I don't like lemonade. So, that old adage, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade" simply does not cut it for me. Lemon pie is more fitting. Smooth, tart, lemony goodness on a flaky, tender crust, topped with fluffy golden-hued meringue is better.
And it is loved by so many. Not only by me. By My Mom. My blue suede brother - I think. My Uncle Stan likes it. He had 2 pieces of my lemon pie the other night. My Sweetheart likes it. And My Sweetheart's Father likes it. In fact, he LOVES it. Anything lemony is a good thing for him.
My Sweetheart's Father started having health issues last fall. Not just minor health issues. Big health issues. From about October on he spent most of the time in different hospitals. Around Christmas time we thought, every time we went to visit him, that maybe this would be the last time. He was chauffeured many times in the past few months in an ambulance.
At his worst, we wondered if he's survive the ambulance trip.
He did. He rallied. Prayers were answered. Well, I know that prayers are always answered. These particular prayers were answered in the way we like them to be answered. With more mortal life.
But with those answered prayers of more mortal life, the family had to make some difficult decisions. The unit that My Sweetheart's Father lived in for close to 10 years was let go. His 'stuff' was divvied up. And My Sweetheart's Frail Father was moved to a long term care home an hour away. We, My Sweetheart and I, picked him up one day at the hospital in the city, and drove him to his new temporary home. On the way there, we drove past our farm- our home that has been in the family for over 100 years now. The farm that My Sweetheart's Father grew up on, the farm where his siblings were raised, the farm where he and his late wife raised his beautiful daughters and My Sweetheart on, the farm where we have lived as a married couple for 18 years. As we drove past the farm I was watching him from my spot in the back seat. I took a picture of him as he was looking nostalgically down the road that he had driven hundreds of times before. I wondered what was going through his mind . I wondered when the last time he had been out to the farm was. I know it was before Thanksgiving, but I don't remember just what day it had been. I wondered what I had served him for a meal that day. I wish I would have given him a little bit bigger piece of dessert. My Sweetheart's Father is diabetic, and I am the one who was very strict about dessert time when he was out. I was strict about every meal when he was out. I had sugar free syrup in the cupboard for waffle brunches, sugar free ice cream in the freezer for treat nights, sugar free cookies in the pantry for times when he came out unexpectedly.
Yesterday, after church, we went to visit My Sweetheart's Father in the care home. We drove the hour down the highway, picked up Subway sandwiches and pop for DD, DS, My Sweetheart and I, and went to the care home. Along with the Subway Sandwiches, My Sweetheart had, in hand, the last piece of lemon pie that I had baked the day before.
My Sweetheart's Father doesn't have much of an appetite. But, he lit into that lemon pie. "It doesn't taste very lemony," he said to me. I guess his taste buds aren't that good. But that's okay. He had a piece of lemon pie. A big piece. And I'm glad I made lemon pie instead of lemonade.
Lady and the Cats
bonding on the farm!
Monday, March 10, 2014
Monday, March 3, 2014
Finding Feathers
I realize it's been quite some time since I have posted on this. Frankly, I was unable to think of anything to write about. Or so I told myself. Honestly, I think I just needed a break.
I'm back and have decided to write, but to write less often than in the past. Maybe once a week. Maybe once every two weeks. Right now, it's a 'wait and see.'
But, I am glad to be back writing. I'm happy to invite you back in to glimpses of my life.
I talked to a good friend the other day. She was a neighbor and a dear friend from church. Her and her husband moved from their farm to the big big city in January. We have another connection with them. A few years ago we bought some of their farm land. And with that came their house. Their 'little house on the prairie.' The views from their windows, now our windows, are breathtaking. The house is on somewhat of a little hill and the views stretch, at times, as far as the eye can see.
She, my friend, and her husband, were glad to hear that new life is being breathed into their home. Dear Son, as a matter of fact, will be living there. Soon. He is 'feathering his nest' - to quote my friend, the former house owner.
Dear Son was very happy, as were we, that he landed his co-op job, part of his schooling in civil engineering, at our near city. He'll be working there for 8 months. The bonus for us is that he will also be close enough to home to help on the farm.
As I gently shoo him from my nest, I am glad that he has his own nest that he is feathering. He's home this week for his spring break. He's busy, with mostly My Sweetheart, sometimes me, sanding and prepping and sawing and planning. Painting will be taking place soon. The now empty house will soon be ready and welcoming it's precious cargo - my DS.
I'm back and have decided to write, but to write less often than in the past. Maybe once a week. Maybe once every two weeks. Right now, it's a 'wait and see.'
But, I am glad to be back writing. I'm happy to invite you back in to glimpses of my life.
I talked to a good friend the other day. She was a neighbor and a dear friend from church. Her and her husband moved from their farm to the big big city in January. We have another connection with them. A few years ago we bought some of their farm land. And with that came their house. Their 'little house on the prairie.' The views from their windows, now our windows, are breathtaking. The house is on somewhat of a little hill and the views stretch, at times, as far as the eye can see.
She, my friend, and her husband, were glad to hear that new life is being breathed into their home. Dear Son, as a matter of fact, will be living there. Soon. He is 'feathering his nest' - to quote my friend, the former house owner.
Dear Son was very happy, as were we, that he landed his co-op job, part of his schooling in civil engineering, at our near city. He'll be working there for 8 months. The bonus for us is that he will also be close enough to home to help on the farm.
As I gently shoo him from my nest, I am glad that he has his own nest that he is feathering. He's home this week for his spring break. He's busy, with mostly My Sweetheart, sometimes me, sanding and prepping and sawing and planning. Painting will be taking place soon. The now empty house will soon be ready and welcoming it's precious cargo - my DS.
Monday, September 30, 2013
The Lotion in the Piggy
I celebrated my 4th birthday in the old Kruse Apartments. I also celebrated my birth there 4 years earlier when it was the local hospital. In the years between my birth and my birthday party a new hospital had been built and the old one had been converted to apartments. And in the winter of 1967-68 we lived in the Kruse Apartments while My Dad worked in town. Or so I've been told.
The apartment itself was tiny. It had 2 bedrooms, a small bathroom, a kitchen, and the living room, as I recall, was just like a hallway. I remember the couch against the wall.
I'm amazed now, in retrospect, just how Mom managed to fit my birthday party gang around the kitchen table. Regardless, we did fit. And I remember who was there. Robin, the girl who lived down the hall in another apartment, my cousins Vince and Laurie, who lived in town, my 2nd cousins Teresa and Wesley, Patti, my very first friend, and Wanda Berg. I would have known Wanda from Sunday School. I'm not sure how Teresa and Wesley happened to be at my birthday party, but they were. And I'm glad. They didn't live in town, so I'm thinking they must have been visiting.
We had hot dogs and angel food cake. That was, after all, the traditional birthday party menu at our home. And likely there was cragmont pop. And more than likely, the pop would have been grape or orange flavoured. The pop and the angel food was, in my opinion, the only good part of the menu. I hate hot dogs.
While I don't remember what all my gifts were at my 4th birthday party, I do remember what Wanda Berg gave me. Why I remember is beyond me. But her gift made a lasting impression so I must have really really liked it. Wanda Berg gave me a set of plastic pigs- one of them held bubble bath and the other held lotion. The other day I was trying out some new body lotion. I had picked up quite a few lotions with tantalizing names while at a mall in a nearby city. This particular one was called Sea Cotton, or something like that. When I dropped a dollop of it onto my hand and smelled it, I was transported back to 4 year old me, happily smearing the lotion from the piggy onto my hands. The smell was exactly the same.
It's amazing how different sounds and sights and smells we experience now can evoke memories of the past. I smell Jergens lotion and I can close my eyes and imagine I'm back in the old farmhouse where I grew up. A kitten mewing can trigger memories of playing with the kittens in the old barn loft. The sight of a green kettle on a cupboard brings back nostalgic memories of walking into the old farm kitchen knowing that underneath that lid is rice pudding. And now, after smelling the Sea Cotton, I found myself back around the old kitchen table in the tiny apartment where we lived for one magical winter.
The apartment itself was tiny. It had 2 bedrooms, a small bathroom, a kitchen, and the living room, as I recall, was just like a hallway. I remember the couch against the wall.
I'm amazed now, in retrospect, just how Mom managed to fit my birthday party gang around the kitchen table. Regardless, we did fit. And I remember who was there. Robin, the girl who lived down the hall in another apartment, my cousins Vince and Laurie, who lived in town, my 2nd cousins Teresa and Wesley, Patti, my very first friend, and Wanda Berg. I would have known Wanda from Sunday School. I'm not sure how Teresa and Wesley happened to be at my birthday party, but they were. And I'm glad. They didn't live in town, so I'm thinking they must have been visiting.
We had hot dogs and angel food cake. That was, after all, the traditional birthday party menu at our home. And likely there was cragmont pop. And more than likely, the pop would have been grape or orange flavoured. The pop and the angel food was, in my opinion, the only good part of the menu. I hate hot dogs.
While I don't remember what all my gifts were at my 4th birthday party, I do remember what Wanda Berg gave me. Why I remember is beyond me. But her gift made a lasting impression so I must have really really liked it. Wanda Berg gave me a set of plastic pigs- one of them held bubble bath and the other held lotion. The other day I was trying out some new body lotion. I had picked up quite a few lotions with tantalizing names while at a mall in a nearby city. This particular one was called Sea Cotton, or something like that. When I dropped a dollop of it onto my hand and smelled it, I was transported back to 4 year old me, happily smearing the lotion from the piggy onto my hands. The smell was exactly the same.
It's amazing how different sounds and sights and smells we experience now can evoke memories of the past. I smell Jergens lotion and I can close my eyes and imagine I'm back in the old farmhouse where I grew up. A kitten mewing can trigger memories of playing with the kittens in the old barn loft. The sight of a green kettle on a cupboard brings back nostalgic memories of walking into the old farm kitchen knowing that underneath that lid is rice pudding. And now, after smelling the Sea Cotton, I found myself back around the old kitchen table in the tiny apartment where we lived for one magical winter.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Driving Away
In just a few short hours DS will be driving away. For him, excitement is mounting. For me, my heart is preparing to burst out of the chest cavity.
We've been preparing for this day, in a strange way, since the day we brought him, as a newborn, home.
Every hug given and returned,
every lesson learned,
every mistake made,
every victory,
every tear shed,
every smile,
every step taken,
every moment of every day...
has led Dear Son to THIS day. This incredible, exciting, grown-up, marvellous journey of his life is finally here.
finally.
The roots have been established.
Wings are taking flight.
The many prayers on his behalf have been and will continue to be prayed.
Letting go is happening.
Seemingly overnight.
My tears are just under the surface.
Sad tears.
Proud tears.
Happy tears.
They will come,
I know.
But first I must let go.
Roots and wings.
Beginnings and endings and beginnings again.
I take comfort
that my child, now a young man,
is loved by the Lord.
Completely. Perfectly. Sacrificially. Totally.
Loved.
We've been preparing for this day, in a strange way, since the day we brought him, as a newborn, home.
Every hug given and returned,
every lesson learned,
every mistake made,
every victory,
every tear shed,
every smile,
every step taken,
every moment of every day...
has led Dear Son to THIS day. This incredible, exciting, grown-up, marvellous journey of his life is finally here.
finally.
The roots have been established.
Wings are taking flight.
The many prayers on his behalf have been and will continue to be prayed.
Letting go is happening.
Seemingly overnight.
My tears are just under the surface.
Sad tears.
Proud tears.
Happy tears.
They will come,
I know.
But first I must let go.
Roots and wings.
Beginnings and endings and beginnings again.
I take comfort
that my child, now a young man,
is loved by the Lord.
Completely. Perfectly. Sacrificially. Totally.
Loved.
Monday, August 19, 2013
The Suit
There's no 5 by 7 recipe card with his name on it saying that it even was his, nor is there a name on a 5 by 7 card saying who donated it, but the suit in the museum, the suit that he wore in the Korean War, was My Dad's. I'm guessing that it's not even called a suit, but the army green jacket matches the army green pants, so I'm calling it a suit.
Today, when I went to the museum to pick up DD for lunch, I went early so I would have time to peruse some photo albums. I was delighted to see a picture from a parade in 1977 - a picture of a float. On that float, along with 3 other war veterans, was My Dad and he was wearing that suit - the army green suit that is on display in the museum where his namesake is working for the summer.
I doubt anyone else who has looked at it, or will look at it, could be as excited about that suit as I am. But I am a bit of a family historian buff. And so, stuff like that is important to me. My Dad wore that suit, and as far as I know, it is the only piece of clothing left of My Dad's with the exception of maybe a tie that Mom gave to Dad's cousin's husband after Dad died. The only time I saw Dad wearing that green suit was in that parade in 1977.
There was a young couple in the library today. They were also family historian buffs. They were living in a different province, but stopped in to look through local history books to see if they could find anything about her family - a family from a neighboring town. The excitement of discovering pictures of her family mounted with every familiar face they discovered in the history books. They left here on a mission of going to that town to see if they could buy a history book. I hope there were still some copies available for them to get their hands on.
I still miss My Dad, but I'm grateful for the treasure of that green suit that is tucked away in our quaint little museum.
Today, when I went to the museum to pick up DD for lunch, I went early so I would have time to peruse some photo albums. I was delighted to see a picture from a parade in 1977 - a picture of a float. On that float, along with 3 other war veterans, was My Dad and he was wearing that suit - the army green suit that is on display in the museum where his namesake is working for the summer.
I doubt anyone else who has looked at it, or will look at it, could be as excited about that suit as I am. But I am a bit of a family historian buff. And so, stuff like that is important to me. My Dad wore that suit, and as far as I know, it is the only piece of clothing left of My Dad's with the exception of maybe a tie that Mom gave to Dad's cousin's husband after Dad died. The only time I saw Dad wearing that green suit was in that parade in 1977.
There was a young couple in the library today. They were also family historian buffs. They were living in a different province, but stopped in to look through local history books to see if they could find anything about her family - a family from a neighboring town. The excitement of discovering pictures of her family mounted with every familiar face they discovered in the history books. They left here on a mission of going to that town to see if they could buy a history book. I hope there were still some copies available for them to get their hands on.
I still miss My Dad, but I'm grateful for the treasure of that green suit that is tucked away in our quaint little museum.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Overwhelmed
The past few weeks have been a test for me of trust; a test that I feel I have passed. It's easy to trust in the Lord when things are going good. For most of my life everything has been good.
But, when life throws a glitch, then what?
For me, I still trust. My Jesus is trustworthy.
I recorded an original song a few years back proclaiming this trust- a song called "our Hope". It was based on Psalm 33 : 20-22. I still proclaim that hope in the Lord and my unwavering trust in Him.
This past week I determined that I would go through whatever path the Lord wanted me to travel. His ways are the best after all. And while on that path I have experienced overwhelming support of family and friends. I was, and am in awe, of the phone calls, visits, encouragement and love that I have received from those dear people who the Lord has set in my path.
The phone calls and prayers from people who don't usually call lifted my spirits. Thank you so much!
I have really experienced the hands and feet of Christ from many and for that alone I would not change the weeks on wondering that I have went through. People truly care and that overwhelms me.
This morning, I was reading from Proverbs 15 and a verse popped out at me - verse 30:
"A twinkle in the eye means joy in the heart,
and good news makes you feel fit as a fiddle."
I'm happy to report that I was the recipient of good news. My doctor received the results of the biopsy yesterday and there is no cancer. I am, according to Proverbs 15:30 - "fit as a fiddle!"
And while myself and my dear family are rejoicing over my good news, I am having mixed feelings. Because while all is well here- now- some people I know have been receiving bad news. And I want to encourage you to pray for them. I want my friends to experience, overwhelmingly, the hands and feet of Christ the way I have.
A friend from college is waiting for her husband to come out of surgery as I am writing this. He unexpectedly had a heart attack the other day. She needs to be overwhelmed by the prayers of people who care.
Dear Son's friend from soccer is undergoing cancer surgery today- a 20 hour surgery from what I hear. His tumour that showed up a few years ago just reared its ugly cancer head again. That family need to be overwhelmed by the prayers of people who care.
My co-worker's husband fell off a ladder yesterday and broke some bones badly. Swelling needs to go down before surgery can take place. They need to be overwhelmed by the prayers of people who care.
Since I received my 'good report' I can't help but wonder, "why me?"
When so many people are going through such difficulties, why am I spared? I believe it's so I can be someone who can overwhelm others by praying.
But, when life throws a glitch, then what?
For me, I still trust. My Jesus is trustworthy.
I recorded an original song a few years back proclaiming this trust- a song called "our Hope". It was based on Psalm 33 : 20-22. I still proclaim that hope in the Lord and my unwavering trust in Him.
This past week I determined that I would go through whatever path the Lord wanted me to travel. His ways are the best after all. And while on that path I have experienced overwhelming support of family and friends. I was, and am in awe, of the phone calls, visits, encouragement and love that I have received from those dear people who the Lord has set in my path.
The phone calls and prayers from people who don't usually call lifted my spirits. Thank you so much!
I have really experienced the hands and feet of Christ from many and for that alone I would not change the weeks on wondering that I have went through. People truly care and that overwhelms me.
This morning, I was reading from Proverbs 15 and a verse popped out at me - verse 30:
"A twinkle in the eye means joy in the heart,
and good news makes you feel fit as a fiddle."
I'm happy to report that I was the recipient of good news. My doctor received the results of the biopsy yesterday and there is no cancer. I am, according to Proverbs 15:30 - "fit as a fiddle!"
And while myself and my dear family are rejoicing over my good news, I am having mixed feelings. Because while all is well here- now- some people I know have been receiving bad news. And I want to encourage you to pray for them. I want my friends to experience, overwhelmingly, the hands and feet of Christ the way I have.
A friend from college is waiting for her husband to come out of surgery as I am writing this. He unexpectedly had a heart attack the other day. She needs to be overwhelmed by the prayers of people who care.
Dear Son's friend from soccer is undergoing cancer surgery today- a 20 hour surgery from what I hear. His tumour that showed up a few years ago just reared its ugly cancer head again. That family need to be overwhelmed by the prayers of people who care.
My co-worker's husband fell off a ladder yesterday and broke some bones badly. Swelling needs to go down before surgery can take place. They need to be overwhelmed by the prayers of people who care.
Since I received my 'good report' I can't help but wonder, "why me?"
When so many people are going through such difficulties, why am I spared? I believe it's so I can be someone who can overwhelm others by praying.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Stitches
When I was in grade 3 I had my appendix out. The doctor, Dr. Ramiya, strangely smelled my breath and said, "She needs her appendix out." How could he smell that? Hmm...
Anyway, some time after, after spending a week in the hospital in my home town, and then after some time at home, it was time for the stitches to come out. Back in 1972 stitches didn't dissolve on their own. And so, Mom, and possibly even Dad, took me back to the hospital for the procedure.
Dr. Ramiya came into the room where I was laying on the table. I'm pretty sure there was a nurse in the room too. And Mom. I remember the pain of the moment. He grabbed the end of the 'thread' and yanked. Not gently. No warning. Just 'yank!' Apparently the 'stitches' was 1 long 'stitch'. 1 long piece of stitch thread came out. My head spun. My nausea danced. I almost fainted. That hurt! I never forgot that hurt. Fortunately all the other stitches that I've had put in my body have been held together by dissolvable stitches. And they were all put 'in' when I was 'out'.
Except for Easter 2002. Well, the day before Easter actually. Dear Son, who was 5 at the time, wanted to play ball. I was up to bat. DS was the pitcher. Man! Could he ever pitch. I didn't even see the ball coming. The pain in my mouth immediately after he wound up alerted me to the fact that he had already pitched. And so I went for stitches. "Oh!" my doctor said as he looked at me, "Oh, this might hurt a little when I put the freezing in..." I'm learning to be wary of his warnings of 'might hurt a bit.." Honestly though, it didn't hurt. I ended up with stitches in my lip and it swelled really big and I was due to sing the next morning at church with a swollen, sore lip! The stitches were dissolvable though.
Today I went up to the health care centre in my little town to have my stitch removed from the biopsy. The nurse was so kind. "Is this from a lumpectomy?" she asked. "No- biopsy," I replied. The gloves came on, the tweezers came out, and the stitch was removed. No pain. No nausea. No fainting.
I left and walked out into the beautiful sunshiny summer day.
I wish the stitch removal was also the end of the waiting for results. Closure would be nice. But still I wait. And still I am prayed for. And still I trust in the Lord, the Lord who is the One who heals. The One who knows me better than I know myself wants my trust. And so I give it to Him. Wholeheartedly. Stitch scars and all...
Anyway, some time after, after spending a week in the hospital in my home town, and then after some time at home, it was time for the stitches to come out. Back in 1972 stitches didn't dissolve on their own. And so, Mom, and possibly even Dad, took me back to the hospital for the procedure.
Dr. Ramiya came into the room where I was laying on the table. I'm pretty sure there was a nurse in the room too. And Mom. I remember the pain of the moment. He grabbed the end of the 'thread' and yanked. Not gently. No warning. Just 'yank!' Apparently the 'stitches' was 1 long 'stitch'. 1 long piece of stitch thread came out. My head spun. My nausea danced. I almost fainted. That hurt! I never forgot that hurt. Fortunately all the other stitches that I've had put in my body have been held together by dissolvable stitches. And they were all put 'in' when I was 'out'.
Except for Easter 2002. Well, the day before Easter actually. Dear Son, who was 5 at the time, wanted to play ball. I was up to bat. DS was the pitcher. Man! Could he ever pitch. I didn't even see the ball coming. The pain in my mouth immediately after he wound up alerted me to the fact that he had already pitched. And so I went for stitches. "Oh!" my doctor said as he looked at me, "Oh, this might hurt a little when I put the freezing in..." I'm learning to be wary of his warnings of 'might hurt a bit.." Honestly though, it didn't hurt. I ended up with stitches in my lip and it swelled really big and I was due to sing the next morning at church with a swollen, sore lip! The stitches were dissolvable though.
Today I went up to the health care centre in my little town to have my stitch removed from the biopsy. The nurse was so kind. "Is this from a lumpectomy?" she asked. "No- biopsy," I replied. The gloves came on, the tweezers came out, and the stitch was removed. No pain. No nausea. No fainting.
I left and walked out into the beautiful sunshiny summer day.
I wish the stitch removal was also the end of the waiting for results. Closure would be nice. But still I wait. And still I am prayed for. And still I trust in the Lord, the Lord who is the One who heals. The One who knows me better than I know myself wants my trust. And so I give it to Him. Wholeheartedly. Stitch scars and all...
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