Birthday Musings

Jack and Sam

My two nephews are having birthdays March 11 and March 12.  This pic was taken last summer at Kate’s birthday party.  They are gifts to me, given to me by God, right when I needed them:  Jack first, and Sam next.  And they continue to bring me joy and fill my heart with overflowing love.  My thoughts on their births and subsequent celebrations gave rise to thoughts on birthday wisdom I have acquired over the years.

woe is me!

Meme

Don’t worry about getting older.  It’s just a number.   Huff and puff until you blow all your candles out.  Don’t forget to make a wish.  Call in reserves if necessary.

It’s your day to celebrate!  So do it however you want to.

Be creative! make it your way

celebrate overcoming fear

Don’t be afraid to do the things that are exciting.  Hang in there until you muster up the courage to finally pull the string and pop the confetti.

Dress up!
Get on your par-tay clothes and paint the town pink with friends!

girls love make-up

adventures

Get out the paint and the spray and the polish and doody up!  Put on your dancing shoes and dance the night away.

stud muffin Sam

Let that special somebody make a fuss over you.  There’s nothing like celebrating with someone you love.  Or celebrating with someones you love.  Just celebrate!

don't hold back

Tell everyone what you want to do, where you want to go, and what you want for a gift.  Let them know in no uncertain terms.

sweet slumber

And after it’s all over, enjoy a nice, long nap.

And the Winner is…

Bert's basket of good stuff

Yum!  Yum!!  This basket is filled with delicious food from my friend, Alberta:  home-made chicken noodle soup, two turkey sandwich halves, angel food cake with lemon sauce, and a clementine.  She knew I had been sick (forever it seems) and came to see about me and make sure I was still among the living.  I love her!

Bert feeds my cat, Bo, (and any other straggler I may be feeding at the time) when I am gone (or sends hubby to do it).  She comes by in the spring and yanks off all the blooms from the flowers before I can even make the word “Nooooooo!” come out of my mouth (I know it’s for their own good).

Bert and her wonderful hubby

I don’t think I can ever remember a time she didn’t do some little nice something every time she has stopped by my house.  She is a true, good friend, and I can depend on her with my life if I needed to do so.

and I may anyway

So… since I got no response to my potential give-away, (Coming Event: The Give-Away) I am assuming no one is interested in free stuff; free, cool stuff.  Since I know Bert likes free, cool stuff, and since she already participates in person, I think she will win the contest I am starting March 19 and will end March 27.

It will take place those dates because that’s when Rosemary and Maddy can help me pick out something really cool and soon to be really free!

Mrs. Lee

Mrs. Jim Caldwell

Tonight as I read the comments on yesterday’s post, it occurred to me I should have put a picture of Mrs. Lee on here.  She would rather be referred to as Mrs. Jim Caldwell, I am quite sure, because she still loves that man and is still proud to be called his wife.

life-long friends

This was at Mom’s birthday one year, not too many years ago, only two or three before she passed away.  We always tried to bring Lee for the festivities.  She is an optimist, ever looking for a reason to smile.  And to go.  A good lesson by a good woman.

 

Finding Life in Old Pictures

Benny and Brenda across the street from Jim and Lee Caldwell's house.

The last couple of nights I’ve been going through old pictures, less-old pictures, and newer pictures picking out just the right ones for cookbooks I started a year or so ago for my siblings.  In doing that, I can’t help but reminisce, and this photo makes me think about Lee, Mom’s good friend for many, many years. 

Lee lived across the street from us when we were small, she and Jim, her husband, a tall, thin man who loved children.  Lee loves to tell stories about the neighborhood children coming to the house and asking Lee if “Jim could come out and play.”  She would look to him to see if it was a nod or a head shake and respond accordingly.  “Well, for a little while,” or “No, he can’t come out right now.”  The latter response would prompt a frown and the child relating the story to the parent with the addendum that “Lee won’t let Jim come out and play.”  She gets a kick out of telling this story and laughs gleefully.

She also gets a kick out of telling the story about my brother and I coming over to “help” Jim work in the yard.  Benny was six; I was four.  We, as the story goes, (I can’t remember it) were helping with the hard labor of picking up sticks out of the yard.  When it was all said and done, Jim says, “Well, I think that deserves an ice cream cone, don’t you?”  That was back in the day when the town boasted a Dairy Dream, two hardware stores, a dry cleaner, a Five and Dime, three or four clothing stores, a drug store (where we got the most delicious cherry cokes at the counter), a newspaper, at least one car dealership, multiple filling stations, and multiple grocery stores.  Whew!  I know I’m leaving out a bunch of things.  Oh, yeah!  A hospital, a dentist, a bank, the post office; of course, the court house.  And can’t forget the taverns.  There were as many of those as there were churches.  In other words, a real town, a town full of life, a town where people bought and sold from each other, did their living and made their living in the town they lived in. 

But back to that delicious ice cream cone.  It must have been delicious because the next day, Lee says, here comes Benny knocking on the door.  When Jim comes to the door, Benny looks at him and says, “Do you think we better pick up more sticks today?”  And the good man that Jim was, said, “No, I don’t believe we need to today.  But how about we go get an ice cream cone?”

I love that story.  And I love all those good people from my childhood that seem to be disappearing right before my eyes. 

Ms. Lee still lives in the little house you see in the picture, where she has lived for decades.  It looks a little different now with a carport added, a few changes here, a few there.  Go by in the summer and she will be sitting in her swing, ready to regale you with wonderful stories of her youth (The Birger Gang!) or wonderful stories from your youth.

www.carolyar.com/Illinois/Govern/Birger.htm

www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Birger

Coughing and Sneezing… Sneezing and Coughing

Oh, man, I have a terrible cold.  I’m sick and in need of chicken soup, a nice hot bowl of home-made chicken noodle soup.  That sounds so good.  And to be served in bed (because, after all, I still do not have a dining table and chairs).  My eyes are all itchy, and my head hurts from my neck up.  And now, tonight, I’ve started this croupy cough.  Did I mention I’m sick and don’t feel a bit good?

milk tomato soup

When I was small, my mom would make milk-tomato soup.  It sounds pretty nasty now, but that was the best soup ever on those days you had to lay on the couch you were so sick; you couldn’t even get up and play.  I have never been able to make it like Mom, and am disappointed that I let her move to Heaven without getting that recipe down.  She always made it with her home-canned tomatoes… and… milk, I guess. 

I can still remember her rocking me and wiping my forehead with a damp cloth.  It was just so warm and cozy to be in the dark living room looking in at the lighted kitchen as Mom went about making supper in the winter evening.  Mmmm.  Milk-tomato soup with crackers.

I need my Mommy.

♪♪♪ Movin’ On Up… To The Bright Side ♪♪♪

There used to be a sitcom on television called The Jeffersons. 

The Jeffersons

 Their theme song went “movin’ on up, to the East side” because they were coming up in the world to a better financial position.  I love to take little diddies and put a word or two of my own in there to make it mine.  This is one of them.

My movin’ up has nothing to do with being well off monetarily and everything to do with being well off mentally.  It’s been a struggle to move up now for about half my life:  a long, long time.  First was a bad marriage and divorce to overcome while coping with a child not yet diagnosed with schizophrenia, being bewildered at every turn with every psychiatrist from the one who specialized in children to the one that worked for the local health department, and all the others in between; the death of another child’s best friend and the subsequent battle with drug addiction; depression and anxiety problems; the death of my second husband and years of mourning what could have been, what could have been done differently.  Pain… and more pain. 

The only reason I mention those things at all is to tell you about my good, dear friends without whom I could not and cannot live.  They are the reason I am movin’ on up.  They are the rocks that anchor my distraught psyche, the rocks upon which God has set me, the pavilion wherein He has hidden me.  I so totally love them all. 

praying friend

They have prayed my son alive because I am as certain as I sit here that he would have died without their shawl of prayer wrapped around him. 

hugging

 They have wrapped us in their arms as well with hugs that left us giddy with delight and comfort. (You  know who you are, Howard.)  They have come to me in the night, flashlight in hand, when I feared I had run over my little cat, Bo, to look for him, all three kids:  Joseph, Tyler, Emily, and Mom Cheryl.

Dolores (a/k/a Grandma to Kate) gets out in the cold to fetch me a gallon of milk so I don’t have to get the grandgirls out; brings me blog-warming gifts (picture coming soon); and teaches me to be kind and loving and accepting of all people.  Terah, who loves me with agape love that fills my soul with lightness, who makes a way to bring me back from the precipice of darkness, who finds my Eagle’s Nest that I might hide under the shadow of His wing (Psalm 17:8).  Jeri Lyn, who takes my burdens into herself to ease my morbid obsessions, that I might not worry about the evil that could befall my little ones.  Joy, who stood vigil at my husband’s side as he lay dying.  Alberta, who always has my back, always worries about me, always seeing about me.  These are only a few; God gave me many.

The study group who saw me through that first year of extreme sadness; the group God brought together just for me.  Ah, how He loves me.  This group who are now my sisters, these women whom I will forever have a bond.  How I love them. 

my sisters

Yes, I am movin’ on up, to the bright side.  And I say Thank You, Lord.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear?  The Lord is the strength of my life; Of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked came against me to eat up my flesh, my enemies and foes, they stumbled and fell.  Though an army may encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; Though war may rise against me, in this I will be confident.  One thing I have desired of the Lord, that will I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life; to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in His temple.  For in the time of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion; in the secret place of His tabernacle He shall hide me; He shall set me high upon a rock.  And now my head shall be lifted up above my enemies all around me; therefore I will offer sacrifices of joy in His tabernacle; I will sing, yes, I will sing praises to the Lord …  Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the Lord!”  Psalm 27

Mom’s Apron

My mom was a great cook, and so were her three sisters.  Mom was the last one living out of those three good cooks, and she passed away last year, August 1, 2010, at 90 years old.  February 15 she would have been 91; our first birthday without her.  She cooked a lot of meals in those 90 years; started as a young child learning how to cook.  My sisters and brother and my cousins grew up eating Mom’s and the aunts’  vegetable beef soup with egg noodles, and adding their cornbread to our soup bowls.  Mom taught me how to make noodles and dumplings a few years ago when she was too frail to make them herself anymore; sitting at the kitchen table telling me how much flour to put in the bowl; put in the egg or put in the chicken broth; how thin to roll the dough; whether to cut in squares for dumplings or thin strips for noodles.  Wonderful memories.

She always wore an apron when she cooked, coming home from church, in a hurry to get the Sunday dinner on the table, throwing on an apron over her good clothes.  And we always had to eat while it was hot, fresh out of the oven or off the stove.  We always ate together, all six of us, and then five after my older sister left for college and on her own.  All the way to the time we left home… and even after we brought husbands and children back for visits… we always sat down together at the kitchen table to eat our meals.

I have one of her aprons now.

Grandma Madeline’s Beef and Vegetable Soup with Noodles
(as written by my Aunt Alleen)

Ingredients:                           Directions:

Beef chuck roast               Cook chuck roast in boiling water;
potatoes                            till very tender; remove meat and cut in
cabbage                             pieces. Cook in broth. [note: vegetables]
onions                               Add noodles when veg. are done. (can
tomatoes                         cook noodles separately then add to soup.)

Noodles

Flour in bowl, salt.  Make hole in flour.  1 egg, 1/2 egg shell water.  Work to stiff dough.  Roll real thin.  Put a little flour on top.

Serve with hot corn bread.

In an effort to give you a little more help in making this delicious soup, I will try to give you an idea of the amounts per ingredient:

For the soup:
medium-sized chuck roast with enough water to cover well for broth.
4-6 potatoes
half a head of cabbage
1-2 medium onions
small stalk of celery (Mom used to just add the leafy part) the celery leaves can overpower the other vegetables so be careful when using them.
2 cans of tomatoes (Mom always added a can of tomato juice as well; usually a quart jar of her home-canned juice.)
And Mom always added a carrot or two and corn to her soup.  So, naturally, I do too.

For the noodles:
a coffee cup of flour, just dip it in the flour and put it in the bowl.  Rolling the noodles thin is the key.

I now make it with as many vegetables as I want, always leaving room for the noodles to go in at the last.  It may look a little thin until the noodles are added.  Mom never precooked the noodles, and I don’t either.  Use a pizza cutter and cut them long and skinny.  Mom also would make drop noodles on occasion by crumbling the dough into the broth instead of rolling it out and adding noodles to the broth.

Thin-And-Fine Is Fine With Me

My niece, Jill, is hysterically witty and  fun and unique.  She just attracts smileys, fun things out of nowhere.  Sometimes I  sit and reminisce about her and her stories and laugh out loud (LOL) all by myself.

Snow White

She has this little voice, this lilting, melodic, soprano sound —  or maybe it’s just high and squeaky — although after two children and the endless amount of speaking it takes to get them to put their coats away (not counting toys, clothes, food, etc.), the tiny little voice may have deepened.   But the little girl with her Mommy in the department store where Jill worked at the time was enthralled with her… and her voice.  She stood and stared for a long time, listening as Jill talked to the customers, and finally asked, “Are you Snow White?”

hoe

Then there was the co-worker that kept walking by Jill’s desk calling her a “hoe.”  So one day, when Jill had had enough, the girl came by, stood at Jill’s desk, and said, “Hoe.”  Jill looked her in the eye as she finally retorted, “Shovel.”

She also got the Meme hair:  thin and fine.  My mother always complained about her hair and always described it as thin and fine.  When Mom would call the house, my husband would say, “Thin-and-fine’s on the phone.”  So now, with Meme gone, Jill is Thin-And-Fine.

losing it

Or at least she was until the chemo took it, left her head barren and void of any hair at all.  But it couldn’t get her spirit.  Nor could the radiation she had to endure for weeks.  The pain that comes with all the “cure” couldn’t flip her unflappable determination to be well and “kick cancer’s ass” as the flair buttons proclaim.

Last time I talked to her on the phone, she still sounded like Snow White to me, and her facebook page is filled with one-worder witticisms.  Her hair is beginning to grow back, and I can’t wait to see the outcome of the outgrowth!

breast cancer ribbon

http://ww5.komen.org/ (if it doesn’t link, just copy and paste)

flair button

The Queen of The Clan

My sis, Darla, is now the matriarch of our collective family, as well as her own.  We call her “The Queen,”  “Queenie,” and a few other things we try not to let her hear.  We’ve gotten her queen ornaments, queen jewelry, even tried to get her to put Queenie on her license plates.  Occasionally, she balks at being called The Queen, but I think she secretly tries on homemade crowns when she’s alone… and throws robes across her shoulders.   I’ve not personally seen this, mind you, but she carries herself too regally not to practice.

Mom

The Queen Mother, Jack, Queen Mother-In-Training

Before Mom passed away, Dar had been taking control from our mother for several years.  First came moving the holiday gatherings to my sister’s  house because Mom was too frail to have everybody at her house.  Okay.  That made sense.  Then came deciding when we were all going to meet and who was bringing what.  Okay.  That made sense… it was at her house.  Then came the day she started scolding me for something — I’m sure I wasn’t doing anything at all wrong whatsoever and didn’t need a good scolding for whatever I wasn’t doing wrong — and that’s when I knew.

all innocence

The baby of the family had usurped the rightful matriarch heirs (my older sister and myself) (Ben doesn’t count; he’s a guy and has no say-so anyway) and had thrust the Momma Crown right on her own head!  Her regal tone of voice and regal words of wisdom had lulled us into a state of acceptance without our even realizing it.  We had acceded her rise to the Momma Throne as surely as if we had placed her there ourselves.

But what if we really had placed her there ourselves?  Wasn’t she the one who always knew how to get a job for one of us in need?  Weren’t her words those that were just perfect for comforting, encouraging, advising, even scolding?  Was it not she that was always right there when any of us needed something: a hug, a caretaker, an organizer, a cleaning lady, a mover, a prayer warrior, a lighthouse in all our storms?

And weren’t we the ones that always sought her first?  Her wisdom for our worries; her heart for our concerns; her strong back for our labors; her love for our never-ending petitions.

Yes.  The Queen wears her title well.  Little did she know, we’ve had her in training for decades now.

Susannah’s Apron

One of my most favorite apron stories is the one of Susannah Wesley’s apron.  Susannah was the mother of John and Charles Wesley, founders of the Methodist Church, good men.  She was the mother of at least ten children.  So you can imagine how many appetites, big and small, physical and emotional, this mother had to appease, whet, feed.  She had to have plenty of aprons because she had to have done a lot of cooking, carrying eggs in from the chicken coop, wiping snotty noses and dirty faces, hauling fresh vegetables from the garden, or mopping sweat from her brow.  A busy woman.  A good woman.

How do I know that?  Her apron.  Not only did it do duty as a work horse; it was also her prayer room.  As a mother with next to no privacy, (I can’t even imagine having all those children and no dishwasher) she would sit in a rocker and put her apron over her head, the signal for all boys and girls to leave Momma alone for she was entering her time of prayer, her “my space.”  An apron?  In the middle of a chaotic household?  What about “me time”?  Where’s Calgon?  Where’s solitude and put up my feet?

Susannah had a big appetite… for God and His Holiness.  She would sit in her rocker with her apron over her head and pray for her children.  I wonder if they knew to tiptoe around her, giving her the privacy she craved to be alone with her God, to talk with Him, just the two of them together, under an apron.