Recipes

Dear Mom -

I can no longer feel your arms embrace me, in joy or in sorrow. I can't ask you to hold my hand as I sit fearful in the waiting room while Sydney has surgery, I can't lean on you as we struggle through hard financial times or benefit from the wisdom of your experience. I can't stand next to you in church and hear your beautiful voice as you sing Amazing Grace or any of your other favorite hymns. It's been sixteen years since you left us, sixteen years of our family growing and going on without your physical presence. We have missed you, we continue to do so, but you taught us to carry on, to struggle through the dark to find the light, you left a legacy in what you taught us, and you left your warmth in a little, flowered, metal box.

Thank you for all the recipes. I know your love of cooking, I know your love of creating in the kitchen. I remember you there from very early on, creating, the smells, the wonders that would come out of the kitchen, no matter where we lived, you had your Kitchenaide, your Cuisinart, and so many cookbooks, but most of all, you had your little box. I've fought with Nic over your box, I've taken it and kept it, Nic has built his library of cookbooks and his culinary knowledge, I have explored your box through the years. Every Thanksgiving, your love is on the table and surrounding me as I prepare Oyster Stuffing, lately I have prepared my own cranberry sauce, using the basics from your favorite Cranberries Hubert, I've prepared the pumpkin pie recipe you used every year, I've not yet attempted Grandma's Tarts, but then I never really cared for them anyway. I've made coffee cake using the Kitchen Dough, your cornbread is a hit with everyone I've baked it for, I've prepared Lime Green Jello Salad so many times I can recite it from memory. All these things, warm my heart, and take my mind back to a time when you were here, standing in a caftan in the kitchen, preparing these meals for us. I remember with fondness each year watching JFK with you and chopping the oysters, well anyone who knew your twisted humor knows the connection you made between the two. This morning you warmed both my heart and my belly when I made your buttermilk pancakes, I'm sure that a butter milk pancake recipe is pretty standard, but this one is different. It's in your hand, it's on the back of one of your little note papers that used to be in the Coca-Cola tin. I had to cut it in half to adjust for my family's appetite, but when I bit into it, I savored the memory as well as the flavor.

I am thankful that you wrote so many of these favorites down, and that I have your special box to go through time and again. I wish you had written down the recipe for Spanish Rice, I can't seem to find just the right combination anywhere, and besides, no one seems to sell "Grandma's peppers" anyway. I miss you daily, I envy those who have their mothers for so much longer and when I hear someone complaining, I think of how fortunate they are to have her to complain about.

The baker, the cook, their recipes are their legacy, living long after they are gone. The love that went into the preparation of family favorites is felt each time we prepare the sweet and savory goodies, it's a way to mourn, to remember, to reconnect.

Be thankful, praise God through darkness and light.

The Sun is Coming Out

Remember those commercials for some antidepressant that visualized depression as a cloudy day and the lifting of depression through use of said antidepressant as a sunny day? Well that's kind of how I'm feeling these days, don't know that it's all the new antidepressant that I started on Friday, maybe it's got some to do with the new anti diabetic medication I started at the same time, maybe it's just having some hope that these two will help me to be a little less anxious, less scared, less suspicious of others. I wrote here late last year about going to counseling and being ready to actually accomplish something with it. I wrote here too about finishing counseling and feeling pretty good about it. It helped, but there was still that self doubt, that "nobody likes me" feeling. I recall my mother feeling the same way, I recall her telling me when I was about 16 that nobody liked her. I sang that song to her, you know the one, "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms..." She'd never heard that song before, she smiled her beautiful smile, and climbed back in bed.

Depression, it entangles the good, it warps our views of ourselves and of the way others view us. For me, it warps my value of myself, my ability to see that my girls are happy and healthy and that my family loves me, even if we have lives which keep us busy and apart. The sun is starting to peek from behind these big dark clouds, the sun is coming out for me.

In an Instant

Yesterday I went outside and looked at the sky. The Thunderbird's flew overhead, looping, speeding, playing. They are amazing! All day at work we listened as planes flew around us, 450 mile an hour, so many spectators filing in the gates all day. I can see all that from my office at work, I love the air races, many years I've sat and watched as the old planes climbed high in the sky, daredevils plummeting quickly toward the earth, swooping up just in time. I've sat in those box seats, many years ago with Sydney. I've been on that field and right outside the airport for over a decade as the races took place. The traffic is frustrating to navigate through when everyone is out there, the planes flying overhead for days is loud, the buildings rattling and not being able to hear people calling in make work hard to endure. In an instant today, all that ceased to matter. In an instant, I was reminded how insignificant all those annoyances are.

The pilot who died today had been flying for nearly his entire life, yet today was his last flight. For nearly 40 years, spectators have sat and watched those races, less than 20 casualties have occurred in the history of the event, that is until today. Today there are at least 20 families without their loved ones, tonight there is the family of the pilot, the families of people who don't yet know the fate of their loved ones.

Remember to be thankful every second, because life can change, in an instant.

Dreams

Brooklyn is very talkative in the morning. Of course I can't understand most of it, but as she talks I notice that she sounds like she is telling a story. It's not usually the same thing over and over again, the "words" are varied. What is she telling me? I wonder...

Does Grandma Linda sing her off to sleep, play the piano with Brooklyn on her lap, tell her stories, bake bread for her, or take her to the park and spin her on the merry-go-round? Does she prepare a big picnic and take Brooklyn and Sydney to the pool for the day?

Does Grandpa Jim take her on his shoulders and walk tall and proud through the streets with her? Pointing out all the stars in the sky, the beauty that is in the world. Does he take her to Great Grandpa Bob's house and go hiking behind the house, take her fishing or do they just rough house? I hope that they do.

Farewell

And in Christ, there is no end

So I'll hold onto Jesus with all that I have

To see you again

-MercyMe "Homesick"

Grandma,

Thank you for loving me, for holding my hand, for being patient when I was grieving, for celebrating with me the births of my children, for listening when I was lost, and for being my ground when I needed it, my cheering section when I was working for something, and my cookbook when I wanted to make cookies or just talk. Thank you for all that you are and all that you have passed to me. I hope you are at peace and that you are with Pops and all those who went on before you. I say not goodbye here, but I say "I'll see you someday" I know that those who God calls home before us are never far from us, I know that you are there looking over all of us and continuing to encourage us to carry on. -Ginny

Heart

I suppose I ought to put down somewhere just how much my heart is aching over our move. We've been here for four and a half years, that is longer than I have ever lived in one place, ever in my life. I've hosted brownie troop meetings, buried a couple of hamsters, survived a rough pregnancy, hosted friends and family, watched my Sydney get taller and taller as she comes through the door. I've nursed her broken arms, her broken leg, her hurt feelings, I've fallen further and further in love with Al, and best of all of that, we brought Brooklyn home last summer to this little house. It's not much, just four walls, four old walls at that. Birds live in the roof and spring after spring they lay their eggs hatch their birds and then the little things can't make it out from under the eaves and end up falling to their deaths in the back yard. The back yard is full of weeds, because nothing else that I've planted there would grow. The garage is small, the bathroom is poorly ventilated, the kitchen makes one claustrophobic. I've made a life long friend since I lived in this house, met her because she used to live next door, I've even learned to appreciate the numerous dogs that now live there and learned that even though I don't share their love of dogs I can appreciate that they are a part of her family. I've watched the tree next door get bigger and bigger and provide shade to my bedroom, I've watched the children across the street grow just as I've watched my own. My heart is breaking that we are moving, and yet I tell my Sydney that it's just a house, we can be home anywhere. I know that's true, I know that no matter where the four of us live, we will be a family, it isn't this house that made us that way. Next Wednesday we will load Jon's truck up as many times as it takes and move our life to a little apartment. Sydney and Brooklyn, for the first time in their lives, have to share a room. Well that's ok, because really, the room is bigger than the ones they have on their own combined, most nights Brookie is in my bed anyway, and occasionally, so Syd is too. Maybe I should take that big bedroom and just put their beds in there? Nah! Al and I will take the smaller bedroom, we'll be a little crowded, but gee, it's rare that we're actually in the room at the same time anyway with his working graveyard and me on a traditional Monday - Friday 8 - 5. We will no longer be in a little neighborhood with no sidewalks and fast cars and places that it is scary to walk, we'll be in central Sparks, near the Boys and Girls club, the flea market, the drive in theater, and some grocery stores, thrift stores and a park. The places to walk will be flat, there is an exercise room, and with any luck, the pool will be repaired when we move in. There is a daycare if we decide that Brooklyn needs more than the home daycare where she is.

I've lost loved ones before, experienced grief and pain like I could never have imagined, and I keep telling myself that from pain there is growth, that from every loss I have gained somehow, I know that this will be no different, and this really is just a house, but I'm hurting right now, and I guess I had to admit that to myself so that I could get on with it.

Changes

I HATE CHANGE! Sometimes though, it is for the best. I have lived in my house for nearly 5 years now. I've accumulated much stuff, I hate the upkeep on the outside, detest the fact that there is no air conditioning, and my most favorite thing in the world to do, swim, is not easily accessible here. Yet, because I also hate to pack up and move, like most people, and because my ex-coworker owns the house, I stayed here. Then we brought the baby home and I fixed up her room, the first baby among my brothers and I to actually have a nursery to come home to. I've planted trees and shrubs here, I've literally and figuratively put down roots here in this house. Now I've got to move, I know that this move is better financially for our family, and there is also a belief that being able to sprawl out so in our house has allowed us to become less cohesive than we once were. The activities that are easily available where we are moving to hopefully will bring us back together. It may come at a bad time, Sydney has reached puberty, the hormones fly around abundantly, but for the summer at least, we will have a place for them to be released. I'm scared that we aren't doing the right thing, we've decided to move our little family into a two bedroom apartment, but I know families larger than ours that were raised in tiny two bedroom houses and are perhaps, all the closer for it. So here we go, with God as our captain, off on another adventure. Now, I could see more clearly the possibility this holds, if I could keep the tears from clouding my vision.

Avoidance

Avoidance is a way of managing conflict. I've been studying it over the last five weeks in my communications class, but I've been utilizing it for most of my life. My grandmother called me the day after Valentines day to tell me that she had a tumor that must be removed, that it was cancer. She had the surgery and they were unable to remove the tumor. When she called me to tell me that she had the cancer in the first place, I began to process the information, knowing that over the years I had not maintained relationships with the rest of my mother's family well enough that I would feel comfortable contacting them to get updates about my grandmother's condition. I spoke to my grandmother about a week ago, she told me that they had not gotten all the cancer and that it had spread to other areas of her body, I had already heard this from my aunt and my cousin, both of whom were kind enough to give me some details. I didn't know what else to say to her. I know the chances of her beating cancer at her age are significantly lower than someone younger, I know that she is a very independent person who has told me time and again that she does not want to spend her final years as an invalid, so from that moment in February when she told me about the tumor, I began to pray, I pray that my grandmother is able to enjoy some independence for the rest of her life. I pray that if the cancer is the reason for her death, that she will not spend a long time in agonizing pain. I praise the Lord that I am blessed with a beautiful and courageous woman as my grandmother, one that I was able to learn from and socialize with through my life, even though I was not able to live down the street from her. I praise the Lord for the knowledge that death is not the end, but only a pause until we are together again in Heaven where we can enjoy each other's company without the stresses and strains of daily life. Oh, but back to avoidance, I am feeling mentally prepared for bad news, but there are yet some hurdles for me to jump, because I haven't picked up the phone again to call and find out how she is. My cousin posted on her blog that my grandmother may have as little as three months to live, but because I am still a little afraid of the tears that will come with the confirmation of that, I have not picked up the phone or sent an e-mail to understand that statement further. Perhaps it is because it is enough for me to know that my once weekly, and lately monthly, phone calls will no longer be answered, perhaps it is because I don't know how to put into words what I feel. It is different for me than it is for the rest of my mother's family, I'm sure, I have been disconnected from the flock for most of my life, and try as I might to rejoin, I've been unable to do so. How to overcome this block I have in my mind, I'm pondering this, eventually I will come to an answer, hopefully before the opportunity has passed.

Accountability

In reflecting on my life and how to improve those things which I want to improve upon, I've realized that it has been a very long time since I was accountable to someone. I generally make my rules up as I go along, make little promises along the way and those I do make to myself and to others, while I have the best of intentions, I am pretty bad at following through on. So, in saying that and in considering my rediscovered faith and dedication in living my life the way God has planned, I am accountable to Him. Well, I need a little, erm, maybe a lot of help, and I've been thinking that I'm probably not the only one. SO, on Sunday morning I woke up in a panic, well Syd starts baseball next Saturday and it was raining on Sunday after the snow had mostly melted and the baseball gear was, well where else, in the back yard under the melted snow and now it was getting even wetter. Accountability, I had not followed through when Syd said she was going out to get her stuff a week ago. So out I went, I found a ball and a bat. Here comes Al, he says, what about the gloves, so he finds one wet glove, it is getting dryer as the week goes by, and Syd comes home, and finds the bag and the other glove, so now they are drying. I really hope I don't have to replace that stuff, it isn't free after all.
Back to the subject here, now this is just one of the MANY available examples of how not following through is costly. So, I realized that I've pretty much been moving through life with very little idea of what direction I'm headed on a daily basis. Ever try to get to a new destination without a map, not too easy. So, I began by laying out some goals for Sunday, I accomplished a few, and a few are still in progress.

• Clean Sydney's room Getting there
• Clean Brooklyn's room Done
• Finish homework Done
• The list goes on, but I'll stop here I suppose, it's just a bunch of boring stuff, point is that I accomplished about half.

So I'll keep trying, I recall my cousin asking me once where I wanted to be in 5 years. The answer was "Walking Sydney to Kindergarten" Well, I accomplished that, 6 years ago, might be time to work a little harder. So here I go.

It's working

I chose the field of communications in which to pursue my Bachelors Degree because I figured that at the very least it would be interesting and it may improve my ability to develop interpersonal relationships and to understand that I'm not so different from everyone else. It's working, today I met with a new daycare provider, interviewed her and hired her. I was also able to ask a question that I was afraid would make another person uncomfortable and found that the interaction wasn't so hard afterall.

So baby B will go to a home daycare two days a week and Al will get the sleep that he has thus far refused to admit he needs. So we will be putting out more money than we have before, but really the cost is not too over the top and we can afford it.

Nearly March, ALREADY?

Oh well, I forgot that I'd written about going back to counseling. Of course, I can't remember much sometimes. HA, that is actually getting much better. I did finish counseling. I went weekly at first, then bi-weekly, then waited over a month to go to the last session. It helped so very much and I dealt with some old issues and the new ones that were going on with work. Heres what I accomplished between my first appointment and my last.

• Continued to renew my faith in Christ, I am not going to church weekly, not even monthly, but I worship daily through time spent reflecting, time spent praising, and time spent reminding myself that I am loved and BEAUTIFUL and that the Lord walks with me all the time.
• I came to an understanding of my conflicts with the things going on at work and "unhooked" from all the drama
• Because I finally "unhooked" I had the courage to apply for a job that I've been eyeing for 18 months, and I was hired for the job.
• Started the job, and have made numerous new friends.
• Got through CHRISTMAS, THANKSGIVING, and the ANNIVERSARY, without tears of sorrow. This is the first time since becoming an orphan at 18 that I have done this.
• No longer suffering from memory lapses (well nothing out of the ordinary) heartburn, stomach aches, head aches, or days spent at work without speaking.
• Finished three more classes towards my Bachelors in Communications.

Counseling is wonderful, the Lord is wonderful. I am blessed to have a wonderful family, good friends, both new and old, and a good life.

On a sad note, my dear Grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. I pray for her to not suffer, that the time she has left is peaceful and that she has more than the two years that are estimated. We hope to be able to visit her at least one last time, but this is in the hands of the Lord.