Reflection

We took a trip to Grandpa's house last weekend. I was talking about my e-reader, my new; and possibly forever; favorite toy. My uncle said "go get it, show grandpa". My dear sweet grandfather is 97 years old. He's done more than I can ever imagine, the world has change in ways through his life that are amazing to me. When my grandfather was born, there was no TV, when he had a job at the filling station, gas was 13 cents a gallon, he played baseball for the equivilent of the minor leagues before he married my grandmother and she told him that he had to go to church, so he quit playing baseball and went to church, he played softball with the church well into his 60s. He had quite the arm as a young man, he passed that on to his children who tried to pass that on to me, I can remember my dad's youngest sister trying to teach me how to throw a soft ball, I'm not too shabby, but nothing in the leagues of Grandpa on his greatest day. My grandpa farmed his land for a long time, I remember the fantastic garden that he had on his acre there in Colfax, the trees that he's cultivated from topping from trees on my eldest aunt's ranch. When my uncle got a package of those seed sheets, the one that are supposed to be so easy to plant, just lay down and water, grandpa made me cut them up into strips and plant them in rows, he sitting in a chair with an umbrella over him while I did the work and my uncle snickered in the corner. He told me to let go when I wanted to hold onto all the stuff from my moms house, he drove me to Reno when I decided to go to school, he took me to task when he felt I was too old to ask for money, but gave it to me anyway because he knew I wouldn't ask if I didn't need it. He never says too much about what he's thinking, but always knows what is important to me, what's going on in my life, and always rides me about taking care of my diabetes and watching my weight. So I went and go the e-reader.
I loaded up a book and handed it over to Grandpa, expecting he would make a cursory glance of the thing and hand it back with a "hmph". No, I was wrong, he took it, reading the enlarged print voraciously, finishing up the first chapter before turning it over and examining it. Handing it back, with a "boy, the things they come up with."
Uncle asked if he wanted one, he said with a smile "I'd sure like that" So, when my mother's sister's sent a generous gift, I went to Best Buy and investigated. I returned yesterday to take him a Kindle Touch 3G. He and my uncle and aunt will have a fun time getting to figure it out, but when I handed it to him, his eyes lit up.
So many people in my life are wonderful role models for myself and my children, what a blessing it is to reach 35 and have my grandfather to go home to, to share the wonders of technology with, and to love. The Lord is good, blessings abound.

Time marches on - Or, Am I Really that OLD?!

I'm usually oblivious to the passing of time. The years between now and 1995 don't seem that many to me. The years between my youth and today, how could there be that many? Last weekend my dear friend says "Why must you always have that old school scruntchie in your hair?"

Old school? Um...

Looking for sympathy I go to work, relate the story to my co-worker, who says, "Well, the only other person I know who still wears them is my mother. Did you know that Sex in the City did a whole episode on how outdated they are?"

Outdated? ME!?

So on the way home, I think, "surely they must be wrong! I'll ask my daughter."

I pick my sixth grader up from the Boys and Girls club, casually checking out the kids there to see if I spot a scrunchie. Nope... I relate the story to my daughter, she replies with "Well, the only other person I know who wears them is A."

A. Is older than me...

We go to Wal-Mart, now I'm furiously searching for someone else sporting the offending object. Oh, there's one, oh surely she is older than me. Oh there's another, wait she has gray hair!

Yep, I've joined the outdated set. I'll admit, I never did pay much mind to what was in and what was out. I just go to the store, replace whatever it is that's worn out, and move on. Time to retire my beloved scrunchies, guess I'll wear a braid from now on, heard from my students that they aren't outdated, yet!

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