Several years ago as we were talking over breakfast on our anniversary, the topic came up of regrets. Someone had used the phrase, "I'll always regret that...." and it had triggered a conversation about life's regrets. Hubby looked at me and wondered aloud if I had any "regrets". I thought for a minute and said, "Only one."
The one that popped into my mind was selling my little red MGA. The year before we married I had fallen in love with a little red 1960 MGA convertible at the local car dealer. .(Think the little red car that Elvis drove in Blue Hawaii). My parents, who were doing well to keep me in college, were having nothing to do with the idea that this would be the perfect car. An aunt took pity on my pleas and helped me get the car, with the stipulation that I pay her back as soon as I graduated and got a job.
The little red car ferried me to and from school and was the envy of all my friends and most of the fraternity population. I loved that car. The heater was just a vent straight off the motor and burned your feet up all summer, you had to lug the top up by hand, usually standing in the seat, the windows leaked, it had only a tiny trunk, and blew your hair into knots but I loved driving it.
After graduation we moved to a little town and I started teaching. My first paychecks went to pay my aunt back, as promised. Life was good. I loved teaching and even though I was barely older than my high school students felt I was effective. Then came the day when I realized that my high school boys were waiting for me every morning at my parking place. My first thought was "how nice" then it hit me why they were waiting. I was sitting in my little car, practically flat on the ground. In order to get out, I had to lift my knees and swing out my legs. In those days, teachers had to wear skirts, and in the '70's they weren't very long. So there I sat in my little red car totally unable to get out without giving my students a peep-show!! Eventually, with much twisting, I managed to get into the building, but I knew I had a problem. After much discussion we decided that we had to trade the little red car in on something more respectable.
Years later, my regret was that instead of trading it in, we hadn't kept it. We got almost nothing for it and it would have been such fun to have around now. After laughing about the story, I forgot all about the conversation.
Then, a few years later, Bob surprised me with a gift to celebrate the end of my cancer treatments. Sitting in my drive was a red 1960 MGA, just like the one we sold. He hugged me and handed me the key. "You said once you only had one regret in life. I don't want you to have any. Here's to a life without regrets."
Wow!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Bee Tree
Thirty odd years ago when we moved to the farm, one of the best things about the old farmhouse was the big, old trees surrounding it. They provided abundant shade and also about the only landscaping. The first thing I heard when we moved was that we needed to cut those trees down! The reasoning being that they were water maples and were "weak" trees and would fall on the house. Now, I am a tree lover. I figure that any tree is better than no tree. These trees had sheltered this house for thirty years and survived the tornado that took down the house before this one. Weak isn't a word I would use to describe them.
They aren't the most beautiful trees. They have meager leaves that don't turn a pretty color in the fall. They literally rain little dead limbs during every wind. However they have survived tornadoes, ice storms, high winds, drought, and freezing temperatures. Unfortunately, time, weather and insects have done what all the "friends" couldn't convince us to do, cause us to cut one of them down. The huge old tree in the corner of the yard had been slowing declining over the past few years. Each year it would produce fewer leaves until one spring it didn't produce any at all. Our old friend had died.
Knowing that a dead tree is not only unsightly but a hazard, we made arrangements to have a local man come in and cut it down. He arrived one morning, checked it out, declared it to be no problem and set to work. I retired to the house to hide from the sight of my lovely old friend's demise. Suddenly I heard frantic beating on the door. The woodcutter stood on the porch waving his arms frantically and shouting for me to get a can of bug spray. It took me a few moments to realize he wanted me to spray him!! He was literally covered in bees! It turned out that our stately old tree was filled top to bottom with bees!
Now we had a different problem. How to get rid of the bees. Every farmer realizes the importance of bees to keep their crops pollinated, so exterminating was a last resort. However, we now had half a tree covered in bees. Hanging from one splinter was a ball of bees over two feet across. Bees were flying around everywhere trying to figure out what to do.
I located the number of the president of the local beekeepers club, who turned out to be a local priest. He assured me it would be no problem and he would bring a bee box and come over after mass the next day. He said the bees would return to the tree for the night and he would be able to collect them the next day. He arrived the next morning and promptly showed up in the kitchen. "You didn't mention that the colony was this large. I have to do some checking with other beekeepers" and off he went.
It seems that we didn't have just a hive with a queen and her workers, but a real, honest-to-goodness, years and years old bee tree. The entire tree was hollow and filled top to bottom with honey-comb and bees. We didn't have hundreds of bees, we had thousands, maybe millions. Bees had been calling that tree home for maybe 50 years. Amazingly, we had never noticed all the activity. They evidently were entering and leaving through the top of the tree covered by leaves. Now we noticed! We had millions of bees in the yard!
Over the next few days beekeepers came in their white moon suits to collect the bees. They would literally scrape the bees off the tree and into big white bee boxes. All in all they collected over 10 boxes of bees. They collected at least five queens. That in itself was a real indication of the size of the hive, since generally they will only have one queen at a time. When they had collected all they could or wanted ,we still had bees. Every morning we would find the stump swarming with bees. Now we had no choice but to spray the last ones so we could finish cutting the tree down.
Unfortunately, we didn't get any honey. The time of year wasn't right and the combs were empty. However, we did get to learn a lot about bees and beekeeping. I think about how long that stately old tree shaded us with its leaves while hosting the very bees that kept the crops producing and my garden flourishing. The good news is that one of the beekeepers reported back that the hive he established lived through the winter and is thriving in their new home. I hope they all did.
I know our tree would be proud.
They aren't the most beautiful trees. They have meager leaves that don't turn a pretty color in the fall. They literally rain little dead limbs during every wind. However they have survived tornadoes, ice storms, high winds, drought, and freezing temperatures. Unfortunately, time, weather and insects have done what all the "friends" couldn't convince us to do, cause us to cut one of them down. The huge old tree in the corner of the yard had been slowing declining over the past few years. Each year it would produce fewer leaves until one spring it didn't produce any at all. Our old friend had died.
Knowing that a dead tree is not only unsightly but a hazard, we made arrangements to have a local man come in and cut it down. He arrived one morning, checked it out, declared it to be no problem and set to work. I retired to the house to hide from the sight of my lovely old friend's demise. Suddenly I heard frantic beating on the door. The woodcutter stood on the porch waving his arms frantically and shouting for me to get a can of bug spray. It took me a few moments to realize he wanted me to spray him!! He was literally covered in bees! It turned out that our stately old tree was filled top to bottom with bees!
Now we had a different problem. How to get rid of the bees. Every farmer realizes the importance of bees to keep their crops pollinated, so exterminating was a last resort. However, we now had half a tree covered in bees. Hanging from one splinter was a ball of bees over two feet across. Bees were flying around everywhere trying to figure out what to do.
I located the number of the president of the local beekeepers club, who turned out to be a local priest. He assured me it would be no problem and he would bring a bee box and come over after mass the next day. He said the bees would return to the tree for the night and he would be able to collect them the next day. He arrived the next morning and promptly showed up in the kitchen. "You didn't mention that the colony was this large. I have to do some checking with other beekeepers" and off he went.
It seems that we didn't have just a hive with a queen and her workers, but a real, honest-to-goodness, years and years old bee tree. The entire tree was hollow and filled top to bottom with honey-comb and bees. We didn't have hundreds of bees, we had thousands, maybe millions. Bees had been calling that tree home for maybe 50 years. Amazingly, we had never noticed all the activity. They evidently were entering and leaving through the top of the tree covered by leaves. Now we noticed! We had millions of bees in the yard!
Over the next few days beekeepers came in their white moon suits to collect the bees. They would literally scrape the bees off the tree and into big white bee boxes. All in all they collected over 10 boxes of bees. They collected at least five queens. That in itself was a real indication of the size of the hive, since generally they will only have one queen at a time. When they had collected all they could or wanted ,we still had bees. Every morning we would find the stump swarming with bees. Now we had no choice but to spray the last ones so we could finish cutting the tree down.
Unfortunately, we didn't get any honey. The time of year wasn't right and the combs were empty. However, we did get to learn a lot about bees and beekeeping. I think about how long that stately old tree shaded us with its leaves while hosting the very bees that kept the crops producing and my garden flourishing. The good news is that one of the beekeepers reported back that the hive he established lived through the winter and is thriving in their new home. I hope they all did.
I know our tree would be proud.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Grandma's Silver
Times were hard when Grandma and Grandpa married. They set up housekeeping on the farm and she went to work teaching music in the local school. They worked hard and made ends meet, but there wasn't much left over for extras.
Their main entertainment was visiting in other couples homes. They would gather and enjoy refreshments prepared by the hostess. Then Grandma would play the piano while everyone would dance or sing. From hearing her talk about those times, I know she enjoyed every minute of it. She used to laugh and say she would always be invited to every party because she was the piano player!
She was a wonderful cook and when it was her turn to be hostess it was her time to shine. I can visualize the spread would include country ham they had cured, homemade bread, salads, vegetables and her wonderful desserts. However, she always had one regret. She had lovely linens, handmade by her mother, and her mother's blue china, but she didn't have any silver. This was a time when every young bride collected her silver flatware as wedding gifts. They had eloped and settled quietly into marriage with lovely, useful gifts from family and friends. Still, she wanted that silverware to go with her dishes when it was her turn to be hostess.
When she would go to town she would dream up an excuse to pass the window of the jewelry store to gaze at the patterns of silver displayed there. She would linger longingly over them when she took her watch in for repairs. Finally, the owner caught on that she really wanted that silver. Now, he had a daughter whom he wanted to have piano lessons and the deal was struck. Grandma would give lessons and he would pay in pieces of silver.
Grandma would teach all day and then go to the jeweler's house to give lessons to the daughter. It soon became evident that a career in music wasn't in the child's future. However, they both struggled on. Grandma would scour her books for songs that might tempt the young lady, then rewrite them in a simple score that she could play. She went to music stores and found current hits and rewrote them for her student. She even made up songs, but nothing seemed to work. Grandma struggled on some more. She kept at it until both were dreading the lessons. They endured until Grandma had that last piece of silver, then the lessons were over! She said later that she didn't know who was happier that day, her or the daughter!
That silver became a prized possession. It was brought out only for special occasions, Christmas, Thanksgiving, visiting preachers, and when she was hostess for their friends. She treasured that silver and never forgot the hard work and patience that was required to obtain it. She also never forgot the little girl who received diligent piano lessons whether she wanted them or not!
Their main entertainment was visiting in other couples homes. They would gather and enjoy refreshments prepared by the hostess. Then Grandma would play the piano while everyone would dance or sing. From hearing her talk about those times, I know she enjoyed every minute of it. She used to laugh and say she would always be invited to every party because she was the piano player!
She was a wonderful cook and when it was her turn to be hostess it was her time to shine. I can visualize the spread would include country ham they had cured, homemade bread, salads, vegetables and her wonderful desserts. However, she always had one regret. She had lovely linens, handmade by her mother, and her mother's blue china, but she didn't have any silver. This was a time when every young bride collected her silver flatware as wedding gifts. They had eloped and settled quietly into marriage with lovely, useful gifts from family and friends. Still, she wanted that silverware to go with her dishes when it was her turn to be hostess.
When she would go to town she would dream up an excuse to pass the window of the jewelry store to gaze at the patterns of silver displayed there. She would linger longingly over them when she took her watch in for repairs. Finally, the owner caught on that she really wanted that silver. Now, he had a daughter whom he wanted to have piano lessons and the deal was struck. Grandma would give lessons and he would pay in pieces of silver.
Grandma would teach all day and then go to the jeweler's house to give lessons to the daughter. It soon became evident that a career in music wasn't in the child's future. However, they both struggled on. Grandma would scour her books for songs that might tempt the young lady, then rewrite them in a simple score that she could play. She went to music stores and found current hits and rewrote them for her student. She even made up songs, but nothing seemed to work. Grandma struggled on some more. She kept at it until both were dreading the lessons. They endured until Grandma had that last piece of silver, then the lessons were over! She said later that she didn't know who was happier that day, her or the daughter!
That silver became a prized possession. It was brought out only for special occasions, Christmas, Thanksgiving, visiting preachers, and when she was hostess for their friends. She treasured that silver and never forgot the hard work and patience that was required to obtain it. She also never forgot the little girl who received diligent piano lessons whether she wanted them or not!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Live Big
Saturday I attended the long awaited first home football game and didn't watch a bit of it.
25 years ago a close friend moved to Nashville. They were die hard fans and kept their season tickets. Time passed and the seats got moved around until I looked up one Saturday and they were sitting two rows down from us. They don't come every game but when they do I don't see much of the game.
Last year when we had our annual catch-up visit we held hands and cried through the game. She had just received the news that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Her sister had died at the age of 23 with breast cancer and my friend was facing some rough memories and decisions. That day the game went on without us.
Over the next few months we talked for hours on the phone (thank goodness for cell phones and unlimited calling). She elected to have a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. This was radical but with her family history she felt she couldn't take any chances. It was a hard decision and she felt the future was very bleak. However, she went back to work and tried to get her life back in order.
Then life took over. Seldom, does life give you chances to sit around and sulk. This was a case in point. Just when she felt she had faced enough, things started happening quick and fast. Her son met a girl (finally!) and became engaged. Wedding plans started to happen. The bride and my friend and her daughter took a trip to New York to do a little shopping. They flew back home on the last plane to land in Nashville before they closed the airport due to flooding. My friend's 91 year old mother had been evacuated, by boat, from her condo. While the 1000 year flood, as they are calling it in Nashville, didn't reach my friend's home, it changed her life. Her mother moved into her basement with her caregiver, while clean-up proceeds on her condo. The water reached 6 feet inside and it is a mess. Yuk times 100!!
Before all this happened she had committed herself to walk in the Susan G. Komen 3 day walk in Cleveland, where her son lives. So, at 100 degrees she is trying to squeeze in training walks of 10 to 12 miles a day, between attacks on the mud in her mom's condo. She said she thought about giving up, but decided to give it a try. So in July, she flew to Cleveland with her family and lived in a pink tent, slept in a sleeping bag and walked 60 miles in three days. She said it was a wonderful experience and is trying to talk me into going with her next year. She also said she finished with no problems and only lost three toenails. I didn't ask for details.
Did we talk about cancer? Yes, sort of. She asked me how I was doing. I said fine. I asked her how she was doing. She said her check-ups were good. Then we went on with everything else. That's how life is. You deal with your problems the best you can and then get on with life and living. It's all about living. Dying happens to all of us, but the key is to live until that time!
Live big, friends.
25 years ago a close friend moved to Nashville. They were die hard fans and kept their season tickets. Time passed and the seats got moved around until I looked up one Saturday and they were sitting two rows down from us. They don't come every game but when they do I don't see much of the game.
Last year when we had our annual catch-up visit we held hands and cried through the game. She had just received the news that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Her sister had died at the age of 23 with breast cancer and my friend was facing some rough memories and decisions. That day the game went on without us.
Over the next few months we talked for hours on the phone (thank goodness for cell phones and unlimited calling). She elected to have a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. This was radical but with her family history she felt she couldn't take any chances. It was a hard decision and she felt the future was very bleak. However, she went back to work and tried to get her life back in order.
Then life took over. Seldom, does life give you chances to sit around and sulk. This was a case in point. Just when she felt she had faced enough, things started happening quick and fast. Her son met a girl (finally!) and became engaged. Wedding plans started to happen. The bride and my friend and her daughter took a trip to New York to do a little shopping. They flew back home on the last plane to land in Nashville before they closed the airport due to flooding. My friend's 91 year old mother had been evacuated, by boat, from her condo. While the 1000 year flood, as they are calling it in Nashville, didn't reach my friend's home, it changed her life. Her mother moved into her basement with her caregiver, while clean-up proceeds on her condo. The water reached 6 feet inside and it is a mess. Yuk times 100!!
Before all this happened she had committed herself to walk in the Susan G. Komen 3 day walk in Cleveland, where her son lives. So, at 100 degrees she is trying to squeeze in training walks of 10 to 12 miles a day, between attacks on the mud in her mom's condo. She said she thought about giving up, but decided to give it a try. So in July, she flew to Cleveland with her family and lived in a pink tent, slept in a sleeping bag and walked 60 miles in three days. She said it was a wonderful experience and is trying to talk me into going with her next year. She also said she finished with no problems and only lost three toenails. I didn't ask for details.
Did we talk about cancer? Yes, sort of. She asked me how I was doing. I said fine. I asked her how she was doing. She said her check-ups were good. Then we went on with everything else. That's how life is. You deal with your problems the best you can and then get on with life and living. It's all about living. Dying happens to all of us, but the key is to live until that time!
Live big, friends.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Game Time
It's football time!
I am married to a sports nut. He will literally watch anything that is related to sports and balls. I once came upon him sitting on the couch with a bemused expression on his face. He was intently watching a ballgame. When I asked him what he was watching, he just shook his head and replied, "I have no idea, but it's a heck of a game!" He was telling the truth, he had no idea what he was watching. It turned out to be rugby, which was totally foreign to him, but he was glued to the set anyway. Now that is a sports addiction.
Over the years I have learned, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em". That means I've watched lots and lots of sports. However, I really enjoy football. We have had season tickets to the university games for over 35 years. Even after all that time I'm not really sure what makes people do it. By that I mean, why do people sit outside in all types of weather to see which team will move a ball up or down a field more times than the other. It's not logical to sit on metal bleachers in a thunderstorm, risk heatstroke at 95 degrees, frostbite at 10 degrees, snow, rain and wind. If someone told you to sit in your yard at these conditions you would laugh. However, we bundle up in our strange, but always blue, gear and happily head to the stands. There we will join crowds of more blue clad fans and swelter, drip or shiver while we cheer our team on. Crazy, but there is nothing like a football game on a fall afternoon.
In the 35 or so years, we have fed a ton of food from the trunk of our car in the parking lot. We tailgate with the same couples year after year. It is tradition that whatever kids are attending school at the time stop by for a free lunch. Mom and Dad get a quick visit and the kids get a good meal. We have done everything from stew to burgers and about everything in between. It's a hassel getting it all together and I swear each year I won't do it again. Then it all comes together and it is such fun. The best part is that after all this time the world has turned in our favor. Now we tailgate with some of the kids we fed and they are feeding us. Now instead of taking the whole meal ,we get to bring a dish or sometimes nothing. Wow!
So, today is the first home game. Naturally, the forcast is for thunderstorms at game time. Hubby is convinced that it really won't rain and who knows it might not. However, I think I'll take the blue raincoats and the big plastic leaf bags just, in case.
I am married to a sports nut. He will literally watch anything that is related to sports and balls. I once came upon him sitting on the couch with a bemused expression on his face. He was intently watching a ballgame. When I asked him what he was watching, he just shook his head and replied, "I have no idea, but it's a heck of a game!" He was telling the truth, he had no idea what he was watching. It turned out to be rugby, which was totally foreign to him, but he was glued to the set anyway. Now that is a sports addiction.
Over the years I have learned, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em". That means I've watched lots and lots of sports. However, I really enjoy football. We have had season tickets to the university games for over 35 years. Even after all that time I'm not really sure what makes people do it. By that I mean, why do people sit outside in all types of weather to see which team will move a ball up or down a field more times than the other. It's not logical to sit on metal bleachers in a thunderstorm, risk heatstroke at 95 degrees, frostbite at 10 degrees, snow, rain and wind. If someone told you to sit in your yard at these conditions you would laugh. However, we bundle up in our strange, but always blue, gear and happily head to the stands. There we will join crowds of more blue clad fans and swelter, drip or shiver while we cheer our team on. Crazy, but there is nothing like a football game on a fall afternoon.
In the 35 or so years, we have fed a ton of food from the trunk of our car in the parking lot. We tailgate with the same couples year after year. It is tradition that whatever kids are attending school at the time stop by for a free lunch. Mom and Dad get a quick visit and the kids get a good meal. We have done everything from stew to burgers and about everything in between. It's a hassel getting it all together and I swear each year I won't do it again. Then it all comes together and it is such fun. The best part is that after all this time the world has turned in our favor. Now we tailgate with some of the kids we fed and they are feeding us. Now instead of taking the whole meal ,we get to bring a dish or sometimes nothing. Wow!
So, today is the first home game. Naturally, the forcast is for thunderstorms at game time. Hubby is convinced that it really won't rain and who knows it might not. However, I think I'll take the blue raincoats and the big plastic leaf bags just, in case.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Triple Trouble
Sorry I have been missing for a few days. My son is in the middle of cutting his first crop of tobacco. His wife is gone to Oklahoma for a previously scheduled visit to some friends, which left him in the midst of a nervous breakdown and three kids. So of course, Grandma is glad to help out for a few days. Which is a good thing considering that he is so strung out over the problems of finding good help, weather, housing in a poorly arranged barn and general "harvest hysteria". I won't say he is totally crazed, but he did drop off the two year old and four year old with three diapers and one change of clothes, for four days! Thank goodness for automatic washers and a stash of odd clothing that I keep on hand.
Having three boys, aged 2, 4, and 13 in the house has brought back lots of memories. Some of them good. Actually, I now realize that the gradual weight gain of age has nothing to do with the slowing of metabolism. All those reports are obvious fabrications. When you are trying to get everyone fed, you spend so much time jumping that you don't get to eat. If one isn't out of milk the other has just turned his over. Then there is the fact that you don't have much time to sit down. You are either rescuing the cat, settling fights, opening doors or closing open doors, or just picking up the general flotsam and jetsam of kids. Putting the little ones down for a nap becomes a challenge to not crawl in bed with them.
All in all it has been a joyful few days. It's fun once again to have the laughter of children echoing through the house. The two year old has discovered that the collie will sit for treats. So he has about worn the poor dog out "sitting". The four year old has discovered the delight of being able to go outside with freedom. When your yard is a couple of acres and just blends into the surrounding hay field, you don't worry too much about passing motorists. I can watch them from the windows and listen for their cheerful shouts to keep up with their activities. The little battery operated Ranger has made dozens of trips between the house and the barn. The four year old has become an accomplished driver, completing perfect three point turns to reverse his trip. I know some teens who can't do that.
The thirteen year old has had a vacation. He's usually in charge of the younger ones, but this time he gets to do his own thing. He has spent a lot of time on the computer (with grandma in the room, checking), playing games on his new ipod, or watching movies. Usual kid stuff. He also has been left in charge of helping out with the home chores of watering the calves in the barn and seeing that they are fed.
It's wild, but I've found that I'm actually getting more done with more to do! I think I have become lazy with too much time to get things finished. Yesterday by noon I had cooked two meals, washed and dried two loads of clothes, swept and mopped. Some weeks I don't get that much done.
Having three boys, aged 2, 4, and 13 in the house has brought back lots of memories. Some of them good. Actually, I now realize that the gradual weight gain of age has nothing to do with the slowing of metabolism. All those reports are obvious fabrications. When you are trying to get everyone fed, you spend so much time jumping that you don't get to eat. If one isn't out of milk the other has just turned his over. Then there is the fact that you don't have much time to sit down. You are either rescuing the cat, settling fights, opening doors or closing open doors, or just picking up the general flotsam and jetsam of kids. Putting the little ones down for a nap becomes a challenge to not crawl in bed with them.
All in all it has been a joyful few days. It's fun once again to have the laughter of children echoing through the house. The two year old has discovered that the collie will sit for treats. So he has about worn the poor dog out "sitting". The four year old has discovered the delight of being able to go outside with freedom. When your yard is a couple of acres and just blends into the surrounding hay field, you don't worry too much about passing motorists. I can watch them from the windows and listen for their cheerful shouts to keep up with their activities. The little battery operated Ranger has made dozens of trips between the house and the barn. The four year old has become an accomplished driver, completing perfect three point turns to reverse his trip. I know some teens who can't do that.
The thirteen year old has had a vacation. He's usually in charge of the younger ones, but this time he gets to do his own thing. He has spent a lot of time on the computer (with grandma in the room, checking), playing games on his new ipod, or watching movies. Usual kid stuff. He also has been left in charge of helping out with the home chores of watering the calves in the barn and seeing that they are fed.
It's wild, but I've found that I'm actually getting more done with more to do! I think I have become lazy with too much time to get things finished. Yesterday by noon I had cooked two meals, washed and dried two loads of clothes, swept and mopped. Some weeks I don't get that much done.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
I'll Save You
When the kids were young, I used the open windows to monitor their outside activities as I worked in the house. Sometimes I could see them but often I followed their antics by sound. I could hear the dog barking as they ran through the field, hear the sound of the 4-wheeler as they took off for the creek, hear their shouts if the arguments went on too long, or giggles if they were plotting something. You learn to filter "must intervene" sounds from "discuss later" sounds after a while. Although one day they fooled me.
My daughter and her friend, who more or less spent summers with us, showed up in the kitchen one afternoon. They flopped down on the old couch I kept there for guests and confidences. Their mood was mutinous. They had been working with my son at the barn sacking bedding for the state fair. In those days we cut all the corners we could when going to the fair. Instead of buying the ready sacked bedding for the cattle at enormous prices, we had the kids fill old feed sacks with the bedding we used at home and bought in bulk. This was an all day process of one holding the sack while the other forked in the bedding from a huge pile beside the barn.
My son, being older, had appointed himself the boss. This hadn't pleased the girls too much, especially since, according to them, this involved a lot more bossing than working. I suspect they hadn't helped the situation when the friend, in the spirit of "I don't really have to take your orders" pulled a lawn chair to the pile of bedding and proceeded to place it on top and sit and give directions from it! Before the situation came to all out warfare the girls decided it might be wise to take a break at the house.
While we were discussing this over a few cookies, I became conscious of a strange sound coming through the windows. At first I didn't pay much attention to it, then the words slowly sank in. "Help me! Someone, please help me!" The sound was faint and increasingly desperate. Immediately my mother's antenna started quivering. This was serious. The voice was faint and panicked. Immediately I had a vision of my son, trapped under a tractor, his life fading fast. Without a pause I ran from the house, dishcloth flapping madly, yelling "I'm coming! I'm coming!" On feet given speed by terror I flew to the barn and around the corner to the quivering voice. There in front of me was my son, struggling mightily. He had filled a two-wheeled home-made farm cart with bedding and started up the slight incline to the barn. The hill combined with weight had put him into a bind where he couldn't go any further and if he tried to back up it was going to get away from him and roll all the way back down. He was caught but hardly in a life threatening situation.
The look on his face when his mother came tearing around the barn waving her dishcloth and screaming "I' ll save you!!" will stay in my mind forever. Probably his, too.
My daughter and her friend, who more or less spent summers with us, showed up in the kitchen one afternoon. They flopped down on the old couch I kept there for guests and confidences. Their mood was mutinous. They had been working with my son at the barn sacking bedding for the state fair. In those days we cut all the corners we could when going to the fair. Instead of buying the ready sacked bedding for the cattle at enormous prices, we had the kids fill old feed sacks with the bedding we used at home and bought in bulk. This was an all day process of one holding the sack while the other forked in the bedding from a huge pile beside the barn.
My son, being older, had appointed himself the boss. This hadn't pleased the girls too much, especially since, according to them, this involved a lot more bossing than working. I suspect they hadn't helped the situation when the friend, in the spirit of "I don't really have to take your orders" pulled a lawn chair to the pile of bedding and proceeded to place it on top and sit and give directions from it! Before the situation came to all out warfare the girls decided it might be wise to take a break at the house.
While we were discussing this over a few cookies, I became conscious of a strange sound coming through the windows. At first I didn't pay much attention to it, then the words slowly sank in. "Help me! Someone, please help me!" The sound was faint and increasingly desperate. Immediately my mother's antenna started quivering. This was serious. The voice was faint and panicked. Immediately I had a vision of my son, trapped under a tractor, his life fading fast. Without a pause I ran from the house, dishcloth flapping madly, yelling "I'm coming! I'm coming!" On feet given speed by terror I flew to the barn and around the corner to the quivering voice. There in front of me was my son, struggling mightily. He had filled a two-wheeled home-made farm cart with bedding and started up the slight incline to the barn. The hill combined with weight had put him into a bind where he couldn't go any further and if he tried to back up it was going to get away from him and roll all the way back down. He was caught but hardly in a life threatening situation.
The look on his face when his mother came tearing around the barn waving her dishcloth and screaming "I' ll save you!!" will stay in my mind forever. Probably his, too.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
42 Years and Counting
Today is my 42nd wedding anniversary. Somehow that sounds so old! I remember when my parents had their 25th anniversary and I thought that was forever! Where did the years go? A lot of them were spent making beds ( approximately 26,745 times), cooking meals (45,000 more or less), washing clothes (10,920 loads), Ironing (over 10,000 shirts starched and ironed), and driving to get parts, children, groceries, pets, friends, supplies, etc. about 150,000 miles and 8 cars . In my spare time I've kept records, canned, sewed clothes, painted houses, wallpapered, entertained, decorated, cleaned, and watched football, basketball, baseball, golf, and even soccer and rugby!! Occasionally, I have fenced, worked cattle, fed show heifers, washed pigs, driven tractors, picked up hay bales, mowed yards, planted flower beds, buried pets, and built duck pens. In between I have cuddled kids (and grandkids), laughed a lot and loved enormously.
I haven't done these things alone. I've been lucky enough that we have always worked as a team. Saying that makes me think of a team of mules and that's about right. In a team of mules or horses they seldom pull equally. There are always times when one is caught having to pull the extra weight or load, especially on rough ground. Sometimes, one or the other just doesn't feel up to pulling their full weight, so the other one has to help by pulling just a little harder. In a team effort they each do a little extra to help when it is needed and the load just keeps moving along. If you are watching a team, you never notice this interaction, you just see a strong force doing their job. That's the real meaning of "team work".
It hasn't been all work either. I married a man who loves people. He works hard and is always ready to help another, no matter what the job. However, when he takes a break he likes to have people around. Nothing makes him grin more than the prospect of company and time spent with friends. If he doesn't have friends around he makes friends of the people that are around. Once when we were young marrieds we were dreaming about vacations we would like to take. He stopped the process cold when he announced that the worst thing would be to take this dream vacation with just me! Now, I thought about just killing him on the spot, but the more I thought about it I knew what he was saying. For him, the fun of any trip is the people that you have around you. He wanted to share his fun with his friends, not just his spouse. It really didn't mean that he didn't want me to go, just he liked a party to go along with it. It's an attitude that has kept things lively and fun for many years. We've met lots of people, had lots of fun and shared a lot of laughs!
Now that sounds a little like he is insensitive to my needs. Not at all. There has never been a time that I haven't known that I was cherished and loved. I can honestly say that I have never doubted his love or commitment to me and our marriage. He's not often romantic, in the traditional sense. Soft music and candlelit dinners are not things I associate with him. However, no one can match the romance of taking a ride at twilight in the Ranger and watching the sunset on your land while you watch your cattle peacefully grazing. Then there is the magic of sharing the moment when the cow you have struggled with through a difficult birth, nuzzles the still wet calf, and moans that soft, mama sound that says "hello, little one" in any language. There is the romance of holding hands through a high school graduation, a wedding, a baptism, in the doctor's office, and a hundred other moments when only a touch will suffice. There is the romance of looking across a room and sending the message that I am tired and ready to go home and having him promptly make a move to leave. That's real love.
Did we know what we were getting into 42 years ago? Not in our wildest dreams (or nightmares). Would we do it again--absolutely! Has it been perfect? Ain't nothin' perfect!! But it has has been pretty, darned good!! Good enough that I'm looking forward to the next 25-30 years.
I haven't done these things alone. I've been lucky enough that we have always worked as a team. Saying that makes me think of a team of mules and that's about right. In a team of mules or horses they seldom pull equally. There are always times when one is caught having to pull the extra weight or load, especially on rough ground. Sometimes, one or the other just doesn't feel up to pulling their full weight, so the other one has to help by pulling just a little harder. In a team effort they each do a little extra to help when it is needed and the load just keeps moving along. If you are watching a team, you never notice this interaction, you just see a strong force doing their job. That's the real meaning of "team work".
It hasn't been all work either. I married a man who loves people. He works hard and is always ready to help another, no matter what the job. However, when he takes a break he likes to have people around. Nothing makes him grin more than the prospect of company and time spent with friends. If he doesn't have friends around he makes friends of the people that are around. Once when we were young marrieds we were dreaming about vacations we would like to take. He stopped the process cold when he announced that the worst thing would be to take this dream vacation with just me! Now, I thought about just killing him on the spot, but the more I thought about it I knew what he was saying. For him, the fun of any trip is the people that you have around you. He wanted to share his fun with his friends, not just his spouse. It really didn't mean that he didn't want me to go, just he liked a party to go along with it. It's an attitude that has kept things lively and fun for many years. We've met lots of people, had lots of fun and shared a lot of laughs!
Now that sounds a little like he is insensitive to my needs. Not at all. There has never been a time that I haven't known that I was cherished and loved. I can honestly say that I have never doubted his love or commitment to me and our marriage. He's not often romantic, in the traditional sense. Soft music and candlelit dinners are not things I associate with him. However, no one can match the romance of taking a ride at twilight in the Ranger and watching the sunset on your land while you watch your cattle peacefully grazing. Then there is the magic of sharing the moment when the cow you have struggled with through a difficult birth, nuzzles the still wet calf, and moans that soft, mama sound that says "hello, little one" in any language. There is the romance of holding hands through a high school graduation, a wedding, a baptism, in the doctor's office, and a hundred other moments when only a touch will suffice. There is the romance of looking across a room and sending the message that I am tired and ready to go home and having him promptly make a move to leave. That's real love.
Did we know what we were getting into 42 years ago? Not in our wildest dreams (or nightmares). Would we do it again--absolutely! Has it been perfect? Ain't nothin' perfect!! But it has has been pretty, darned good!! Good enough that I'm looking forward to the next 25-30 years.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Songs of Praise
Wednesday nights are very special.
Our church doesn't have Wednesday night services, but we praise the Lord anyway. On Wednesday we have choir practice. We are a very small church so the choir is small, too. We have four altos, 5-7 sopranos, 2 bases and 1 tenor. For Christmas and Easter cantatas we might pull in a few extras for a few weeks, but mostly it's just the few of us. What we do have is an outstanding music director. He has taught us to sing--literally.
Higo is from Brazil. He attended school in a small Baptist college in our state. Several years ago our minister got the wonderful idea to use the music students at this college as music directors for our church. For some reason, this college has formed an alliance with Brazil. They have a very large student population, most of them with ties to the music college. These gifted students
have opened our eyes to the culture and warmth of their country. They come to the US, some of them with very limited English, but all of them with a great determination to achieve an education.
Through these students we have expanded our horizons and opened our hearts. The first student we had lived in the trailer that my father occupied during his life here. We thought, in our ignorance, that he would be thrilled to have such a nice home. We found out later that he came from a very affluent family. His grandfather was a minister of some note and a professor at the university. He lived in Fontaleza a beautiful, coastal city. His parents had immigrated to the United States and now lived in Orlando, Fl. He was much more cosmopolitan than any of us in our small town.
What these students have is a tremendous dedication to getting an education. In their country it is very difficult, if not impossible, to get into a college. Many, many apply and very few are accepted. They simply do not have the educational opportunities that we take for granted. It is very expensive for parents to send them to the US. The Brazilian dollar trades at 2 to 1 for US dollars. Many of the parents will make huge sacrifices to keep their students here for four years. Also, because travel is very expensive many will not see their children again for at least one year and maybe more. Thank goodness for computers--their main contact.
Higo, our current director, came here with limited English. The first time he tried to direct us it was like playing charades. He would pantomime and we would guess what he meant. However, when he started playing the piano we didn't need a translation for the extraordinary music he created. We have grown together. He now is so fluent in English that he can make quite subtle and funny jokes. We have learned musically until we can follow his directions without making too many embarrassing mistakes. He has lifted us way beyond what we ever dreamed we could do. More than once we have looked at the music he has selected and been positive that we could never accomplish it. However, he has led us patiently until a miracle has happened and a beautiful piece of music appears. He has made us dream, and reach for our dreams, and sometimes we even reach our dreams.
He has done all of this with a deep, abiding faith that makes us all feel lacking. He has taught us that each hymn is literally a praise song for God. He has taught us that faith is the bottom line in all of your life. He lives his faith. We have been blessed by his talent, his willingness to teach us, and the opportunity to meet his family and learn about his country. However, we have been blessed most by his example of faith.
Our church doesn't have Wednesday night services, but we praise the Lord anyway. On Wednesday we have choir practice. We are a very small church so the choir is small, too. We have four altos, 5-7 sopranos, 2 bases and 1 tenor. For Christmas and Easter cantatas we might pull in a few extras for a few weeks, but mostly it's just the few of us. What we do have is an outstanding music director. He has taught us to sing--literally.
Higo is from Brazil. He attended school in a small Baptist college in our state. Several years ago our minister got the wonderful idea to use the music students at this college as music directors for our church. For some reason, this college has formed an alliance with Brazil. They have a very large student population, most of them with ties to the music college. These gifted students
have opened our eyes to the culture and warmth of their country. They come to the US, some of them with very limited English, but all of them with a great determination to achieve an education.
Through these students we have expanded our horizons and opened our hearts. The first student we had lived in the trailer that my father occupied during his life here. We thought, in our ignorance, that he would be thrilled to have such a nice home. We found out later that he came from a very affluent family. His grandfather was a minister of some note and a professor at the university. He lived in Fontaleza a beautiful, coastal city. His parents had immigrated to the United States and now lived in Orlando, Fl. He was much more cosmopolitan than any of us in our small town.
What these students have is a tremendous dedication to getting an education. In their country it is very difficult, if not impossible, to get into a college. Many, many apply and very few are accepted. They simply do not have the educational opportunities that we take for granted. It is very expensive for parents to send them to the US. The Brazilian dollar trades at 2 to 1 for US dollars. Many of the parents will make huge sacrifices to keep their students here for four years. Also, because travel is very expensive many will not see their children again for at least one year and maybe more. Thank goodness for computers--their main contact.
Higo, our current director, came here with limited English. The first time he tried to direct us it was like playing charades. He would pantomime and we would guess what he meant. However, when he started playing the piano we didn't need a translation for the extraordinary music he created. We have grown together. He now is so fluent in English that he can make quite subtle and funny jokes. We have learned musically until we can follow his directions without making too many embarrassing mistakes. He has lifted us way beyond what we ever dreamed we could do. More than once we have looked at the music he has selected and been positive that we could never accomplish it. However, he has led us patiently until a miracle has happened and a beautiful piece of music appears. He has made us dream, and reach for our dreams, and sometimes we even reach our dreams.
He has done all of this with a deep, abiding faith that makes us all feel lacking. He has taught us that each hymn is literally a praise song for God. He has taught us that faith is the bottom line in all of your life. He lives his faith. We have been blessed by his talent, his willingness to teach us, and the opportunity to meet his family and learn about his country. However, we have been blessed most by his example of faith.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Small World
It really is a small world.
Thirty-eight years ago Bob accepted a job to open an office for a lending company for farmers in a small town. We had passed through there going to and from school, but didn't know anything about it. It was pretty and a lot like the small community that we grew up in, but that was the extent of our knowledge of it. Of course, the first thing we did was call our parents and tell them the news. This would mean that we would be only about one hour from home, which tickled them. The first thing my dad said was, "I think I know someone from there. Let me check."
Sure enough, the next night we get a call. There was a couple who lived just up the street from my parents, who had been friends with my grandparents. He had originally come from this same community and just happened to have a nephew who still lived there and was a real estate agent. Small world. I also believe in "meant to be". We called this young man, made an appointment to see some houses on a Saturday morning on the way to see my sister. We looked at three houses, talked all night and made an offer on our way back through on Sunday evening. An impulse that put us in a perfect location with great neighbors for the next 13 years. It was meant to be.
Then the small world part kicks in again. Around the corner lived a great couple with a large family. Some were grown, some still in high school. In talking to this couple I realized that one of their daughters was a friend from college. In fact, we had pledged the same sorority. For years after that, when she came home she would trot around the corner for a quick catch-up visit.
Life moves on. Our children grew up, we moved to the country, she moved to another town. We still kept in touch, sort of, through her mother, but we really lost touch. Then this morning I received a call from her mother. With a catch in her voice she said, "you know our Kate has cancer". It seems she is taking chemo and losing her hair. Her mother said that she remembered how good my wigs looked and wanted to help her daughter find a perfect one. I immediately gathered up my wig catalogs, that I keep on hand for just this reason. I took them to her house and had a long talk with her. I think she felt better. I did love my wigs. They were cheap, synthetic, and kept me from feeling that I looked sick. I was so glad that I could help in a small way with this traumatic time.
It is a small world.
Thirty-eight years ago Bob accepted a job to open an office for a lending company for farmers in a small town. We had passed through there going to and from school, but didn't know anything about it. It was pretty and a lot like the small community that we grew up in, but that was the extent of our knowledge of it. Of course, the first thing we did was call our parents and tell them the news. This would mean that we would be only about one hour from home, which tickled them. The first thing my dad said was, "I think I know someone from there. Let me check."
Sure enough, the next night we get a call. There was a couple who lived just up the street from my parents, who had been friends with my grandparents. He had originally come from this same community and just happened to have a nephew who still lived there and was a real estate agent. Small world. I also believe in "meant to be". We called this young man, made an appointment to see some houses on a Saturday morning on the way to see my sister. We looked at three houses, talked all night and made an offer on our way back through on Sunday evening. An impulse that put us in a perfect location with great neighbors for the next 13 years. It was meant to be.
Then the small world part kicks in again. Around the corner lived a great couple with a large family. Some were grown, some still in high school. In talking to this couple I realized that one of their daughters was a friend from college. In fact, we had pledged the same sorority. For years after that, when she came home she would trot around the corner for a quick catch-up visit.
Life moves on. Our children grew up, we moved to the country, she moved to another town. We still kept in touch, sort of, through her mother, but we really lost touch. Then this morning I received a call from her mother. With a catch in her voice she said, "you know our Kate has cancer". It seems she is taking chemo and losing her hair. Her mother said that she remembered how good my wigs looked and wanted to help her daughter find a perfect one. I immediately gathered up my wig catalogs, that I keep on hand for just this reason. I took them to her house and had a long talk with her. I think she felt better. I did love my wigs. They were cheap, synthetic, and kept me from feeling that I looked sick. I was so glad that I could help in a small way with this traumatic time.
It is a small world.
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