Sunday, October 28, 2012

A Favorite Recipe

A salad, she requested.  
Needs to feed fifteen.  
Have it at the church by noon.


Why did I volunteer to do this?
I really don't like making salads--
Preferring cut up fresh fruits and vegetables to mixtures with dressings.
Not wanting to drive to the grocery store for ingredients, 
I open the cupboard and ponder the ingredients.  
Let me see:


2 boxes of jello
     One is cherry, one is raspberry--sugar free.
     Fruit is good and most appreciate sugar free.


I mix them together, add two boiling cups of water and stir, stir, stir.  
Opening the refrigerator, I explore and find just what I need.

1/2 carton of frozen strawberries
1/2 jar of canned peaches
1 orange


While cutting up the peaches and peeling the orange, my mind flips back fifty years plus to my first 4-H demonstration--the peeling of oranges and grapefruits.  I add the pieces, along with the mushy strawberries to the jello liquid and still wonder why my good friend, Linda, laughed through the entire experience.


I examine my "salad."

Hmmm--not enough to feed fifteen.

Going back to the refrigerator, I pull out
1 apple and 2 carrots.
Feeling smart, I chop them to little bits with my Pampered Chef Food Chopper and stir them into the jello mixture.

. . . . . a little crunch in the jello should be good, and the apples and carrots provide additional color.  Somewhat meager.  However, enough to feed 15--especially those with meager appetites.  Those with bigger appetites don't usually eat jello, anyway.

 Do they?


I pull a tulip-shaped glass bowl from the cupboard, again feeling smart.
The small bottom will fill up and make the salad look larger than it really is.

Wanting to prevent red, sticky splashes on my counter top, I carry both bowls to the sink.  Tipping the tulip bowl toward the plastic mixing bowl, I transfer the liquid from the plastic bowl to the tulip bowl and watch in mild-horror as 1/4 of the mixture splashes into the sink and rushes to the drain. 

A mild expletive pops into my head, and, then, reconsidering, I decide this is a good time to not speak to myself.

I return to the cupboard and pull out
1 box of vanilla pudding (serves 4).

I mix the pudding and after the jello has solidified in the refrigerator, I frost the top with the pudding mixture knowing that four more servings have been added to my salad-- replacing the servings that disappeared down the drain and garbage disposal. 

Hmmmm... still looks just a bit skimpy.

Somewhat exasperated, I return to the refrigerator and search.
A Reddi-wip--"real cream"-- can grabs my attention. 
I shake it and squirt a decorator lump in the middle of the frosted jello salad.

Checking out the nutrition facts, I see that it has "about 37" servings per container.  

I smile.

Setting the Reddi-wip next to the jello bowl in the refrigerator, I'm ready to leave my salad at the church.  Hopefully, a time when no one else is there. 



Proverbs 17:22--A cheerful heart is good medicine . . .





Sunday, October 21, 2012

Mother's Vanity



Marjorie June (8th grade graduation)


 Marjorie June grew up during the depression moving from farm to farm and living sometimes with extended family. She enjoyed the occasional dogs and cats that wandered unto their place and dreamed of getting married, having a family, and living on a farm of her own.




Her father was a seed-corn dealer, and as a young woman it was
Marjorie June (HS graduation)
common for her to help out in the fields as needed.

Vanity?  
I'm not sure she had time for such thoughts, stylish clothes or even a mirror to consider all this.

Vaseline on her eyebrows and lips and a little face powder were her only makeup applications.  





She met my father at a church gathering and fell in love before he left to serve in World War II. Letters were written and a relationship made more precious by the country's circumstances was formed. Mom made a wedding dress out of white wool and waited. Dad returned home with a silver medal and a gold star--perhaps a somewhat changed man. Vows were exchanged in a simple ceremony.
Mr. and Mrs.



After a brief honeymoon, they moved to the family farmstead. Used furniture filled the house; however, a new bedroom set which included a chest of drawers, a bed with head and end boards, and a vanity with a mirror the width of the dressing table were purchased.




She must have felt like a princess--
married to a veteran,
living in the country
with her own dog,
and a new bedroom set
with a vanity to boot
in the old farm house.

In my earliest memories of the vanity,
I see a matching hand mirror,
brush and comb--
all placed on a doily
which covered the
always shining surface.
And, nothing else.


The front drawers held personal  items--a bundle of letters from her husband written while he was over-seas, nightgowns, and socks.

Only dressing-up on Sunday mornings, I see her checking her reflection in the large mirror. Was the vertical line on her hosiery straight? Was her slip showing? And, her hat, was it at the right angle; should she pull the netting over her face or shift it back over the hat?

As a soon-to-be-mom, I picture her in the early morning--after her husband has gone out to chores--looking in the vanity mirror and studying the changes in her young body as her pregnancy progressed.


Months later, 
I visualize her sitting on the bed 
holding a new born 
and staring at this 
new image of herself.  
A mother with a miracle.

A two year old and a three year old.




A year, then another, and yet another slipped by. A nicely framed picture of the family children settled in one spot on her vanity along with products from the Watkins man, socks needing darning, and a pattern or two. A cluttered surface that no longer needed dusting. 
My brother and I with a new brother!










The surface items evolved as one year lapsed into another to include a stack of diapers neatly folded, Sunday School lessons, and an updated picture or two of what was happening in the family.

When Mom was busy with the cleaning, baking, and meal preparation in the kitchen, the important papers were shuffled into their bedroom and unto the vanity. I wonder if she ever took time to ponder her image and wonder what she had gotten herself into.
And, then, there were four... surrounding Grandpa Harry.

The only time the clutter disappeared occurred when Aunt Gladys visited from California. In my eyes, Aunt Gladys, my mother's only sister, was a woman of the world. Within an hour of her arrival, her suitcase would be plopped on the bed in my parent's bedroom with her seated on one side and me on the other and the question, "Want to see my shoes?"

I'd slip on her shoes, drape her colorful outfits across my shoulders and dream of growing up and owning fancy outfits of  my own. I remember studying the two of us--our reflections--as we shared the suitcase contents.

As I grew older, I would ask my mother, "Can I use the mirror?"  It was the only full length mirror in the house. Entering the bedroom, I would close the door part way not wanting to draw the attention of any of my five brothers.

Was my slip showing?  
Did my hair look right? 
 Did this blouse and skirt really match?  
Standing on my tip-toes,
 I wished my legs were longer.



A Sunday morning picture, another brother, and a new baby.


The vanity stayed cluttered, but the contents continued to change over the years. The Watkins man stopped coming to our house; the Avon lady took his place. Tubes of hand lotion (buy one/get one free), miscellaneous birthday and anniversary cards, pages torn from magazines with articles worth keeping blanketed the matching brush, comb, and mirror set along with a smattering of the boys' school pictures and a stack of cloth diapers--always neatly folded.






One year folded into another.
The family picture changed.





My parents moved off the farm and into town.
The furniture went with them--
including the bedroom set they bought as newly weds.







The most recent family picture was moved to a new spot--a bookshelf in the living room--along with numerous pictures of the grandchildren.




The vanity surface now supported a box of tissues, miscellaneous items bought on sale from the local dollar stores, new books ordered through the mail, and a prescription or two.

The yearly Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings passed--with a houseful of conversation, food, and energy for a couple of days and then quiet again in my parents' home. Decades passed. The family grew. We had to sit on the floor amongst the grandchildren's blocks and books. The only quiet place was Mom and Dad's room with the visiting coats stacked high on their bed.

Mom was diagnosed with a rare cancer in her eighties.  
Who did she see now when she looked in her vanity mirror?  
What did she remember?  
What were her thoughts?
Did she even take the time to look?
She said little. 





I came to stay for a week before her death.
Her appearance no longer mattered.
Daily, she wore the same clothes and shoes
and shrugged her shoulders when asked
a question.

After helping her into bed one night,
I scanned their bedroom. As usual,
my mom was a "stacker," and clutter reigned
--except for the top of the vanity.

One picture remained--
my college graduation picture.





Although filled with furniture, her wedding dishes and silverware, her many books and magazines, the house felt empty after her death. Months later, Dad decided to try assistive living and told us to take what we wanted. Although there were a few antiques of value, I wanted only the vanity with the large mirror that had witnessed so much of life.

Now taking residence in my home, my mom's vanity holds my pajamas, my socks, and my favorite CD's.  The surface displays a picture of my husband and me and is often dusty.



And,
whenever I take time
to look into that large mirror,
I
see
me
and
remember
her.






Man is like to vanity; his days are as a shadow that passeth away.
   Psalm 144:4



Micah, a book in the Old Testament with only seven chapters, asks a significant question in Chapter 6,
 verse 8: . . . what does the Lord require of you?  


To act justly 
and to love mercy
and to walk
humbly
with your God.
Thank you, God, for Mom.





Sunday, October 14, 2012

Shadows



When you think of shadows
   what are your thoughts?



It's that time of the year. The weather turns cool. Jack-o-lanterns, scare-crows, wispy ghost figures, and frightening masks fill your neighborhood.



When I was little and alone, shadows scared me.  With the moon creeping through an upstairs window at night and tree branches scratching the outside walls of the house, goosebumps spread on my arms and legs as the shadows scattered across my bedroom floor. Shadows gave rise to thoughts of other creatures.



However, shadows of a different nature pursued me as I journeyed life...worry, doubt, disappointment, sickness, loneliness, resentment, rejection... you get the picture.
 

We live in a fear-based world, a world where bad news travels at light speed. . . . These are troubled times, times when we have legitimate fears for the future, our nation, our world, and our families.... (Day 165, 365 Daily Devotions for Women)



Keep your face always toward the sunshine. . . and shadows will fall behind you.  Walt Whitman
Tribulation
without trust in an almighty God
separates us
from Him.


.. as Christians we have every reason to live courageously.


 


It is easy to become so wrapped up in our shadows that we fail to seek God's guidance and therefore miss out on the peace that comes only from God.

I have set before you
life and death,
blessing and curse.
Choose life . . .
and remain faithful
to Him.
Deut. 30:19


Say goodbye to your shadows, 
whatever they may be.
Decide to trust.
Let go and let God.

Dear God,
May I reflect your image.  May I be your inseparable companion and follower.  May I never let the shadows in my life separate me from your grace and eternal promise.  
Amen

 







Sunday, October 7, 2012

Retirement-Purpose Plan

It arrived in the Mail--"Social Security--What You Need To Know. . . "
And, somewhat later--"Welcome to Medicare" and "Medicare Basics."

Were we ready?


Even with a college education, I found Medicare basics not basic at all.
Information on Parts A, B, C, D; explanations of a possible penalty;
something about Medicare Advantage Plans; and what to think
about regarding supplemental insurance were presented in brightly
colored fliers and pamphlets.

Daily, the mailbox was full--information over-load.
There were calls advising an appointment with a SHIP representative.
Each with a sense of urgency.
E a s i n g   into retirement was not an option.


This was supposed to be 
a fun time of life--
more carefree, relaxing, serene?










You wanted to see the world.               
But at 8, you couldn't leave the yard.
At 16, you had no car.
At 21, you had no money.
At 34, you had no babysitter.
At 50, Father Time tells you it's too  late....
And you tell him to eat your dust.
    *as seen in a 1995 magazine for GinkGold 







   I tore the full page advertisement out of the magazine 
and attached it to the refrigerator with a magnet.  
I was 48 and still busy
with my children's school activities and work,
but I had visions of
Father Time 
"eating my dust."






Did you know?










 ... that Daniel was 90 years old when he was sent
    to the lion's den?
At 100, Grandma Moses was painting.
At 93, George Bernard Shaw wrote Farfetched Fables.
At 89, Albert Schweitzer headed a hospital in Africa.
At 82, Winston Churchill wrote a History of English Speaking
   People.
At 80, George Burns won an Academy Award for his performance
   in The Sunshine Boys.


Look around your community.  
Retirees are leading Bible studies, 
working for food banks,
volunteering at Habitat for Humanity, 
staying active with their grandchildren's lives 
and making a difference in many ways.

My aunt, Marion, is a role model at 101 years of age.  Called Grandma Whole Wheat by her great grandchildren, she cooks, gardens, and helps care for her household.  When one of her sons expressed a concern about her being alone one evening, she replied, "I'm not alone.  Jesus is with me."

If you have not thought about it yet...
retirement is one's opportunity to
LEAVE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE.

*Be a Grandma Whole Wheat . . . or a Grandma Biker... or--


*Laugh until your tummy hurts...with a grandchild.


 
*Spend part of your vacation with loved ones.






*Re-discover something you used to enjoy.



*Connect! . . in someway and with someone. . .















Even though we are the generation who knew about Studebakers, wash tub ringers, metal ice trays with levers, 45 RPM records and Howdy Doody, we have a lot to offer.  Countless riddles, doubts, tribulations pursue us our entire lives.  Decision-making occurs on a daily basis.  Life changes; the decisions needing to be made change with it.  Although we may yearn for serenity, chaos sometimes reigns.

Are you seeking a new direction,
a renewed sense of peace?

One can be at peace with the direction of your life if you put your trust in God whether you are twenty, thirty, or Medicare age and beyond.  Whatever your age, your life plan, ask God to guide you.



If any of you lack wisdom,
let him ask of God, 
who gives to everyone without 
reserve and without reproach,
and it will be granted him.
   Psalm 32: 8





Dear Lord, 
No matter what my age
or circumstances,
let me accept the grace and peace
that You offer on a daily basis.
Give me a renewed sense of energy
and help me not to be afraid of
trying new things.
You are the giver of all things good, and
You provide peace when I trust your promises.  
                                                 Amen