Delaware Grammy

Saturday Morning at Shady Acres.   Eldest Son slept in, then came downstairs to wonder about whether or not his car was coming home from the body shop soon.  It was supposed to come today.  By lunch time.  He wanted to go to the bank.  Finally, he gave up and took the family mini-van to the bank.  And came home again to wonder aloud many times if his car was going to come home.

After much fussing around, in the early afternoon, he and his Dad took a ride down there and were able to come in on the final washing of his newly repainted and repaired car.  He was quite elated.  But he still had several hours before he needed to be anywhere, and he was bored. 

“Mom,” he said suddenly.  “I think I  would like to make some peanut butter pie.”  I must have looked at him askance because he hurried on, “I want to make it myself.  The time might come when I would be hungry for it and you might not be around, so I think I would like to learn to make it.  Everything.  Even the crust.”

This was not exactly what I had planned for this afternoon.  There was bookwork calling me, and other Saturday jobs, but I was rather pleased at this initiative, so I agreed that this would be a great time for him to learn to make peanut butter pie.  “Besides,” he added plaintively, “I am really hungry for peanut butter pie right now.  It has been a long time since we had it.”  I’ve been doing some pondering on that one, and I know we’ve had it since Thanksgiving.  But he didn’t get any at Christmas, so I suppose that has been a long time.

So we started with the crust.  I told him the ingredients and how much of everything, and he actually showed a good hand at this measuring and combining part of it.  “This is good,” I thought.  “I wonder if he will stick by it till the end.”  After cutting in the crisco and mixing the “wet stuff” together and then sprinkling the dough with it, he sat down to form his first ball of dough for rolling out:

Here he is shaping the dough carefully in preparation for rolling it out.

Here he spreads the plastic wrap carefully on the table.

Rolling it out takes careful concentration, but with the help of a form and the help of motherly instructions, he actually did very well with the pie dough business.

Put it into the pan, smooth it down carefully.


Then trim off the edges carefully with the knife.

I was sure I had a picture of his big fingers gingerly going around the pie crust, making almost perfect crimps, but I can’t find it.  One of the later pictures will show the crimps, though, and he did a great job!  After they were all crimped and pierced with a fork, he put the crusts into the oven and baked them.  They were gorgeous looking pie shells.

The next order of business was to make the peanut butter crumbs.  This was another step I neglected to catch on film.  Let’s just say that he made crumbs with vim and vigor!  Lots of them.  You see, my crust recipe makes crust for three to four pies.  He stretched it to four, and then decided that all four of them would be peanut butter.  This would take lots of custard and lots of crumbs.  So he got the crumbs made, and spread a layer in the bottom of each of his baked pie shells. 

Then it was time to make the custard.  This was where I figured he would wear down.  It takes time and patience to make a perfect custard.   But he measured the flour and salt and cornstarch and sugar, he separated a dozen eggs and mixed the yolks and a cup of milk with the dry ingredients while the milk came to a boil on the stove.  Then he mixed the hot milk into his egg mixture and then poured it all back into the sauce pan till it came to a nice boil. 

He stirred it carefully and patiently and was soon rewarded with a beautiful, thick smooth custard. 

He turned off the heat and measured and added the vanilla and butter.  It looked wonderful and smelled even better.

When everything was fully mixed, he poured it into the waiting pie shells.

Youngest Daughter, in Wal-Mart with her friends was able to procure some cool whip for the tops.  She and her friends came home to hang around and giggle and be impressed.  Eldest Son finally said that anyone who laughted at him couldn’t have any.  This caused even more merriment, but did not deter the chef..  Finally, when the pies had cooled sufficiently, the cool whip was applied:

And after that,

The crumbs! 
(I know, it looks like he’s putting on Cool Whip, but it really is the crumbs!)

And then the pies were done.  They were far better looking peanut butter pies than I had ever made, and that is the honest truth.  I think Eldest Son was quite satisfied with his efforts.

What do you think?  Aren’t they beautiful pies?
And doesn’t he look pleased with his accomplishment?
The only drawback is that now he thinks he is the boss of those pies.
So if you want a piece, you will have to ask him.
(And you can’t have any if you laugh at him!)
I heard him saying something about being able to eat them all himself, even if it took a couple of weeks. 
(I think he has some things to learn about the quality of old pie.)

Way to go, Raph!  I really am so proud of you!

If you haven’t already done so, please go to:

www.xanga.com/pollythepatchworker

to see a smiling Mark, Jr.

Safely home from the hospital.

While there, find out about another “homecoming”

For a two-year “Wanderer”

We’re so proud of you, Polly-Wolly.

Final Update . . .

Edit # 2

 Polly called and said that they took Mark to surgery around nine o’clock.  They told Polly not to expect any word at all before at least an hour.  That is if the appendix hasn’t sprung a leak or burst.  In which case, it will be much longer, and they told her that they will not come out and tell her.  She is just going to have to wait.  So.
        I told her to call me up until midnight, and I will pass it on. 
        Mark was in far better spirits.  Polly said that this is because he was sure that it was something far worse than appendicitis, and he was so relieved to know that it was “only” appendicitis that he was feeling quite light hearted, indeed.  We are all happier when Mark is happier!
And that is the truth!

Edit:
 Mark is in the hospital, waiting to go to surgery.  They started an IV, he is getting medication through that, and he is feeling better.
  PRAISE THE LORD!!!
The doctor said that he should/could/would
go to surgery around eight o’clock.  The Doctor said that the CAT Scan looked good — it did not appear that the appendix was ruptured.  He said there was a “stone” sitting in there somewhere.  I have never heard of that.  The surgery is planned to be laparoscopic, but if they get in there and there is any perforation, it will need to be otherwise. 
Please continue to pray!
*****************

Please Pray for my brother, Mark, Husband to Pollythepatchworker.

He has been ill since Saturday, and today went into the hospital.

They ordered a CAT scan and he has acute appendicitis.

He was so sick, that when the CAT scan was done, and they told him he could go home and they would call his doctor with the results, He did just that.

When they called him and told him that he had acute appendicitis they told him to stay at home and wait for a call from them because they didn’t have a bed.  Talk about frustration!!!

Well, now they have called and he is on his way to the hospital.  What the treatment plan will be, I don’t know.

And on top of that, he lost his wallet.  Though we who love him dearly are not surprised by this, it is another great inconvenience!!!  

Please, please, please pray for him, for Polly and for all their family.

I will try to update as there is news.

It’s been a quiet week at Shady Acres, my home farm.  So far.

Yesterday I betook meself to the doctor — (Not my family doctor ) —  for the first yearly checkup that I have had for probably about ten years.  I can’t find my records — Dr. Han disappeared and all my records went into oblivion.  Of course it didn’t help that I waited so long to try to find them.  And put off going because it has been so long. 

Guess what!  I remember with great clarity a few other reasons why I put it off.  I know that at my age, I cannot afford to ignore — well — anything, I guess.  At least judging from all the papers and tests I have been ordered to get.  Everything seems to be fine, but I guess they want to make sure.  When an old friend died of ovarian cancer just before Thanksgiving, it caused me to ponder my negligence.

When trying to reconstruct my medical history, I had great reason to review God’s incredible goodness to our family.  I was especially reminded of how things could have been so different with the birth of Eldest Son.  Of course, this kind of doctor is always interested in birth stories — and to have a 9 lb. 12 oz baby  ten minutes after rupturing membranes in a labor bed with a labor that had been going nowhere is a bit unusual.  But the blessing of that was that he came so fast — because when he was held up, there was a triple cord wind around my fat blue baby.  Twice around his neck, then going around his torso under his arms.  He still spent three days in the ICU nursery, but he really was fine.  But if he hadn’t come so fast . . . Well, I am just so thankful he did.

I often look at my tall (6’6″) son, and think of how things could have been so different, except for the grace of God.   He wasn’t named “Raphael” (The LORD has Healed) on a whim.  There is no name that would have been more appropriate.

Little Cardinal

Yesterday,  a Cardinal flew into the glass of the sliding door.
He was addled.  I was afraid he would die.
I posted Carson and Nevin to watch for the outdoor cats who were prowling around
And I prayed that the red bird would gather his wits about him and fly away.

I gave him some time, then slipped out onto the deck and took his picture.
I hoped that my presence would spur him to escape.
It didn’t.
I came back in to commiserate with Eldest Daughter concerning his fate.
The little boys were divided in their opinions.
Carson worried.
Nevin banged on the window, trying to scare him into movement.

About 20 minutes had passed, and he still sat there in a stupor.
I knew that I needed expert advice.
So I called Certain Man and asked what I should do.
“Should I put him on the platform feeder?  What should I do?”
“Put him on the far side of one of the hanging feeders where the cat cannot reach him.”
Now that was great advice.  Why didn’t I think of that?

I eased open the sliding glass door and snuck around the edge.
He looked up with unblinking black eyes.
Suddenly, he spread his wings and got airborne.
He wobbled and made funny flight patterns
Then took the very first branch he came to.
We watched, rejoicing from the warmth of the family room
And he settled in for a good long rest.

Such a beautiful bird.  I’m so glad that he recovered.

Today was one of those Delaware days.
The temperature is low.
There is a mean wind blowing.

I make swiss cheese and ham sandwiches in the early morning light.
I think about the men my sons have become.
Heading out into the extreme cold.  Learning hard life lessons.
Construction work in Delaware is not for softies.

Through the day, their job comes to mind over and over again.
When I step out of the warmth of the car to the doctors office with my Nettie-Girl.
When I come back out and the force of the wind hits me square
And seems to go right through me. 

I pull my flapping jacket closer around me, and find there is no real warmth
Against this biting, cutting wind.
I pray the Lord to make them strong.  And cautious.  And wise.  And full of optimism.
I pray the Lord to provide respite from the wind.
I pray against bitterness, discouragement and despair.

They tumbled in tonight.  The coffee was on.
“J’amaican Me Crazy”  blend from Dolce’s swirled its comforting smell out to the back door.
Pork Barbecue was in the oven.  Martin Potato Rolls on the cupboard.
They started to “unpeel” and I had to laugh.
Plastic Wal-mart bags around shoes inside boots.
Work pants came off.  Then sweat pants.  Then work shorts. Then there were flannel pajama bottoms.
(Whatever happened to long underwear???)
I see Youngest Son curling up beside the burning flame of the pellet stove.
Oldest Son tending to the “foreman” responsibilities of truck and fellow employees before allowing himself the luxury of warm house and lounging clothes.

Tonight they soak up the warmth and the fire and the comfort of home.
Tomorrow is to be even colder.  And tomorrow they go back out to the job.
It no longer is my responsibility to keep them warm and safe.
I will always be glad when they come home for warmth and food and comfort and encouragement.
But tonight, I know those days are seriously numbered.
And that is okay.  It is the way of Men.
And they are men.  They don’t even love me best of all anymore.

And so, I pack the lunches with a prayer.
I remember the days when I would take my hand and pretend to sprinkle “love” into their food.
It made them laugh.
They are way too big for that trick now.
What they don’t know is that, even though my hand is still,
My heart is sprinkling love all over those Swiss cheese and ham sandwiches.

And I will always love them.

Last night, as is the usual practice for our little country church,

We met for the soup and salad fundraiser for our youth group.  They are planning a trip to New York City in late spring for sightseeing, street evangelism and WORK, so they are planning ahead for the funds for this adventure.

These are the soups:

Shrimp Chowder, Chicken Corn Noodle and Taco.

And these are our servers:

Mary Beth, Laura and Rachel

And these are the Helpers/servers of the tea, hot chocolate, coffee, etc/ and even the cook of the shrimp chowder!

Abby (she made the shrimp chowder, and it was terrific!) Jessica and Joel.

By the time I got there, some of the tables were already full:

Some of the Bontrager cousins joined us for part of the evening.

Some more Bontragers, and at the end of the table is a couple who saw the advertisement on the sign and decided to come for supper — then stayed straight through to the New year.  That was very exciting for us!

Another table where good friends gathered.

It was fun to see people as they came in.

Kaleb and his grandma, my good friend, Loretta.

Loretta’s sister is visiting for a while over the Holidays.

(We’re so glad to have you, Carolyn.)

The youth group also provided an abundance of choices on the Salad Bar.

Here Miss Barbara makes her selections.

And the “acting Youth Sponsors” kept a careful watch over everything.

Thank-you, Jesse and Christina!

After supper, there was time for some games.

Some of the men played Greedy! Gary, Robert, Daniel and Dale

And some of the women played “Golf” with Uno Cards, or table games.  The kids played “Apples to Apples”  “Imaginiff”  “Dutch Blitz!” etc.

Loretta is explaining while Carolyn and Emma try to figure things out.

Unfortunately, about now (9:30 pm) was when I needed to come home with my two ladies.  I had already stretched things pretty far for my Nettie-girl.  When Certain Man and Youngest Daughter came in around 12:30AM, they told me of the wonderfu evening they had just enjoyed.  Around 11, everyone pitched in and cleaned up The Gathering Place (the basement) and then adjourned to the sanctuary for a time of prayer to see the New Year in. It was a very meaningful time for members of our congregation, and I trust those who came to be with us were blessed as well.

Happy New Year, Dear Friends.  God Bless us, every one!

It’s Friday Night

The Yutzy Clan is going out for Supper!

1/2 of the crew got into the Yutzy Mini Van.
Beloved Son in Law and Oldest Daughter drove their car.
Youngest Son and Girl with a Beautiful Heart rode with them.

Where, oh where shall we go???

Well, The Ohio Heart Throb loves Mexican.
And Certain Man’s Wife was thinking that sounded pretty good!
As was Certain Man.
So . . .

La Tolteca it was!!!

This was one side of the table.  You could almost see Oldest Son.

No, We weren’t partaking of the Mixed Drinks. 
The desserts were listed on the self-same flip menu.
(And Youngest Daughter had her heart set on fried ice cream!)

This was the other side of the table. 
Neither side shows Certain Man and Certain Man’s Wife.
This is perfectly okay by them!

These are our two girlies — Middle Daughter and Youngest Daughter.

This is Youngest Son with his Fiance — Girl With A Beautiful Heart

This is Eldest Son with his Ohio Heart Throb.

I had a picture of Eldest Daughter and Beloved Son in Law.
I would like to live.
I will not show it here.

We waited and waited and waited and waited. 
People got hungry
(I won’t show you a picture of that or someone [GWABH] may lose her reputation!)
But finally they made a great big table in the middle of everything, and sat us all down.
We had great service and a wonderful time.

I am so thankful for our family.
I am so thankful for the ones God has brought to share their lives with us.
Incredible blessings.
Unfathomable love!

The Songs of Christmas fall strangely silent.
I listen for their message of peace on earth, good will to men.
But the noise I hear instead is that of war.
And families killed by those born of their own bodies.
And hope gunned down, bringing murder and mayhem and sorrow and despair.

I took a dark road to my Sweet Mama’s house the other night.
For the first time in 24 Christmases, she wasn’t at our house for Christmas Eve.
Company and fatigue and pain and memories held her captive in her house.
So we went on without her.
When all the offspringin’s left for their traditional Christmas Eve Church service
I packed up her Christmas from us and went to her.
I went in my new fuzzy Christmas socks.  But I took along my boots.
I planned to go to my Daddy’s grave on my way home.

On the way out my drive, I passed a trailer house.  There was almost no light..
It once housed a child whom I loved as my own.
Our little Latin Lupe-Lou.
She is no longer a child, though she is little.  She is a woman.
And two weeks ago, she abruptly married.
I don’t know where she is.  I don’t feel good about this decision.
As I made the corner out of my driveway, there was a sudden catch in my gut.
I thought of all the golden Christmases when her stocking hung with ours.
When her stack of presents was the same as our children.
When I would climb the stairs to pray the Lord her soul to keep.
She had her own bed, her own drawers in the dressers, her own space in the closet.
But, most importantly, a place in our hearts.
Something went so wrong.

That is when the tears began.
I didn’t want to go to Mama’s all cried up, so I tried to stop.
I  turned on my CD of Baroque Christmas music.  I made it loud.
“Hallelujah!”  I sang at the top of my lungs.  “Joy to the world, the LORD has come!”
But my voice kept cracking, and the tears wouldn’t stop.
So, I rolled down my windows and let the cold winter air blow against my hot cheeks.
I started the Joy song all over again.  “Joy to the world!”  I caroled in my wobbly voice.
“Lord.  I believe!”  I sobbed.  “I believe that your coming to the earth lends meaning to all of this.”
I passed the cemetery that held my daddy’s grave.  He’s been so long gone.
“No more let sins and sorrows grow . . .nor thorns infest the ground.
He comes to make His blessings flow . . . Far as the curse is found.”

My heart began to quiet.  There would be time for tears later.
On my way home.  In a cold and quiet graveyard at a familiar stone.
The last few miles were filled with quiet orchestra music that filled my heart with peace.
And I came into my Sweet Mama’s house at least a little composed and tried to be cheery.
I walked into the warmth and beauty of the house that was my parents home
And found myself wrapped up in love and laughter and acceptance.
My Middle Brother was there, with his sweet wife.
The nurturing, quiet conversation swirled around my aching heart and comforted me.
My Sweet Mama, almost asleep on the chair, looked over her treasures and tried to exclaim.
But the day had been long, and the night was going to be short
And she finally succumbed to the grasp of the night and slept while we visited on.

An hour later, I knew I needed to go home.
Mama woke up enough to say a muddled “good-night.  I love you” when I kissed her soft cheek.
I had to laugh at her sleepy confusion.
And then I hugged Nel and Rose, put on my boots, and went out into the night.
The time at my Mama’s house had been so precious.
I aimed my mini van towards Milford and thought about stopping at my Daddy’s grave.
I had those boots on and everything.  I had packed a good flashlight to light my way.
But something had changed.
I didn’t need to stop.  Somehow the gripping desire had faded away.
In its place was the quiet Joy of the song in the night.
My CD was playing.  Not so loudly, and I wasn’t singing with it.
And I wasn’t crying.
“No more let sins and sorrows grow . . .”

The Songs of Christmas may fall silent in these days after Christmas.  And there is much in our world to mute the message.  And there can be much in our lives that seems to drown it out.  It is easy to be discouraged.  It is easy to despair.

Listen, my Sisters and Brothers.  It is up to us.  We are the ones to carry the message.   We need to sing the songs of hope when it seems there is no hope.  We need to bring the message of Joy even when our hearts are breaking.  We need to remind this old world that the angel’s song is the word for our day.

“Good tidings of great joy . . .  unto YOU is born  . . . a Savior . . . Which is CHRIST, the LORD.”

“GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND ON EARTH PEACE, GOODWILL TOWARDS MEN!”

There is a blessed hope.  We dare not forget.

This Certain Man, the love of my life
(shown here as our family read the Christmas story last evening)
Once again, hand made my Christmas present: 

A gorgeous bird feeder —  (Almost too lovely to use as a bird feeder!)
This is where I perched it last night to take a picture.
This afternoon, he installed it for me out on the corner of the deck

I can see this from my kitchen window, and many, many birds visit our deck and the various feeding stations there.  If you look closely, you can see three of the feeders.
Who wouldn’t love this gift?  I am just so tickled with it!

Here is a closer view of it.

Thank you, Daniel.  Your love for me is still the best gift every single day of our lives!