My Sweetheart drove me to the big city yesterday for somewhat of a medical appointment. As we drove into the city I noticed the beautiful Christmas decorations on the light posts. It was snowing. And my mind recalled another time, 35 years ago, when as a young 9 year old girl wearing a very fashionable maxi coat that had been bought at the Salvation Army in the same big city, I was riding in the car with My Mom and Dad and brothers on my way to my Aunt's for Christmas; my aunt who was the twin sister of 'Uncle Hairy Monkey.' It was snowing that day. The Christmas decorations, although different, were also hanging on the street lights.
I was excited to be going to Aunt Louise's. Excited to see cousins whom I rarely saw. Excited to be with aunts and uncles that I hardly knew. Excited because Grandma was going to be there. We were going to celebrate Christmas with My Mom's side of the family. We had always celebrated this special day with my Dad's sisters and their families up to this point. And every year since, while growing up, Christmas was always with Dad's side. So this Christmas was going to be very special.
I remember Grandma sitting on the couch. I remember thinking she seemed awfully old. She was 68 after all, and I was only 9.
My cousin Bev was at Auntie Louise's that year. Cousin Bev and I are the same age, and being the only girls that age at Auntie Louise's, we played together. I remember receiving a Dawn Doll for Christmas that year from Cousin Bev. It was a great time!
I don't remember too much about Christmas day, other than playing with my new Dawn Doll from Cousin Bev, and sitting beside Grandma on the couch. I remember thinking that Grandma Maggie Kalis must be very tired because she was still in her housecoat. I remember sitting beside her and having her hold my hand for a few minutes while we talked. I don't remember what we talked about, but I remember her holding my hand.
We probably headed home the day after Christmas. We had a long drive ahead of us and probably left right after breakfast so we could be home early afternoon.
2 days after we arrived back home I remember seeing My Mom cry after talking on the phone. I had only seen My Mom cry once before and that was when my cousin Tammy, my cousin on my Dad's side of the family, had been hit by a car and was in a coma. It was very rare to see My Mom cry and I knew something bad must have happened.
My Grandma, Maggie Kalis, the special lady wearing the housecoat, holding my hand while having a conversation on the couch on Christmas day, had died.
I am so glad we had went to the big city that year for Christmas. I am glad to have had the opportunity to hold my Grandma's hand 3 days before she died. Looking back, I know that was even a better gift than my Dawn Doll.
Lady and the Cats
bonding on the farm!
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Telling Stories
"Wouldn't it be fun," My Sweetheart ruminated last night as we were laying in bed, "to tell stories, with the kids, like we used to?"
Fun? Perhaps. Likely? Not a chance.
When DD and DS were much younger, when they would crawl into bed with us for bedtime stories, we would make up stories. One of us would begin with an opening line. Then someone else would make up the second sentence of the story. A third person would add the next, and so on and so on, until the story was completed. We would never know how the story would end up. It might start off with a family of pirates swashbuckling on stormy seas and end with a family of puppies doing their Christmas shopping at the local Coop. Although the ending of the story was always going to be a surprise, the journey getting there was so much fun.
My family loves stories. When DS was very young I started reading him the classics. By the time he was in grade 1 we had explored Narnia, went on Magic Tree House adventures, travelled in the days of Dickens, built treehouses like the Swiss Family Robinson. Every classic book in this house had been read and enjoyed.
As well as stories from the pages of beloved books, my family loves true stories of family adventures. DD and DS love hearing about My Sweetheart's and my past. I enjoy hearing My Mom weave stories of her growing up days. My Sweetheart wishes that he would have listened more and asked more questions of his Grandpa who immigrated to Canada from Norway in the 1800's. How did he travel? What port city did he arrive at? What mode or modes of transportation carried him from his home in Norway to the land he homesteaded? What was his story?
Mostly the stories of our growing up, and our ancestors growing up years, are funny. My Mom tells hilarious stories of her younger brother, Les. His story telling was even more funny. He was, I'm convinced, a master story teller. He would open his mouth and we would laugh as crazy story after crazy story would emerge.
DD and DS remember my Uncle Les as 'Uncle Hairy Monkey.' They dubbed him so when, after meeting him for the first time, he enamored them with his crazy antics. We were in Home Hardware in the big city, when all of a sudden Uncle Les, at Dear Son's and Darling Daughter's urging, took off his shirt in the middle of the store, and proceeded to swing around like a monkey. Uncle Les was a very hairy man- thus Uncle Hairy Monkey. That episode has now become a treasured story.
On our recent family trip to Disneyland, we were delighted to have my Sweetheart's sister join us. We could hardly wait until meal time, when the audience was captive, to hear her stories of her life. What adventures she had!
When I started writing this blog a couple years ago, I wondered what I would write about. What possibly could be interesting enough to tell others? But then I decided to write about what I know. In my case, that is my family, our farm, my life, my faith. Every person has a story. Sometimes I have to look deeply to figure out what part of my story will be told. But I do have a story. I hope you're enjoying it.
Fun? Perhaps. Likely? Not a chance.
When DD and DS were much younger, when they would crawl into bed with us for bedtime stories, we would make up stories. One of us would begin with an opening line. Then someone else would make up the second sentence of the story. A third person would add the next, and so on and so on, until the story was completed. We would never know how the story would end up. It might start off with a family of pirates swashbuckling on stormy seas and end with a family of puppies doing their Christmas shopping at the local Coop. Although the ending of the story was always going to be a surprise, the journey getting there was so much fun.
My family loves stories. When DS was very young I started reading him the classics. By the time he was in grade 1 we had explored Narnia, went on Magic Tree House adventures, travelled in the days of Dickens, built treehouses like the Swiss Family Robinson. Every classic book in this house had been read and enjoyed.
As well as stories from the pages of beloved books, my family loves true stories of family adventures. DD and DS love hearing about My Sweetheart's and my past. I enjoy hearing My Mom weave stories of her growing up days. My Sweetheart wishes that he would have listened more and asked more questions of his Grandpa who immigrated to Canada from Norway in the 1800's. How did he travel? What port city did he arrive at? What mode or modes of transportation carried him from his home in Norway to the land he homesteaded? What was his story?
Mostly the stories of our growing up, and our ancestors growing up years, are funny. My Mom tells hilarious stories of her younger brother, Les. His story telling was even more funny. He was, I'm convinced, a master story teller. He would open his mouth and we would laugh as crazy story after crazy story would emerge.
DD and DS remember my Uncle Les as 'Uncle Hairy Monkey.' They dubbed him so when, after meeting him for the first time, he enamored them with his crazy antics. We were in Home Hardware in the big city, when all of a sudden Uncle Les, at Dear Son's and Darling Daughter's urging, took off his shirt in the middle of the store, and proceeded to swing around like a monkey. Uncle Les was a very hairy man- thus Uncle Hairy Monkey. That episode has now become a treasured story.
On our recent family trip to Disneyland, we were delighted to have my Sweetheart's sister join us. We could hardly wait until meal time, when the audience was captive, to hear her stories of her life. What adventures she had!
When I started writing this blog a couple years ago, I wondered what I would write about. What possibly could be interesting enough to tell others? But then I decided to write about what I know. In my case, that is my family, our farm, my life, my faith. Every person has a story. Sometimes I have to look deeply to figure out what part of my story will be told. But I do have a story. I hope you're enjoying it.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Emmanuel
I cried, on the Thursday before Thanksgiving this year, when we were listening to the radio. The weather guy said there was a huge storm system pushing up from the States into southern Manitoba in to Northern Ontario. Northern Ontario, where my blue suede brother and his family lives, was where we had planned on heading that day for the long weekend. We hadn't been to my brother's for 8 years and we were all so excited to be going there.
What we had anticipated for months became somewhat devastating. After watching the weather network, reading the weather advisories on the 'net, after texting back and forth, we made the painful decision to stay home. Then what? Our plans had changed. Someone said, 'maybe, if you would have went, you would have been in an accident.' I thought, 'maybe not.'
So with the change of plans I decided to make the best of it. Yes, we were so discouraged and disappointed, but we have family at home- my cousin and uncle and Mom and My Sweetheart's Dad. I would have Thanksgiving at home. I would be with family after all and the weekend would be good.
That day My Mom and I went to the city so I could buy all the groceries needed for the weekend. Fortunately everthing was still on sale. That would give me all day Friday to clean and all day Saturday to start with the Thanksgiving meal- the salads, the make ahead mashed potatoes, the buns and dessert.
On Saturday morning I was going to go to my neighbor's to buy some eggs. Before heading there I was going to go to the south farm to take some pictures. Dear Son and My Sweetheart were at the south farm tending to a controlled burn. And Dear Son wanted me to take some pictures.
When I left there I was going to go straight to my neigbor's for the eggs. I phoned her, just before leaving the south farm, to let her know I was on my way.
I didn't make it though. Before crossing the highway, I had checked at the intersection to make sure no cars were coming. It's an intersection that I have always dreaded because of the blind spot. When you are stopped, looking east, there is a dip in the highway where a vehicle might be. If there is, that vehicle is not visible because of the dip and the curve. So, I crossed the highway and my car hit something and I was spinning out of control. I came to a stop, in the ditch, and didn't have a clue what had happened. I thought that perhaps I hit a moose, or some other big animal. Maybe there was a big post in the middle of the highway that had never been there. I was clueless. When I decided that maybe I was okay enough to get out and check to see what I had hit I was shocked to see the other vehicle in the ditch. Sickened to see the other driver slumped over his steering wheel. His wife, at least I think it was his wife, was standing outside their vehicle screaming at me. Swearing at me. Up one side of me and down the other. Her husband eventually made it out of his vehicle, walked around, didn't say anything, just nodded when I asked him if he was ok. But SHE was relentless. I was in shock.I started to shake and cry uncontrollably. I went back to my banged up car, crawled in the driver's door, called 911, phoned My Sweetheart and waitied.
I couldn't sleep for 3 nights. I relived that over and over and over. On the 3rd night of no sleep, I remember praying and asking God "WHY?" "Where were YOU?" "Why couldn't I have stayed at the south farm for 2 extra seconds?" Why? why? why?
And then, as soon as I poured at my heart, the Lord showed me something quite miraculous. As my car was spinning around, I saw Jesus in the passenger seat-as clearly as anything I had seen before. The inside of my vehicle was enveloped in white. The white of an angels' wings? I think so. I could have been hurt, but there was not a scratch on me. The air bags didn't go off. I was spared.
Jesus, Emmanuel, was with me. He never left me. When I thought I was alone, I wasn't. He was always with me.
I still had a few weeks of horrible sleeps and flashbacks. My neck bothers me on occasion. But I was spared.
On the 4th day after the accident I wrote a song that, perhaps out of all the songs I have written, is the one that speaks the most to me. It comforts me in a way that no other song has ever comforted me. I sing it at least once a day, sometime more, when I need to be reminded that my God is always with me.
What we had anticipated for months became somewhat devastating. After watching the weather network, reading the weather advisories on the 'net, after texting back and forth, we made the painful decision to stay home. Then what? Our plans had changed. Someone said, 'maybe, if you would have went, you would have been in an accident.' I thought, 'maybe not.'
So with the change of plans I decided to make the best of it. Yes, we were so discouraged and disappointed, but we have family at home- my cousin and uncle and Mom and My Sweetheart's Dad. I would have Thanksgiving at home. I would be with family after all and the weekend would be good.
That day My Mom and I went to the city so I could buy all the groceries needed for the weekend. Fortunately everthing was still on sale. That would give me all day Friday to clean and all day Saturday to start with the Thanksgiving meal- the salads, the make ahead mashed potatoes, the buns and dessert.
On Saturday morning I was going to go to my neighbor's to buy some eggs. Before heading there I was going to go to the south farm to take some pictures. Dear Son and My Sweetheart were at the south farm tending to a controlled burn. And Dear Son wanted me to take some pictures.
When I left there I was going to go straight to my neigbor's for the eggs. I phoned her, just before leaving the south farm, to let her know I was on my way.
I didn't make it though. Before crossing the highway, I had checked at the intersection to make sure no cars were coming. It's an intersection that I have always dreaded because of the blind spot. When you are stopped, looking east, there is a dip in the highway where a vehicle might be. If there is, that vehicle is not visible because of the dip and the curve. So, I crossed the highway and my car hit something and I was spinning out of control. I came to a stop, in the ditch, and didn't have a clue what had happened. I thought that perhaps I hit a moose, or some other big animal. Maybe there was a big post in the middle of the highway that had never been there. I was clueless. When I decided that maybe I was okay enough to get out and check to see what I had hit I was shocked to see the other vehicle in the ditch. Sickened to see the other driver slumped over his steering wheel. His wife, at least I think it was his wife, was standing outside their vehicle screaming at me. Swearing at me. Up one side of me and down the other. Her husband eventually made it out of his vehicle, walked around, didn't say anything, just nodded when I asked him if he was ok. But SHE was relentless. I was in shock.I started to shake and cry uncontrollably. I went back to my banged up car, crawled in the driver's door, called 911, phoned My Sweetheart and waitied.
I couldn't sleep for 3 nights. I relived that over and over and over. On the 3rd night of no sleep, I remember praying and asking God "WHY?" "Where were YOU?" "Why couldn't I have stayed at the south farm for 2 extra seconds?" Why? why? why?
And then, as soon as I poured at my heart, the Lord showed me something quite miraculous. As my car was spinning around, I saw Jesus in the passenger seat-as clearly as anything I had seen before. The inside of my vehicle was enveloped in white. The white of an angels' wings? I think so. I could have been hurt, but there was not a scratch on me. The air bags didn't go off. I was spared.
Jesus, Emmanuel, was with me. He never left me. When I thought I was alone, I wasn't. He was always with me.
I still had a few weeks of horrible sleeps and flashbacks. My neck bothers me on occasion. But I was spared.
On the 4th day after the accident I wrote a song that, perhaps out of all the songs I have written, is the one that speaks the most to me. It comforts me in a way that no other song has ever comforted me. I sing it at least once a day, sometime more, when I need to be reminded that my God is always with me.
Emmanuel
As you hurry through your life,
maybe thinking 'come what may'
when things go your way
and then one day
your world crashes in.
Take Jesus at His Word
when He says, 'come unto Me,
My yoke is strong
so come along
and rest in Me.'
He has always been.
will always be Emmanuel.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God with us. Revealed to us.
All is well
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God is near.
Christ is here.
Emmanuel.
When the doctor calls you back,
says,'there's nothing we can do.'
thought you had the flu,
you never knew you'd hear those words from him.
when your love walks out that door,
they don't love you anymore.
Jesus' yoke is strong,
so come along
and rest in Him..
He has always been.
Will always be Emmanuel.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God with us. Revealed to us.
All is well.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God is near. Christ is here.
Emmanuel.
God with us. Before us. Behind us.
Beside us.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God with us. Revealed to us.
All is well.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God is near. Christ is here.
Emmanuel. Emmanuel.
God is near. Christ is here.
Emmanuel.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Light
When I was in grade 1, my brothers and I were the first ones to be picked up on the school bus. In 1970, Saskatchewan would change the clocks in the fall and in the spring. So, back then, in the winter when it was cold, we would get on the school bus in the dark, and we would be dropped off after school in the dark.
I remember looking back at our farm house on those cold, dark winter mornings, as the bus would leave the yard, and see a light on. That bright yellow light against the cold bitter dark would comfort me. Home was a haven, and when the bright light was shining forth on those winter mornings I felt safe and secure. Returning home after a long bus ride after a long day of school was the highlight of my school years. It would be dark outside, or turning dark, and the light emanating from the house would welcome me home.
Usually, when we arrived home, Mom would already be in the kitchen preparing supper. We always ate supper around 5:00 pm. The bus would pull in the yard close to that time. The sight of the light shining from the window along with the delicious aroma of supper cooking was comfort at its best. I was safe and secure in my farmhouse.
This morning, the alarm went of at 6:45. I could hardly wait to get out of bed, turn the thermostat up, and turn the lights on on the Christmas tree. For a few peaceful minutes the lights from the tree were the only lights on in the house. It was cold and dark outside, but inside- the house was warm and inviting and bright from a few simple lights. Comforting and welcoming.
Jesus said, to His followers, "you are the light of the world. Let your light so shine that others may see you and glorify Your Father in Heaven.." (Matthew 5:16) In a dark, gloomy world, HIS light shines through His followers and provides warmth and comfort to a world that so desperately needs Him- THE LIGHT of the world.
This Christmas season, every time I turn the lights of our Christmas tree on, I am reminded of that. Jesus, the Light of the World (John 1:4) shines His light through me, of all people, to bear witness of that. How comforting Jesus is. How welcoming He is. How brightly His light is still shining.
I remember looking back at our farm house on those cold, dark winter mornings, as the bus would leave the yard, and see a light on. That bright yellow light against the cold bitter dark would comfort me. Home was a haven, and when the bright light was shining forth on those winter mornings I felt safe and secure. Returning home after a long bus ride after a long day of school was the highlight of my school years. It would be dark outside, or turning dark, and the light emanating from the house would welcome me home.
Usually, when we arrived home, Mom would already be in the kitchen preparing supper. We always ate supper around 5:00 pm. The bus would pull in the yard close to that time. The sight of the light shining from the window along with the delicious aroma of supper cooking was comfort at its best. I was safe and secure in my farmhouse.
This morning, the alarm went of at 6:45. I could hardly wait to get out of bed, turn the thermostat up, and turn the lights on on the Christmas tree. For a few peaceful minutes the lights from the tree were the only lights on in the house. It was cold and dark outside, but inside- the house was warm and inviting and bright from a few simple lights. Comforting and welcoming.
Jesus said, to His followers, "you are the light of the world. Let your light so shine that others may see you and glorify Your Father in Heaven.." (Matthew 5:16) In a dark, gloomy world, HIS light shines through His followers and provides warmth and comfort to a world that so desperately needs Him- THE LIGHT of the world.
This Christmas season, every time I turn the lights of our Christmas tree on, I am reminded of that. Jesus, the Light of the World (John 1:4) shines His light through me, of all people, to bear witness of that. How comforting Jesus is. How welcoming He is. How brightly His light is still shining.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Let The Games Begin
October is my second favorite month. Fall is my favorite season. December is my favorite month. I enjoy everything that leads up to Christmas. This year I feel a little more organized than usual. Tonight, after supper, I cooked another batch of potatoes so that tomorrow I can whip up my 3rd batch of lefse. Yesterday I made flatbread for the first time in my life. And so the freezer is slowly filling up: krumkakke, butter tarts, cookies. I feel prepared.
Tonight when I was cooking the potatoes Dear Son drove into town to bring My Mom out. The potatoes were boiling when My Sweetheart was preparing the table for the main event. The games were soon to begin. As soon as the potatoes were riced and mixed with cream, as soon as DS and Grandma arrived, as soon as I sat down the games would commence.
Tonight when I was cooking the potatoes Dear Son drove into town to bring My Mom out. The potatoes were boiling when My Sweetheart was preparing the table for the main event. The games were soon to begin. As soon as the potatoes were riced and mixed with cream, as soon as DS and Grandma arrived, as soon as I sat down the games would commence.
Games and December seem to go hand in hand. Even when I was growing up there was never an end to the game playing. Actually, game playing was a common occurence all year round for me. I grew up in a game playing family. Cribbage, Bridge, Whist, Yahtzee, Monopoly, Rummoli, Mousetrap, Rummy- there was always someone in my house on the farm, who was ready for a game.
My Sweetheart never played cribbage until about a month ago. His parents didn't play cribbage. I found that very hard to believe when I questioned him about it the other night when he was suffering through a game 'because he loves me'.
He's come a long way since marrying me. When we were first married we enjoyed playing 'tens' with My Mom and Dad. It was similar to whist with a few different twists. We haven't played it since Dad died. I'm not even sure I'd remember how to play it. Not that it matters now- what mattered was being together enjoying time spent together with people we love.
Tonight, when My Sweetheart phoned My Mom to see if she'd like to come out and play a game, she didn't hesitate. My Mom loves playing games. On Thursday she came out in the morning and stayed all day. She watched TV while I was finishing up that day's batch of lefse. After lunch she watched TV and napped while I was making meatballs for supper. In the afternoon, after the naps, after the supper was slowly cooking in the oven, the cards came out. Buy Rummy has always been one of My Mom's favorite 2 person games. Cribbage is my favorite. And all afternoon, while the meatballs were simmering, we played games.
Tonight we played 'Sequence'. Not that it matters what we played. What mattered was being together enjoying time spent with people I love.
Friday, November 30, 2012
The Letter
In the spring of 1979, when I was 15, I was waiting for a letter. Every day, when Dad would come home from town, I'd anxiously wait for him to put the mail on the old oak kitchen table in the bright yellow kitchen. The kitchen with the avocado green fridge and stove and the brown kitchen carpet.
Finally the day came. The letter was from LCBI. I was accepted. Then I had to deal with the waiting for Sept when I would leave home and start my boarding school life- a life that I had been looking forward to immensely since 6th grade when Tamra, from church, convinced me that would be a great place to be. And it was.
Dear Son has been waiting for a letter. It came yesterday. This time it was I who had the mixed emotions. He was very happy. And I am happy for him. Extremely happy. Next Sept he'll be leaving home to start his studies in civil engineering. I will miss him terribly. So, for now, I am treasuring up every moment of his life that I can. Tonight I even watched a 'guy' movie with DS and My Sweetheart.
I never thought, back in 1979, how difficult it would have been for Mom and Dad to have me leave home. Until the past little while. I'm having my weepy moments just thinking about it. But I am also so excited just thinking about the world 'out there' for DS and DD.
There's lots of stuff that we'll be doing in the next year. Less than a year actually. Lots of planning, preparing, packing, praying. When the day comes we'll be ready. Maybe.
While I've been thinking about this new phase of life that we'll be entering, I've also been thinking about Advent. I've been thinking about Mary's parents preparing to send her off on her journey. I wonder what they were thinking about...Tomorrow we'll be ripping the November page off our calendars and flipping to December. The advent candles are out. The Christmas trees are lit. The house is decorated. The presents are wrapped. The external stuff is all ready. Now is the time to start preparing my heart for what's really important in this season. The season of preparing, the season of planning. The season to continually welcome Jesus into our every day and every day activities. The season to ask Him to guide us. The season to offer to Him everything we have so He can do whatever He wants with it.
Finally the day came. The letter was from LCBI. I was accepted. Then I had to deal with the waiting for Sept when I would leave home and start my boarding school life- a life that I had been looking forward to immensely since 6th grade when Tamra, from church, convinced me that would be a great place to be. And it was.
Dear Son has been waiting for a letter. It came yesterday. This time it was I who had the mixed emotions. He was very happy. And I am happy for him. Extremely happy. Next Sept he'll be leaving home to start his studies in civil engineering. I will miss him terribly. So, for now, I am treasuring up every moment of his life that I can. Tonight I even watched a 'guy' movie with DS and My Sweetheart.
I never thought, back in 1979, how difficult it would have been for Mom and Dad to have me leave home. Until the past little while. I'm having my weepy moments just thinking about it. But I am also so excited just thinking about the world 'out there' for DS and DD.
There's lots of stuff that we'll be doing in the next year. Less than a year actually. Lots of planning, preparing, packing, praying. When the day comes we'll be ready. Maybe.
While I've been thinking about this new phase of life that we'll be entering, I've also been thinking about Advent. I've been thinking about Mary's parents preparing to send her off on her journey. I wonder what they were thinking about...Tomorrow we'll be ripping the November page off our calendars and flipping to December. The advent candles are out. The Christmas trees are lit. The house is decorated. The presents are wrapped. The external stuff is all ready. Now is the time to start preparing my heart for what's really important in this season. The season of preparing, the season of planning. The season to continually welcome Jesus into our every day and every day activities. The season to ask Him to guide us. The season to offer to Him everything we have so He can do whatever He wants with it.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Treasures in the Deck Box
We finished our harvest on August 30 this year. Since then we've been blessed with mostly beautiful weather and have been able to tackle some of the outside stuff that's been on our ever-increasing to-do list.
Yesterday, when I took some kibbles out to the cats, I looked around at the trees. We have many, many trees in our yard- mostly evergreens. My Sweetheart has been watering them for the past week, so when the kitty feeding was complete I walked over to the little trianglular area where he was and started looking at the trees. Most of them in 1 particular row looked fine, but there was 1 that looked quite sickly. Upon further inspection we discovered it was full of spiders and other crawlies. Needles were dead, the tree was dying. Out came the chain saw and down came the tree. Then we were on a mission. Dead tree limbs were cut down and hauled away. The garden boxes were cleaned out. Flower beds were dismantled. Fall has officially arrived at the farm.
Next on the list was the task of cleaning out the deck boxes. We have 3 big rubbermaid deck boxes- perfect for storage and extra seating. The cats enjoy lounging on them. One of the deck boxes stores our barbecue stuff and patio cushions; one stores dry dog food and off season boots- and apparently 14 cans of mosquito spray. We found them at the bottom of the deck box, along with 2 dog collars and mismatched gloves and old rubber boots with holes in the soles. The other deck box held treasures. Treasures that, as I was kneeling in front of it going through the contents, reduced me to tears. I tried to keep them under control, but just as DD came out to help, and DS got off the bucket tractor and glanced my way, the tears gushed. Geyser-like. No holding back. I was a mess.
There were, in that box, 10 years of childhood memories. Every thing in that box brought back a memory that I had forgotten about. I was perpexed as to why there were so many big rocks in the bottom of that box until I saw the one that had been painted- by DD. When she was 7. I could picture her sitting on the table, on the deck, on a beautiful summer day, paint colors spread out, and creating works of art. I found a notebook of maps, hand drawn by DS, the summer between grade 1 and 2. I had just found a picture of him the other day- he was wearing shorts with a backpack on his back, and he was holding a clipboard with a notebook. When I saw the picture I knew he was mapping and I wondered where that map book went. It was in the deck box. I rescued a couple pieces of sidewalk chalk- a couple of the many dozen that went in the bucket of the tractor to be dumped. DD spend many hours drawing masterpieces on our driveway. Flattened soccer balls became memories of DS kicking them around the yard. "Do you want any of this?" I asked my 2 teenagers. They looked at me almost strangely, almost sadly, almost happy. "No..." they both said.
I would not have believed that time could disappear so quickly. When each treasure had been put in that deck box 'until next year' I never dreamt that 'next year' would come and we'd be getting rid of this part of their childhood. Where once my sweet little painting, drawing daughter stood with her rocks and her chalk now stands a beautiful young woman. My map drawing little boy with glasses has now become my kind, strong young man ready to leave home in probably less than a year. And I cried. The treasures, except for the few pages that I salvaged, are gone now. But my real treasures are still with me- outside the deck box and in my heart forever.
Yesterday, when I took some kibbles out to the cats, I looked around at the trees. We have many, many trees in our yard- mostly evergreens. My Sweetheart has been watering them for the past week, so when the kitty feeding was complete I walked over to the little trianglular area where he was and started looking at the trees. Most of them in 1 particular row looked fine, but there was 1 that looked quite sickly. Upon further inspection we discovered it was full of spiders and other crawlies. Needles were dead, the tree was dying. Out came the chain saw and down came the tree. Then we were on a mission. Dead tree limbs were cut down and hauled away. The garden boxes were cleaned out. Flower beds were dismantled. Fall has officially arrived at the farm.
Next on the list was the task of cleaning out the deck boxes. We have 3 big rubbermaid deck boxes- perfect for storage and extra seating. The cats enjoy lounging on them. One of the deck boxes stores our barbecue stuff and patio cushions; one stores dry dog food and off season boots- and apparently 14 cans of mosquito spray. We found them at the bottom of the deck box, along with 2 dog collars and mismatched gloves and old rubber boots with holes in the soles. The other deck box held treasures. Treasures that, as I was kneeling in front of it going through the contents, reduced me to tears. I tried to keep them under control, but just as DD came out to help, and DS got off the bucket tractor and glanced my way, the tears gushed. Geyser-like. No holding back. I was a mess.
There were, in that box, 10 years of childhood memories. Every thing in that box brought back a memory that I had forgotten about. I was perpexed as to why there were so many big rocks in the bottom of that box until I saw the one that had been painted- by DD. When she was 7. I could picture her sitting on the table, on the deck, on a beautiful summer day, paint colors spread out, and creating works of art. I found a notebook of maps, hand drawn by DS, the summer between grade 1 and 2. I had just found a picture of him the other day- he was wearing shorts with a backpack on his back, and he was holding a clipboard with a notebook. When I saw the picture I knew he was mapping and I wondered where that map book went. It was in the deck box. I rescued a couple pieces of sidewalk chalk- a couple of the many dozen that went in the bucket of the tractor to be dumped. DD spend many hours drawing masterpieces on our driveway. Flattened soccer balls became memories of DS kicking them around the yard. "Do you want any of this?" I asked my 2 teenagers. They looked at me almost strangely, almost sadly, almost happy. "No..." they both said.
I would not have believed that time could disappear so quickly. When each treasure had been put in that deck box 'until next year' I never dreamt that 'next year' would come and we'd be getting rid of this part of their childhood. Where once my sweet little painting, drawing daughter stood with her rocks and her chalk now stands a beautiful young woman. My map drawing little boy with glasses has now become my kind, strong young man ready to leave home in probably less than a year. And I cried. The treasures, except for the few pages that I salvaged, are gone now. But my real treasures are still with me- outside the deck box and in my heart forever.
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