Delaware Grammy

I hear people are getting really, really tired of chicken soup.

Well, I don’t blame them.   I am, too.  

But my life is not my own right now.  As a matter of fact, it never really is — but some of the pieces (that feel like they SHOULD belong to me) are certainly otherwise appropriated right now.

Hold on, Folks.  One of these days I’ll have not only the TIME, but the energy to put some words together.

That being said, please pray for My Sweet Mama.  She was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday evening and will be there at least until Tuesday.  I am going to copy here part of an e-mail that went out to our family and our church:

She has a urinary tract infection that went septic as well as a condition known as “rhabdomyolysis”  which they think is a result of the truama that she has had over the last three weeks.  To briefly recount that:  She had a blood clot in her lung, she had nearly a dozen teeth pulled, she had a fall down the front steps here at my house resulting in some spectacular bruising and abrasions, then she had a bowel impaction that was traumatizing.  All of this time, apparently she was brewing a severe urinary tract infection.  Then during the night on Tuesday night at my house, she got down on the floor and couldn’t get up.  I had gone to bed around midnight and got up around 5:30, and apparently she had been on the floor most of that time.  She was very sick while she was down there, with copious amounts of diarrhea and vomiting, and was so embarrassed and sad and exhausted from trying so hard to get up and not being able to.  She had managed to get herself back in her chair when it “got light enough for her to find it,” but I seriously wonder what happened during the night.  Her doctor is saying that she is not critical, in that she isn’t in shock and she isn’t having seizures and such, but I have to wonder if any of that may have happened while she was down because she does not remember much.  The way things were scattered around in that room in the morning made me feel like there was some unexplainable activity in that room while I wasn’t there to observe.  It looked like a war zone. 

I say all that to say that my heart aches for our prim and proper Mama.  As siblings we hate this so incredibly much for her sake.  I am struggling with the fact that this all happened “on my watch” so to speak — at least the most of the trauma, but I also know that God has been so gracious to us as a family.  I feel like He has “equipped” us for this time in so many different ways and unexpected provisions, and my brothers and sisters and their spouses have been incredibly supportive and comforting and encouraging.  We don’t exactly know what will unfold over these next few weeks, but the knowledge that God is Already There is a lifeline for us all.  Please continue to pray for her and for us as a family that we will find the best things to do for her.  She has been such a good Mama, and we certainly want her to be comforted as well as comfortable.

Take one whole chicken. (Usually sold as a whole fryer) Put into a large pot — (I like to use at least an eight quart size) cover with water, add 1 tablespoon salt, 1/2 medium onion, and two or three ribs of celery. Cover and bring to a boil. I usually let it cook on medium for an hour and half to two hours.

Take the cooked chicken and vegetables out of the pot. (I put it into a 9X13 Cake pan and let it cool until you can handle it enough to take it off the bones.) Discard the cooked onion and celery, skin and bones.

While the meat is cooling, I like to strain the broth if there are lots of “floaties” in it and skim off excess fat. Put the broth back into the pot, and add about a four cups of corn (I use the home frozen variety) two or three cups of lima beans (If you don’t have home grown ones, be sure to buy frozen Fordhook limas in the supermarket) a cup of chopped celery, 1/2 cup chopped onion and one carrot shredded and two or three packages of chicken flavored Ramen noodles with the seasoning packets. I would probably use three, and I usually take my meat mallet and break them up in the package just a little before I put them into the broth. Bring everything to a boil and let simmer for about 10 minutes. Add the meat that has been taken off the bones and stir into the soup. (You can cut the meat into whatever size you want it.)

And it is ready to eat.

It was a busy morning at Shady Acres.

My Sweet Mama had eleven or more teeth extracted on Monday, and she has spent the week at our house. 

Certain Man and I were away over night on Friday night.  We were up to see Joseph at Sight and Sound, had a delightful stay at the Teakettle Inn Bed and Breakfast, and spent a leisurely day looking at clocks and furniture and even bought one chocolate and one pumpkin Whoopie Pie at an Amish market.  We ate early supper at an old inn turned into a restaurant in Historic Delaware City and came home to our own cheery home and house dwellers a great deal more rested that I could have hoped for, and with wonderful memories.

This morning was the usual hustle and bustle to get ready for church.  Sweet Mama stayed home because she is still experiencing considerable discomfort from her teeth. so I left Cecilia at home with her.  Our Sunday School lesson was the Last Supper, and there were more than the usual amounts of getting ready that needed doing.  I baked a small batch of unleavened bread and brought grape juice up from the cellar.  I got some copying done and got everything ready to go.   Early this morning, I had gotten my hair combed and gotten all dressed except for my Sunday frock.  As the time got closer and closer for us to leave, Sweet Mama was getting worried.

“Mary Ann,” she said with that concerned edge to her voice.  “You’d better get your clothes on.  You can’t go like THAT!”

“I know, Mama,” I said. “I have it down here in the closet and I’ll grab it just before I go out the door.” 

Time has a way of marching on, as we all know, and suddenly, Certain Man was loading the car and saying over his shoulder, “You need to get dressed NOW!!!”

“Alright, already!” I said, and grabbed my dress with its jacket off the hanger and ducked into Nettie’s room to change.

“Boy!” Said my Sweet Mama as I reappeared.  “You really do change quick!”  Ever the encourager, she said, “You look nice!”

“Thank you, Mama,” I said as I gathered up the last of the things for my class.  “It’s easy to slip this on and be ready to go.”  Which I was and so we went.

Once at church, I discovered that I had left both my Bible and my notebook at home, but decided to take one of the extras that are in the church library, and hoped that I hadn’t forgotten anything more important.  We actually got to church on time, and I got things set up in the classroom for the morning lesson.  The children were attentive, participant and engaging.  They even tasted parsley dipped in horseradish as part of the recreation of the Passover meal’s “bitter herbs.”  They ate the entire stack of unleavened bread that I had baked for them this morning and swished everything down with the grape juice.  After Sunday School, Boy Daniel reported to the congregation that “We learned about the Last Supper.  We had grape juice and lemon bread.”  But.  He reported without written props and he spoke clearly and confidently and I was just so proud of him.

Then we had worship time.  Love Bug came to sit briefly with Pea-bawl and Gammy, but returned to her seat when her Pappy (James Bontrager) began the sermon.  I had borrowed some paper from Certain Man so I could take notes on the sermon, and was engrossed in the the sermon and thoughts of the Kingdom of Heaven and how that is expressed in our world today (sometimes wrongly and then sometimes, gloriously accurately!).  I was looking down over my skirt when I noticed that there was a seam straight down the middle of the front. 

Oh, No!  Not again!

Yepper.  That pretty dress was on backwards.  Zipper slide right at the top of the seam as plain as day!  I leaned over and told Certain Man that I had my dress on backwards.  He looked puzzled.  I grabbed the neckline and tilted it out.  He didn’t even bother to hide his amusement. 

Oh, well.  It really was a busy morning.  And manufacturers should NOT make dresses that slide on without opening the zippers.  It confuses Christian Women on Sunday mornings when they are in a hurry.

Okay, Ya’ll.  I should probably not tell you this.  But there is a “rest of the story . . .”

I decided to wear the dress backwards until this afternoon.  We were having company tonight, and I just figured that I could turn it around when it was about time for my company to get here, and the front would be clean and who cares about the back?

So a little before my company was due to arrive, I ducked back into the Nettie’s bathroom and tried to turn my dress around without too much ado, but there was complications.  Something got all bunched up around my arms, and great was the bunching of it.  So I betook myself to the mirror and checked what was going on.

For crying out loud!  All bunched up was my pink nightie.  So not only was my dress on backwards, but I had my nightie on underneath it.  All day long.  I can’t blame that on the manufacturers.  Someone want to help me find a good excuse?

We had out of state company this weekend, and they were the kind of company that is easy to have, delightful to visit with, and so determined to help instead of being a bother.  I’m sitting here in my chair at a little after four o’clock and the kitchen is cleaned, the food put away, and a restful evening ahead of me.  This is the second Sunday in a row that this has happened, and if people aren’t careful, I’m gonna’ get to expecting Sunday guests to help clean up!

I’m curious.  Those of you who have company on a regular basis.  Do you let your guests help you clean up?  Or do you just wait until they are gone to do the clean-up business.  Along with that, if you ARE the Sunday guests, do you help clean up?  I’ll take answers from anybody, but I am especially interested in answers from those of you who regularly have Sunday guests (because, in all seriousness, it has been my observation that people who have company often have some interesting observations about what makes a good guest!). 

You see, I have a little theory about this, and I’m wondering if your comments will help to either prove or disprove it.  I have found that the younger generation often wants to “sit and talk” around the table, or escape (to their own locations) while the grownups talk, and I have never had a problem with that, personally.  But I’m really wondering if maybe some of this is actually sabotaging the old Mennonite tradition of having Sunday company.  Hear me out, here.

You see, a gal gets lunch around, and has a table full of company, and then everyone sits around and talks until it is late.   And I enjoy this after dinner conversation immensely.  Then a few attempts are made to “help clean up” and get brushed aside by the cook, (because she KNOWS how tired she is and she hates to think that she would make her guests clean up when they must be so tired, too, and besides, she knows where everything goes, and she knows how to load that dishwasher, and the things that are too big for the dishwasher are the yucky things anyhow, so it isn’t nice to ask people to help with that,  etc., etc., etc..)  After a while, the easy thing to do is not have company.  And I know this.  There are just times when the cost to the Mom is too great.  Besides, the captive employees, known as Daughters (who sometimes refer to themselves as “the slaves of the world”) GRUMBLE about all the work that is left after all the company has gone home.  I know this, too.

So, I’ve been thinking.  Especially since last Sunday when my friend, riehlfarmwife , AKA friend Kathy, washed up the extra dishes and stayed until everything was tiptop shape and put away before being collected by her patient husband and family to depart for their own house.  The thing is, I know that Kathy, being the wife and mom she is, and it being Sunday, and having been to church, probably could have justified getting on home after lunch and the committee meeting that followed.  Instead she stayed and chatted and we had a wonderful time of fellowship together that we probably wouldn’t have had otherwise.

And today, we women chatted around the kitchen while we put away food, washed up the dishes and in general got the kitchen back in order.  I wouldn’t have minded finding ourselves some chairs and just talking, but these gals were DETERMINED!  And they got that kitchen back in order in no time flat.  And I sat here on my chair after everyone went home and felt so grateful that it was done.  The week ahead looks so much more doable since the kitchen is done. 

And now I wonder if there is something to this business of accepting help to clean up.  Maybe more gals would resurrect the old art of hospitality if they didn’t feel like they had to do it by themselves.  Do we feel like it isn’t really hospitality if our guests “do anything?”  I know I’ve thought that for a long, long time.  It somehow felt like it was more of a gift or “loving” if I didn’t have invited guests help clean up.  Maybe I’ve been shortchanging not only myself, but also my guests.  It just might make the experience more special if we have the time to work together.  And maybe, just maybe, it is the difference between “entertaining” and “hospitality.” 

I’d much rather be the recipient of hospitality than to feel like I was being “entertained.”

What do you think???

The afternoon from the viewpoint of Love Bug . . .

Grammy got me a new apron.
She bought it with a gift card from a fund raiser from Quentin Taray’s school.
It is big and waterproof and it will fit me for a long, long time. 
I can play in the water at Grammy’s sink all I want! 
(Well, as long as I don’t deliberately pour water on the cupboard or floor.  Then Grammy frowns and makes me get down.)

Today in the morning, I was running down the sidewalk when Daddy and Mommy took me for a walk.
My toe caught in the sidewalk, and down I went, Kershlam!
Do you see my ouchie right below my nose?
I’m trying to point at it, but my aim is just a little off.
I heard Mommy tell Grammy that I was “insulted.”
I’m not sure what “insulted” means, but it sure did hurt to be insulted!

Grammy promised that I could help her make bread.
I really don’t like getting my fingers all goey, though.
It causes me to fling dough around in an energetic manner.
That makes Grammy say things I don’t appreciate,
Like “Charis, you can’t fling the dough.  It gets all over Grammy’s things.
Try to not shake your hands when you have dough all over them.”
Grammy helped me rub the wet dough off with dry bread flour.
That worked pretty well.
I actually thought that maybe this dough would be good to eat.
But after tasting it, I told Grammy, “Yucky!!!”

There was some extra dough somehow,
so Grammy sat me in my high chair and gave it to me to play with.
It was enough to make my own little loaf of bread.
I squished it and ate some and mixed some strange things into it.
But Grammy said all the germs would be killed in the baking.
She had a small pan for me to put it into, and she shaped it
and poked it with a fork, and after her bread was baked,
she put it into the oven and baked it for me.
Then we put it into its own little bag and I took it home with me.

We stopped to see Pappy and Achie Bontrager on the way home,
and I chased the cat around and around and built a tower with Pappy
and played and played.
So I was really, really tired.
And I went to sleep really, really fast when I got home.
Whew! 
Being a grandbaby is hard work!

Tomorrow, I want to go down to Grammy’s house and
see Auntie Beebs!

Yippee!!!!

(I think she brought me something from Thailand ’cause I’m her favorite niece!)

Middle Daughter is somewhere over the Pacific Ocean.  Her plane left Tokyo around five this morning, and she is winging her way towards Chicago.

I am so anxious to have her home.  This trip was fraught with significant risks, what with the routing through Japan, and the uncertainties there.  She made it through to Bangkok okay on the way, and now has cleared Tokyo once more on her way home.  I have refused to allow myself to worry — I know that she is in God’s hands.  But to tell the truth, she’s been very short on communication since she left.  In fact, the only “direct” communication that we had from her was a facebook status that said: safely in Thailand. No computer access most of the time  Any Mom knows that doesn’t cut the mustard!  The only reassuring word in the lot is the first one.  I know, I know.  Deborah is an adult, and she isn’t obligated to report.  I’m just longing for news from my other girlie and Deborah holds that in head and heart.  I cannot wait for her to be back and to update her status to: safely in Delaware. computer access most of the time . . .

The morning is quiet in the old farmhouse at Shady Acres.  Cecilia is already on the bus, Nettie is finishing her breakfast, and pretty soon she will poke her head around the corner and say, “I go”a’ go ge’ uh paper an’ gi’e uh bir’s f’esh wa’er.”  (“I’m gonna’ go get the paper and give the birds fresh water.”)  She had one great day — Saturday.  One good day — Sunday.  The week has been downhill since then.  This morning she is very troubled and anxious.  I finally asked her if she was hearing voices, and she said that she was.  Her hearing aids aren’t working quite right again, and she is feeling “weak” as she puts it.  When I take time to talk to her and try to get her to say what is going on, she does better, but I’m thinking we are due a medication upgrade.  One of the things that indicates that things aren’t right is when her speech, already garbled, goes downhill fast.  Another thing is that she professes to not be able to hear what is being said to her.  I’ve not had any experience with hearing voices, but I’m suspicious that the voices are so loud she can’t concentrate on anything else.  Just my theory.  I could be so wrong.  Whatever is happening, it is painful for my Nettie-girl, and it makes me feel so sad for her.

And so another day begins.  There is much to occupy my hands, more to occupy my heart.  My Three Kids (the ones we take to Sunday school) are in desperate straits again — and I wonder what people are thinking about when they set about to bring kids into a world they can’t manage for themselves, much less dependent bodies (and souls and spirits!).  (Oh what a tangled mess we leave when we unthinkingly conceive!)  And when does my concern for the kids become “enabling” for a parent who has no qualms about, well, mooching (to use a good friend’s term)?

The thing is, there is a best thing for us all to do.  Not just Middle and Youngest Daughters, not just Nettie, or The Kids, or the adults in their lives.  There is a Best Thing for ME to do today, and I believe that is to go to My Sweet Mama’s house for a few hours, watch Love Bug for a few hours and then see about getting this house straightened up in preparation for Middle Daughter’s return and Bible Study in the morning.  That should keep my hands busy, and my heart can come along.

We are making progress!!!

Certain Man had off today, and he helped to hang curtains, clocks and miscellaneous wall decor.  Here is a peek at our “temporary” furniture arrangements on the one side of the living room.  (We are still waiting on some sheers for the double window towards the South West, as well as our couch and love seat.)

This is the living room tonight in the evening light:

Here is the “piano corner” pretty much as we plan to leave it:

And two other shots in some differing lights:

The room is a large room, and this corner is probably less than 1/6 of the total space.

I will try to post more  as we make progress!

Our Girl Nettie and I have been busy with Yard work!

I went into ACE Hardware this week, and found such pretty pansies for a reasonable price.  Bought a flat of them and brought them home.  Nettie and I planted them.  This is my container that replaced the barrel between my garage doors.  I mix Miracle Gro Bloom Booster in my old detergent bottle, and Nettie helps me with planting and watering.

I put the variegated colors in this container.  It’s an old kettle that Certain Man’s family used for making apple butter.

 This container is at the edge of the garage.  White pansies with purple and yellow markings on them.

On our front stoop, in front of the new door, we planted these:

 The container is old and is looking pretty beaten up.  Does anyone have any solution for making it look better?  The browner areas are almost like a stucco that keeps peeling off.  I almost think that I would need to get all that off and then try to prime and paint the rest.  As it is, I keep saying that an ugly container brings out the beauty of the flowers a whole lot more:

Along the fence row, the crocuses are blooming:

And they are so cheery when you get up close and personal:

 In between helping me, Nettie has been picking up the sticks and the Magnolia cones that are lying everywhere.  She is meticulous, careful and a GREAT HELP.  And she seems to be holding up pretty well in spite of the hard work.  In fact, she is more stable than she has been for a while.

Here is the proof of her hard work:

By the way, if any of you have shredding that you would like to have someone do, she will be glad to do it for you.  We have a shredder.  Just drop it off here at our house and she will take care of it for you.  We’ve already checked with our recycle company and we can just drop it into our recycle bin for disposal.  Maybe you could give me a call if you are interested.

Yippee, Yippee, Yay, Yay, Yay!!!. 

Spring is really on it’s way!

After all the planning and scrambling and packing and planning, Middle Daughter is finally on her way to Thailand to visit Youngest Daughter. 

I sat on my chair this morning, feeling the familiar sadness that I always feel when one of the kids is going away, writing a letter to Youngest Daughter to send along with Middle Daughter.  I picked up my laptop to double check and found a message from Youngest Daughter, written in her inimitable style, last minute, zinger type sentences with just a few more things that she wanted.  She was so happy, so excited and impatient for Deb to be there.  It sent a small trickle of joy through my heart, and I suddenly found myself feeling so incredibly happy.  Someone I love is on their way to see someone else I love. 

And, Lord Willing, she’s coming back.  No one can fill in the details like Deborah.  She has her daddy’s gift of observation.  She remembers things no one else even notices the first time.  I would sometimes say that if I wanted to know what a book was about, I wouldn’t need to read it if Deborah read it first, because she would tell me what it said, almost verbatim.  (You can do that if you have a photographic memory!)

Anyhow, now I am looking forward to her return with great anticipation.  She will probably tell me more about Thailand than Rachel will after being there for nine months.  And that will be a great comfort to this Momma’s heart.

Be safe, Girlies!  I love you.

. . . and so, the last hug is given, the last “I love you!” and “Drive safely!” and “Hurry back!”  said, and I watch the last car pull out of the driveway after a weekend that has been a mix of being so glad to have everyone home, but feeling even more keenly the one that is missing.  The table is small again.  It looks really strange to have it so small, because we’ve left it large after having company a few weeks ago, in anticipation of this weekend.  I wanted to leave it big in the interim because it spoke of the hope I carried for this eagerly anticipated weekend.

It is incredibly quiet in the old farmhouse.  The clocks are ticking their steady, almost subliminal noise, and I am thankful that there is no one to ask solicitous questions.  Certain Man is in his recliner in another room, and Middle Daughter retreated to her room after helping to finish cleaning up the kitchen.  She will probably grab a nap, too.  She worked the night shift on Friday night, slept very little on Saturday, and then the time change shorted all our nights last night.

I sit here on my trusty chair, and the tears are too close for comfort.  I keep thinking about the things that call our children away from us, and that makes leaving here actually mean “going home” to them; these adult children with all the things that life brings them, things that they’ve chosen to love and to embrace that beckons them down the road, away from their Daddy and me, to their own nests, their chosen vocations, their friends.

Raph and Gina received word yesterday of the sudden hospitalization back in Ohio, of Gina’s newest niece, Kate Aisha, following an episode of not breathing.  Gina’s parents are in Florida, and I could tell that it really pulled for Gina to be home where she could help out if she was needed.   As a family, we’ve followed the progress of this little mite of a baby who weighed in at 2 lbs., 13 oz. back on January 12th, and with this news, we all held our breaths a little until she was in the PICU at Cleveland and stable.  But none of us felt it like Raph and Gina, because this family is also their family.  Part of what calls them back to Holmes County.  Part of what makes that little apartment in Millersburg, “HOME” for them.  Gina’s family (that is truly Raph’s family as well) their jobs, their church, and their many friendships there.  Would I want it any different?  No.  It would be terrible if my tallest son would dread going back.  It is such a blessing to know that they are happy.  But I hated to see them go.  Hated to see this weekend come to an end. 

It had been a while since we had seen Lem and Jessica, too.  The last few months of their lives have been severely intense, and Lem is headed back to finish another nine days as an intake worker for an alcohol and drub rehabilitation facility in Philadelphia, then moves on to a job that he has wanted since the beginning of his journey, that of being a therapist.  He wrestled and agonized and considered and finally made up his mind and came to peace with the changes it means for him and Jess.  His eyes are alight with anticipation, and I am so thankful for the way God has answered some of our prayers in the lives of our children.  I never prayed that Lem would be a therapist, but I often prayed for peace and for a good marriage and for direction and purpose and a vocation that would be a service to humanity.  Mostly I prayed that He would know God and His will for his life.  The thing is, all of those things are progressive things, and we never can say that it is a finished work, but when we can trace these things in their lives, and see that it is important to them,  it is a miracle of no small proportions.

Tonight, my heart feels like it is headed in several different directions.  One part went north, one went west, and one is with My Faraway Girlie, half a world away.  It sometimes feel as if it will consume me, I miss them all so acutely.  But the truth is that the biggest part of my heart is here. With Certain Man, our Middle Daughter, Oldest Daughter, Beloved Son in Law and our precious Love Bug.  And My Sweet Mama.  (Don’t forget My Sweet Mama!)  I have so much right here to love, influence, and treasure.  And the distance between me and the ones I love who are so far away in no way lessens my love for them, but it does lessen my daily responsibility towards them (except for the praying :}). 

And God holds our children in HIS Hands.  He loves them, He draws them into relationship with Himself.  And when I see that He disciplines them, it comforts me, (even as their pain sits on my heart, and I wish that they wouldn’t need to learn the hard way) because I see their faith becoming truly their own.  And that gives this Momma’s heart great joy.