was awake. All of a sudden, she began to cry. Cry and sob and wail. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy..." she cried. My dad put his arms around her and said, "Which daddy do you mean? Do you mean me? Do you mean your daddy?" and Mom whispered, "Heavenly Father, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy." Then she cried again, "I want my mother!" Her mother died when Mom was only six years old.
The nurses came in to calm and help and give her some medicine. I went down to the chapel to cry and pray and also to call my brother since Mom had been asking for him earlier. I could hear Mom wailing all the way down the hall, and in my weakness I asked God if this could please be the worst thing that ever happens to me in my lifetime.
As I walked back to her room, a young nurse's aide was sitting by her bed, holding Mom's hands. I heard her saying quietly to her, "Jesus is here, Lois, Jesus is here. Just lay everything at the foot of the cross..." so I tiptoed away again, because I didn't want to interrupt when an angel was in the room.
After Mom was peaceful again, I went and sat with her. Her Fernando Ortega hymn CD was playing quietly, and she gave me a beautiful smile. "This is my culminating day," she told me. "This is the last day." Then, "I want you to put your head down on my lap." So, just like when I was a little girl, I put my head down on her lap until she quietly drifted off.
As she slept, her breathing slowed down to about three breaths per minute. The death rattle began in her throat. After several hours, the nurse came to take her vitals--her blood pressure had dropped and her knees and legs were mottled, a sign that circulation was leaving her extremities.
All our family gathered, including Chuck and Rome, Darren and the girls, Mom's closest friends, her pastor and his wife. We cried and said goodbye to her; the nurses cried too, whispering, "It's not going to be long now."
We waited all day. We waited all night. You may think this can't be true, but I even jerked awake when I heard the clock strike midnight. We waited all Friday, with Mom still lying still--she had awakened briefly Friday morning and went back into unconsciousness. Her face is pale but peaceful, her breathing shallow and slow, but still coming in and out.
I came home last night because my family has barely seen me all week. I need to be with Darren and my girls a little bit and to take care of certain things that only I can do here. Get a haircut since it's so hard to book an appointment.
Chuck and Rome have come to stay with Dad for the weekend so he will not be there on his own. I'll return Sunday night if Mom's departure doesn't happen sooner.
I slept with the phone next to me last night, but it did not ring. I woke up with the words to this hymn in my mind:
Be still my soul, my God is on your side
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain
Leave to thy God to order and provide
In every change, He faithful will remain...
Be still my soul, thy best, thy heavenly Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
This morning I got out my Bible study of Paul I've been doing for the last 10 or so weeks. I didn't do the study yesterday, so today was the very last day. Here is the Scripture for today:
"You, however, know all about my teaching, my way of life, my purpose, faith, patience, love, endurance, persecutions, sufferings—what kinds of things happened to me... Yet the Lord rescued me from all of them...But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it, and how from infancy you have known the holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus...For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing."
Unbelievable.
Through this week, Mom's friends have told me wonderful things about and stories of Mom. But one thing every one of them has said: "I learned from her." The things they learned are many and varied, but each one has ended with: "I learned how to pray from her." One dear lady told me yesterday, "If you wanted something prayed about, you went to Lois. And she didn't just tell you, 'I'll pray for you.' She took you by the hand, knelt down right there, and prayed with you."
So, today, Saturday, as my mom lies quiet, still, and unconscious, yet continuing to draw breath, I will learn from her yet again.
June 12, 2010: Spent the week in the hospice home, watching my mother die. Oh, I am so glad I know and love Jesus. Folded the laundry.
As Dad ran around gathering up things, I held Mom's hand and told her that everything would be better soon; that her nurse was on the way. A look of fear crossed over her face, and she said, "That's not good. That means everything is changing. We can fix this, if we just have a cup of tea!" I smoothed her hair and told her not to worry; the nurse would soon come and help her.
We got her into the car and drove in the darkness the few miles to Serenity Home. In the silence, Mom said, "If this were my brother, I would take care of him, too." My dad answered her, "I know you would. You've always taken care of everybody your whole life."
The first few days in the hospice Mom alternated between waking and sleeping, mostly sleeping. It is the most beautiful place, quiet and serene, like its name. She recognized Dad and me and would sometimes ask, "Where am I? This is a beautiful place." Her body was agitated though, and many times she would try to get up, though she (nor any of us) knew what for.
A few weeks before this, Mom had told me, "When I go, I want you to get my journal. It'll either be on my bookcase or my bedside table. Be sure you get it." So, I got the journal and in between, Dad and I have found any number of other little journals Mom wrote in over the years. I recently read something Beth Moore wrote about after her father died: she read his journal, cried, and wondered, "Dad, why didn't I know you?"
Reading my mom's journal, I smile and cry, but not because I didn't know her--because these journals are vintage Lois. They have almost no sort of linear thought; they are interwoven threads of the following: lists of chores (both for herself and for my brother and me), written out prayers, how much she loves the Lord and what He's teaching her, her family and friends, and everything she cooked and/or ate.
These are private journals for the eyes of her family only so I will not share them here, only one small entry that if there were room on her tombstone for it, I would want this engraved there. In February 2009, the time she found out she had cancer again, she started a fresh page and wrote "A New Chapter" at the top. She details the initial doctor reports, her fears, how she and my dad had to tell their children and friends. But on one day, here is an entry: "Dr. Carter called today and told me I have a tumor the size of a lemon in my lungs. Oh, I am so glad I know and love Jesus! Made chili for supper."
On Thursday of this week, Dad and I were at the hospice early in the morning. We sat with Mom, and she was awake. All of a sudden, she began to cry. Cry and sob and wail. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy..." she cried. My dad put his arms around her and said, "Which daddy do you mean? Do you mean me? Do you mean your daddy?" and Mom whispered, "Heavenly Father, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy." Then she cried again, "I want my mother!" Her mother died when Mom was only six years old.
The nurses came in to calm and help and give her some medicine. I went down to the chapel to cry and pray and also to call my brother since Mom had been asking for him earlier. I could hear Mom wailing all the way down the hall, and in my weakness I asked God if this could please be the worst thing that ever happens to me in my lifetime.
As I walked back to her room, a young nurse's aide was sitting by her bed, holding Mom's hands. I heard her saying quietly to her, "Jesus is here, Lois, Jesus is here. Just lay everything at the foot of the cross..." so I tiptoed away again, because I didn't want to interrupt when an angel was in the room.
After Mom was peaceful again, I went and sat with her. Her Fernando Ortega hymn CD was playing quietly, and she gave me a beautiful smile. "This is my culminating day," she told me. "This is the last day." Then, "I want you to put your head down on my lap." So, just like when I was a little girl, I put my head down on her lap until she quietly drifted off.
As she slept, her breathing slowed down to about three breaths per minute. The death rattle began in her throat. After several hours, the nurse came to take her vitals--her blood pressure had dropped and her knees and legs were mottled, a sign that circulation was leaving her extremities.
All our family gathered, including Chuck and Rome, Darren and the girls, Mom's closest friends, her pastor and his wife. We cried and said goodbye to her; the nurses cried too, whispering, "It's not going to be long now."
We waited all day. We waited all night. You may think this can't be true, but I even jerked awake when I heard the clock strike midnight. We waited all Friday, with Mom still lying still--she had awakened briefly Friday morning and went back into unconsciousness. Her face is pale but peaceful, her breathing shallow and slow, but still coming in and out.
I came home last night because my family has barely seen me all week. I need to be with Darren and my girls a little bit and to take care of certain things that only I can do here. Get a haircut since it's so hard to book an appointment.
Chuck and Rome have come to stay with Dad for the weekend so he will not be there on his own. I'll return Sunday night if Mom's departure doesn't happen sooner.
I slept with the phone next to me last night, but it did not ring. I woke up with the words to this hymn in my mind:
Be still my soul, my God is on your side
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain
Leave to thy God to order and provide
In every change, He faithful will remain...
Be still my soul, thy best, thy heavenly Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
This morning I got out my Bible study of Paul I've been doing for the last 10 or so weeks. I didn't do the study yesterday, so today was the very last day. Here is the Scripture for today:
"You, however, know all about my teaching, my way of life, my purpose, faith, patience, love, endurance, persecutions, sufferings—what kinds of things happened to me... Yet the Lord rescued me from all of them...But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it, and how from infancy you have known the holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus...For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing."
Unbelievable.
Through this week, Mom's friends have told me wonderful things about and stories of Mom. But one thing every one of them has said: "I learned from her." The things they learned are many and varied, but each one has ended with: "I learned how to pray from her." One dear lady told me yesterday, "If you wanted something prayed about, you went to Lois. And she didn't just tell you, 'I'll pray for you.' She took you by the hand, knelt down right there, and prayed with you."
So, today, Saturday, as my mom lies quiet, still, and unconscious, yet continuing to draw breath, I will learn from her yet again.
June 12, 2010: Spent the week in the hospice home, watching my mother die. Oh, I am so glad I know and love Jesus. Folded the laundry.
Friday, June 04, 2010
The Inheritance
Wednesday I went to see Mom with the girls. She sat up in bed and let them drape her with all sorts of her jewelry (plus trying it on themselves, of course), and Elaine got out a pad of paper and took all our orders at her pretend restaurant, except she was out of most of the things we wanted, she told us.
Today I went back, by myself, and one of Mom's nurses, Jackie, met me at the door. She sat down with me in the family room and told me that things have changed, they are changing. As of yesterday, Mom was not eating and couldn't swallow her pills. Consequently, within hours, her body--which is now addicted to all sorts of drugs--went through withdrawal. She moaned and cried out in pain all day, begging Jesus to help her. The nurses stayed with her all day, and finally a hospital bed was sent, so they put her into it. They were finally able to get her pills into her, too.
Jackie told me, "I know you have things planned for this weekend, but..." I said that we were planning to bring some treats on Sunday to celebrate Lucy's birthday together with Mom. Jackie started to cry and said, "You should do that tomorrow. Your mom is transitioning to death now. She may rally and stay a week or two, but she may not."
On Monday, they will be moving her to the serenity/hospice house, so after our birthday celebration tomorrow, I'll be staying at my parents' and the hospice alternately.
I went back to Mom's room--she was heavily sedated and sleeping peacefully, but she opened her eyes when I touched her shoulder and put her arms out to me. "Come here to me, my precious daughter, my baby," she whispered. I asked her how she was feeling, and she said, "I'm happy now. Alice has come to have a cup of tea with me."
I gave her some water and told her that I'd brought her some new pajamas to wear. My dad went to run some errands, and the head of the hospice nurses came in because she wanted to pray with Mom. She prayed with her and cried--I can see how much these nurses love her; one of them told me that they fight over who gets to come take care of her.
While she prayed, my mom assented throughout--she can't articulate her own prayers anymore, but that is the hallmark of her life. My mom is a pray-er like nobody else. I can remember as a child, hearing her, behind her closed door, calling out to God in prayer. Last year my dad said he found her on the floor--she was on her knees in prayer, but the pain was so much that she couldn't get up.
When that nurse left, I held Mom's hand and she murmured some incoherent things to me. She said something about the Internet (she's been stressed about the Internet ever since her mind started to fail) and I told her, "Mom, you don't have to learn the Internet. In fact, you never have to think about it again. You're just going to fly up to heaven, and that will be totally off your shoulders. Don't worry about it anymore."
She smiled at me and said, "Thank you. That's so wonderful!"
Then I told her, "In fact, you don't have to learn anything down here anymore. You've learned it all, and you've taught it to me. Don't worry, Mom, I remember everything you've taught me. I promise I won't go out in public in cut-offs. I just did it the one time when Elaine kept me up all night and I had a migraine and had to go to Wal-greens. I'll make sure I look decent and have my lipstick on. I promise I'll stop cooking with Cool-Whip so much, too. I know you want me to use all good ingredients. I'll be sure to use the china and silver and not paper goods. And don't worry--I'll take care of everyone. I'll take care of Dad and Chuck and Rome and Darren and Lucy and Elaine."
"Good, good," she answered. "They need it. They need you to take care of them."
She drifted back to sleep then, and soon a new nurse came to give her a bed bath and put on her new pajamas. Before I left to go home and pack and do all the other things I need to do before being away from my family for a bit, I told her I loved her and that I'd be back soon. I put my grandpa's picture close to her--she loves to look at it and think about how he's waiting in heaven for her to get there. I got her lipstick and carefully applied it for her.
"There, you're all fixed up now, and you look so pretty," I told her. "And your lips won't be dry either."
"Lipstick feels better," Mom whispered. "No reason to go without."
Afterwards, I began to pray. With one of the strongest prayer warriors preparing to leave this Earth, I set forth a stream of intercession like I never have before. I prayed for the world, for those hurting and starving and caught in human trafficking. For refugees and orphans and widows. I prayed for the missionaries.
I see your glory, covering the earth, Lord
Just as the waters, covering the sea
I see the millions, coming to salvation
I see revival, fire in the land
I see the lost, nameless ones remembered
I see the widows, shouting out your praise
I see the friendless, loved and celebrated
Orphans fullfilling, Lord, your calling on their lives
I prayed for all the people I could think of that Mom would be praying for--her friends, those with cancer and other illness, those who are unhappy, those with troubled families. Then I prayed for my friends and all the things I could think of that they're going through. I prayed for our family members who are broken and wounded and trapped in alcoholism or whatever else.
I see the brokenness of families brought to wholeness
I see the prodigals, running home to You
Fathers' hearts, now turning toward their children
And the children's hearts, turning toward the fathers
I prayed for my own family--for my husband and sister-in-law, whom my mom has loved like her own children; for my girls; for my brother; and especially for my dad...for grace and peace.
I see your Church, all rising up in power
Laying down their lives in unity and love
I hear the sound of every tribe and nation
Giving glory to Jesus Christ the Son
And lastly, I thanked God for this awesome, unwavering saint of His who came in disguise as my 5-foot-tall, humble, sweet, dearest mother ("Five-foot-ONE" I can hear her saying). I promised that I would do everything I can my whole life to pray like she did. It's the most important thing I can do.
This is my prayer, oh God
This is my desperate cry
In these days that we're living now
Let Your kingdom come
Let Your will be done
...that Your glory may be seen...
As I left, I felt the mantle my mom has worn all her life drift gently off her and on to my shoulders.
It's on me now.
Today I went back, by myself, and one of Mom's nurses, Jackie, met me at the door. She sat down with me in the family room and told me that things have changed, they are changing. As of yesterday, Mom was not eating and couldn't swallow her pills. Consequently, within hours, her body--which is now addicted to all sorts of drugs--went through withdrawal. She moaned and cried out in pain all day, begging Jesus to help her. The nurses stayed with her all day, and finally a hospital bed was sent, so they put her into it. They were finally able to get her pills into her, too.
Jackie told me, "I know you have things planned for this weekend, but..." I said that we were planning to bring some treats on Sunday to celebrate Lucy's birthday together with Mom. Jackie started to cry and said, "You should do that tomorrow. Your mom is transitioning to death now. She may rally and stay a week or two, but she may not."
On Monday, they will be moving her to the serenity/hospice house, so after our birthday celebration tomorrow, I'll be staying at my parents' and the hospice alternately.
I went back to Mom's room--she was heavily sedated and sleeping peacefully, but she opened her eyes when I touched her shoulder and put her arms out to me. "Come here to me, my precious daughter, my baby," she whispered. I asked her how she was feeling, and she said, "I'm happy now. Alice has come to have a cup of tea with me."
I gave her some water and told her that I'd brought her some new pajamas to wear. My dad went to run some errands, and the head of the hospice nurses came in because she wanted to pray with Mom. She prayed with her and cried--I can see how much these nurses love her; one of them told me that they fight over who gets to come take care of her.
While she prayed, my mom assented throughout--she can't articulate her own prayers anymore, but that is the hallmark of her life. My mom is a pray-er like nobody else. I can remember as a child, hearing her, behind her closed door, calling out to God in prayer. Last year my dad said he found her on the floor--she was on her knees in prayer, but the pain was so much that she couldn't get up.
When that nurse left, I held Mom's hand and she murmured some incoherent things to me. She said something about the Internet (she's been stressed about the Internet ever since her mind started to fail) and I told her, "Mom, you don't have to learn the Internet. In fact, you never have to think about it again. You're just going to fly up to heaven, and that will be totally off your shoulders. Don't worry about it anymore."
She smiled at me and said, "Thank you. That's so wonderful!"
Then I told her, "In fact, you don't have to learn anything down here anymore. You've learned it all, and you've taught it to me. Don't worry, Mom, I remember everything you've taught me. I promise I won't go out in public in cut-offs. I just did it the one time when Elaine kept me up all night and I had a migraine and had to go to Wal-greens. I'll make sure I look decent and have my lipstick on. I promise I'll stop cooking with Cool-Whip so much, too. I know you want me to use all good ingredients. I'll be sure to use the china and silver and not paper goods. And don't worry--I'll take care of everyone. I'll take care of Dad and Chuck and Rome and Darren and Lucy and Elaine."
"Good, good," she answered. "They need it. They need you to take care of them."
She drifted back to sleep then, and soon a new nurse came to give her a bed bath and put on her new pajamas. Before I left to go home and pack and do all the other things I need to do before being away from my family for a bit, I told her I loved her and that I'd be back soon. I put my grandpa's picture close to her--she loves to look at it and think about how he's waiting in heaven for her to get there. I got her lipstick and carefully applied it for her.
"There, you're all fixed up now, and you look so pretty," I told her. "And your lips won't be dry either."
"Lipstick feels better," Mom whispered. "No reason to go without."
Afterwards, I began to pray. With one of the strongest prayer warriors preparing to leave this Earth, I set forth a stream of intercession like I never have before. I prayed for the world, for those hurting and starving and caught in human trafficking. For refugees and orphans and widows. I prayed for the missionaries.
I see your glory, covering the earth, Lord
Just as the waters, covering the sea
I see the millions, coming to salvation
I see revival, fire in the land
I see the lost, nameless ones remembered
I see the widows, shouting out your praise
I see the friendless, loved and celebrated
Orphans fullfilling, Lord, your calling on their lives
I prayed for all the people I could think of that Mom would be praying for--her friends, those with cancer and other illness, those who are unhappy, those with troubled families. Then I prayed for my friends and all the things I could think of that they're going through. I prayed for our family members who are broken and wounded and trapped in alcoholism or whatever else.
I see the brokenness of families brought to wholeness
I see the prodigals, running home to You
Fathers' hearts, now turning toward their children
And the children's hearts, turning toward the fathers
I prayed for my own family--for my husband and sister-in-law, whom my mom has loved like her own children; for my girls; for my brother; and especially for my dad...for grace and peace.
I see your Church, all rising up in power
Laying down their lives in unity and love
I hear the sound of every tribe and nation
Giving glory to Jesus Christ the Son
And lastly, I thanked God for this awesome, unwavering saint of His who came in disguise as my 5-foot-tall, humble, sweet, dearest mother ("Five-foot-ONE" I can hear her saying). I promised that I would do everything I can my whole life to pray like she did. It's the most important thing I can do.
This is my prayer, oh God
This is my desperate cry
In these days that we're living now
Let Your kingdom come
Let Your will be done
...that Your glory may be seen...
As I left, I felt the mantle my mom has worn all her life drift gently off her and on to my shoulders.
It's on me now.
Thursday, June 03, 2010
The Summer Project
Wow, I guess it's been awhile since I've posted. We were gone over the holiday weekend, and my computer was out having something done to it--I'm not sure what--but now it's back. I've got stuff to post about the girls' last day of school and our beginning of summer, but first I've got to tell you about my summer project.
It kind of started before Christmas, when I wrote out a list of my favorite things my mom makes and asked her to write them out on recipe cards for me. There's just something about having stuff written by hand, at least in my opinion. Fortunately, I've got piles of notes from her to me, birthday cards, Valentine's, letters she wrote to me at summer camp and when I was in college. So now I wanted the recipes, because, while I love the Food Network and Barefoot Contessa and Pioneer Woman, and allrecipes.com, etc., there is nothing like the food your mom or grandma or aunt or friend makes.
Mom went out and bought some cards and got started on the project but then was unable to finish. She did as much as she could, so I'll try to fill in the rest.
First, I got her recipe box that sat on her kitchen counter her whole married life. It was my grandma's.
It has a lot of my grandma's recipes in it, including this one, which is a dessert we would eat every Christmas Day. Now, my grandma did not write her recipes by hand--she was a secretary extraordinaire, and all her recipes are typed, before the days of computers of course. Can't you just picture her at an old-fashioned Royale or Underwood typewriter, typing out her recipes?
I also grabbed this book that many of my mom's famous recipes come from, including her legendary apple pie, the birthday cake she made for my dad every year (German chocolate maraschino cherry. Are you hungry yet?), and the cutout Christmas cookies she always makes. They're called Santa Claus cookies, and they are the only recipe my mom guards and doesn't really like to give out. Therefore, I did not take a picture of the recipe and post it on the Internet. She got this cookbook right after she got married, in 1966, from the company where she and my dad bought their gas stove. It has these fantastical instructions, such as, "Set dial on 'burner with a brain' to heat to 250 degrees." As you can see, it's been used. A lot.
I also went through my own recipe files. At one of my wedding showers, my mom wrote down any number of my favorite recipes with little notes written at the top.
Here are a few treasures from inside the recipe box. Popovers, which I can practically taste as I'm typing this. Mom would serve these with butter and homemade plum jam.
I love this one...Bread (for those who can't make bread). It's as if she wrote that knowing me before I was even born.
I also found some handwritten notes in my files that she's given me over the years.
Here's one that she wrote out most recently: Friendship Cookies--Manga's Cookies for Her Girls. Every time I make these, I will picture her in the kitchen with Lucy and Elaine. They made these together almost every time we went over to her house.
Besides these recipes from my mom and grandma, I have some from my Aunt Nancy, my Aunt Alice, and my Aunt Sandy. I've got ones from my mom's friends, Barbara, Nita, Muriel, June, Annette, Alice, and more--all women who love me and have watched me grow up.
I'll be putting all of these into a book, along with some of my own and some for a new generation, including Lucy's Applesauce Bread and Elaine's Eclair Cake.
I want some help from my friends, too--so, send me your recipes. And by that I mean, get a card, write it out by hand, and drop it in the mail to me (if you have to type it, it better be on an upright, portable typewriter). When I open up the book to make something good for my family, I want to be reminded of you. Better yet, you could come over with it in hand and have tea with me--I'll make popovers!
I'll also be taking ideas for what to call this book--The Holy Grail of Food doesn't quite sound right, so I welcome your thoughts.
Happy eating...and writing!
It kind of started before Christmas, when I wrote out a list of my favorite things my mom makes and asked her to write them out on recipe cards for me. There's just something about having stuff written by hand, at least in my opinion. Fortunately, I've got piles of notes from her to me, birthday cards, Valentine's, letters she wrote to me at summer camp and when I was in college. So now I wanted the recipes, because, while I love the Food Network and Barefoot Contessa and Pioneer Woman, and allrecipes.com, etc., there is nothing like the food your mom or grandma or aunt or friend makes.
Mom went out and bought some cards and got started on the project but then was unable to finish. She did as much as she could, so I'll try to fill in the rest.
First, I got her recipe box that sat on her kitchen counter her whole married life. It was my grandma's.
It has a lot of my grandma's recipes in it, including this one, which is a dessert we would eat every Christmas Day. Now, my grandma did not write her recipes by hand--she was a secretary extraordinaire, and all her recipes are typed, before the days of computers of course. Can't you just picture her at an old-fashioned Royale or Underwood typewriter, typing out her recipes?
I also grabbed this book that many of my mom's famous recipes come from, including her legendary apple pie, the birthday cake she made for my dad every year (German chocolate maraschino cherry. Are you hungry yet?), and the cutout Christmas cookies she always makes. They're called Santa Claus cookies, and they are the only recipe my mom guards and doesn't really like to give out. Therefore, I did not take a picture of the recipe and post it on the Internet. She got this cookbook right after she got married, in 1966, from the company where she and my dad bought their gas stove. It has these fantastical instructions, such as, "Set dial on 'burner with a brain' to heat to 250 degrees." As you can see, it's been used. A lot.
I also went through my own recipe files. At one of my wedding showers, my mom wrote down any number of my favorite recipes with little notes written at the top.
Here are a few treasures from inside the recipe box. Popovers, which I can practically taste as I'm typing this. Mom would serve these with butter and homemade plum jam.
I love this one...Bread (for those who can't make bread). It's as if she wrote that knowing me before I was even born.
I also found some handwritten notes in my files that she's given me over the years.
Here's one that she wrote out most recently: Friendship Cookies--Manga's Cookies for Her Girls. Every time I make these, I will picture her in the kitchen with Lucy and Elaine. They made these together almost every time we went over to her house.
Besides these recipes from my mom and grandma, I have some from my Aunt Nancy, my Aunt Alice, and my Aunt Sandy. I've got ones from my mom's friends, Barbara, Nita, Muriel, June, Annette, Alice, and more--all women who love me and have watched me grow up.
I'll be putting all of these into a book, along with some of my own and some for a new generation, including Lucy's Applesauce Bread and Elaine's Eclair Cake.
I want some help from my friends, too--so, send me your recipes. And by that I mean, get a card, write it out by hand, and drop it in the mail to me (if you have to type it, it better be on an upright, portable typewriter). When I open up the book to make something good for my family, I want to be reminded of you. Better yet, you could come over with it in hand and have tea with me--I'll make popovers!
I'll also be taking ideas for what to call this book--The Holy Grail of Food doesn't quite sound right, so I welcome your thoughts.
Happy eating...and writing!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The Day She's Been Waiting For
When I first took Elaine to pre-school last September, the teachers walked us through what the school year would hold. The grand finale would be in May, a field trip to ride the trolley along the river and have a picnic at the park.
Unbelievably, May is almost over, and field trips are here. Last week, Lucy went with her class an hour and a half away to a city zoo. She was so excited and bounced around for weeks, talking about the zoo trip. Each time, Elaine would chime in loudly, "Well, I am going to ride in Mommy's car and then ride on a trolley and go on a picnic!" Nothing could compare to the glories of that, not even the first grade zoo trip.
Every morning for at least the last month, she greets me in the bathroom with, "Is today the day of the trolley ride?"
Finally, finally, the day came--oh wait, not before a special trip to the grocery store to pick out Lunchables, which is what they both wanted for their field trip lunches, even though Lunchables are the biggest rip-off in the world. Whoever invented tiny portions of crackers, cheese, lunchmeat, a drink, and a treat stuck in a box and sold to sucker parents for two plus bucks apiece--my hat is off to you. I could make them the exact same thing minus the box for a fraction of the cost, but apparently that is completely different and not as fun. But...it's a special thing, so OK.
Here are Elaine and her friend Lily, waiting for the trolley to come (apparently they kept trying to start it and the engine flooded, so they needed to battery operate it. Or something. So we were waiting for awhile.)
All aboard!
The ride downtown and along the river. I have to say, this is the nicest bunch of pre-schoolers and parents. Everybody was happy and got along, waving to passersby. One little boy's great-grandma lives in a house along the river--she knew our class was riding the trolley today, and when we rode by, she opened her front door, wearing her little housecoat and waved at us. She was extremely cute...how fun to watch your great-grandson ride the trolley.
After the trolley ride was over, we all thanked the drivers and headed to the park to play and picnic. The other children looked longingly at Elaine's Lunchable. I swear, they're such a scam, but I guess kids just can't resist. Elaine and Lily and Elaine's other good buddy Vincent sat on a bench together and traded their pretzels and crackers and chips. I think Vincent, who is adorable and has dimples too, was angling for Elaine's Reese's peanut butter cup, but she leaned over and said sweetly to him, "I'll share this part with you next time."
Then they rolled happily down the hill together.
This has been such a happy year for my youngest girl--I can't believe it's over, and next year she'll be heading to a new school. Sigh.
One of those bittersweet days...
Unbelievably, May is almost over, and field trips are here. Last week, Lucy went with her class an hour and a half away to a city zoo. She was so excited and bounced around for weeks, talking about the zoo trip. Each time, Elaine would chime in loudly, "Well, I am going to ride in Mommy's car and then ride on a trolley and go on a picnic!" Nothing could compare to the glories of that, not even the first grade zoo trip.
Every morning for at least the last month, she greets me in the bathroom with, "Is today the day of the trolley ride?"
Finally, finally, the day came--oh wait, not before a special trip to the grocery store to pick out Lunchables, which is what they both wanted for their field trip lunches, even though Lunchables are the biggest rip-off in the world. Whoever invented tiny portions of crackers, cheese, lunchmeat, a drink, and a treat stuck in a box and sold to sucker parents for two plus bucks apiece--my hat is off to you. I could make them the exact same thing minus the box for a fraction of the cost, but apparently that is completely different and not as fun. But...it's a special thing, so OK.
Here are Elaine and her friend Lily, waiting for the trolley to come (apparently they kept trying to start it and the engine flooded, so they needed to battery operate it. Or something. So we were waiting for awhile.)
All aboard!
The ride downtown and along the river. I have to say, this is the nicest bunch of pre-schoolers and parents. Everybody was happy and got along, waving to passersby. One little boy's great-grandma lives in a house along the river--she knew our class was riding the trolley today, and when we rode by, she opened her front door, wearing her little housecoat and waved at us. She was extremely cute...how fun to watch your great-grandson ride the trolley.
After the trolley ride was over, we all thanked the drivers and headed to the park to play and picnic. The other children looked longingly at Elaine's Lunchable. I swear, they're such a scam, but I guess kids just can't resist. Elaine and Lily and Elaine's other good buddy Vincent sat on a bench together and traded their pretzels and crackers and chips. I think Vincent, who is adorable and has dimples too, was angling for Elaine's Reese's peanut butter cup, but she leaned over and said sweetly to him, "I'll share this part with you next time."Then they rolled happily down the hill together.
This has been such a happy year for my youngest girl--I can't believe it's over, and next year she'll be heading to a new school. Sigh.
One of those bittersweet days...
Friday, May 21, 2010
Contributing Our Verse
I am super-excited about this post. Next Thursday (May 27th) is our fifteenth wedding anniversary, but I can't wait until then to publish this. Fifteen years! How is that possible? On our five-year anniversary, we went to England. On our ten-year anniversary, I wanted to go back to England but surprise, we found out Elaine was arriving so we stayed home and bought a gazebo for our backyard because we'd just moved here. Who knew that they sell gazebos in February, not in May, so we had to buy a floor model and Darren had to assemble it without any directions. He got me to help him, which, you know, grumpy man without a plan + nauseated pregnant lady = couple who sounds like they've been married for 10 years.
And now...15. What to do for fifteen? It may surprise you to learn that I wanted to go to England, but that's not really feasible right at this juncture of our lives. And we don't need a gazebo or a new baby, so what to do, what to do?
I came up with the inspired idea of having the uh-mazing Julie Kittredge take pictures of us as a family at the same park where Darren and I had our wedding pictures taken. (After you read this blog post, if you want to see more pictures and Julie's write-up on the shoot, you can go here.)
I tried to think of what to write about fifteen years of life lived together...all the highs and lows and everything in between. So many thoughts. So much has happened. But I also kept thinking about a poem I have loved for years and years from Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, and that seems to sum up best what I really want to say:
Oh Me! Oh Life!
Oh me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless,
of cities fill’d with the foolish,
And now...15. What to do for fifteen? It may surprise you to learn that I wanted to go to England, but that's not really feasible right at this juncture of our lives. And we don't need a gazebo or a new baby, so what to do, what to do?
I came up with the inspired idea of having the uh-mazing Julie Kittredge take pictures of us as a family at the same park where Darren and I had our wedding pictures taken. (After you read this blog post, if you want to see more pictures and Julie's write-up on the shoot, you can go here.)
I tried to think of what to write about fifteen years of life lived together...all the highs and lows and everything in between. So many thoughts. So much has happened. But I also kept thinking about a poem I have loved for years and years from Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, and that seems to sum up best what I really want to say:
Oh Me! Oh Life!
Oh me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless,
of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself,
(for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light,
of the objects mean,
of the struggle ever renew’d
Of the poor results of all,
of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest,
with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring–
What good amid these,
O me, O life?
Answer:
That you are here–that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
So, without further ado, join me on a little journey that has spanned 15 years...
(for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light,
of the objects mean,
of the struggle ever renew’d
Of the poor results of all,
of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest,
with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring–
What good amid these,
O me, O life?
Answer:
That you are here–that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
So, without further ado, join me on a little journey that has spanned 15 years...
Then...
Now...
Can I go on the record here and say that I asked the florist for a "small bouquet of lilacs"? I wonder what he would have given me had I asked for a large one.
When the girls first saw our wedding pictures, they pointed at Darren and said, "Who's that man with you, Mama?" Give poor Daddy a break. It's 3 against 1 at our house. It could make anyone lose all their hair.
In a gazebo...
...and in the same one fifteen years later...
Couple...
Family...
Twenties...
Forties!...
By the fountain...
Happy couple...
Happy couple...
Good...
Better...
So...happy fifteenth anniversary to my dear husband; I am so glad we're in this play together. And to my two best girls in the world--you make it worth getting up in the morning, albeit maybe not so early sometimes.
We are here.
We are here.
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