Vicariously

   
        When I was younger and looking ahead to the future, the year 2000 seemed so far away. It does once again, though now in retrospect. When I foxhunted with the Elkridge-Harford Hunt Club there was an "elderly" 69 year-old lady who kept up with the younger folk, galloping and jumping. I decided back then that I wanted to be like her. Other older adults whom I cared for as a nurse, who didn't exercise, who didn't seem to care for themselves, perplexed me.

       In the last few years I have been diagnosed with osteoarthritis and--far off from 69--I am unable to foxhunt anymore. Cantering a horse can be painful, much less galloping and jumping, and so  along with golf and skiing, hunting is added to the "I used to..." list. It's really easy to become self-absorbed and sad about it. When the feeling hits hard I watch Go-Pro videos of others' foxhunts. But one great thing about having children is that we truly can live vicariously through them.

       I am doing that right now as I write, warm and dry in a small ski lodge. Snow Creek must be the tiniest ski resort anywhere with three runs and a vertical drop of, like, 300 feet. But we're talking the Kansas/Missouri border! So it is a wonderland, a paradise for kids and mid-westerners who haven't the time nor means to travel farther. I might have once joked that more time is spent riding the lifts, with only about 30 seconds to ski down to the bottom of the longest slope, but how misplaced that humor would have been. I'm looking up now as people schuss and pizza and jump and wipe-out and laugh. There is challenge and there is joy on this hill. 

       I just met a beautiful couple in their seventies and eighties. There was a twinge of sadness: I had wanted to be like them. But the feeling was quickly replaced when I saw their joy in life. It made me joyful, too. They let me take their photo.

       As the morning goes on I've watched Stephania (who is visiting again from Columbia!), Gus, and two of my friend's girls take lessons and hit the slopes. 

       The tentative, jerky first forays have transitioned into more courageous, smooth runs. And wipe-outs. Gus is snowboarding for the first time. He just came back from the longest run at the slopes. While brushing snow off his helmet and from inside his coat, he told me with a huge smile about how he fell, rolled and landed back on his feet to continue down the hill. I remember well. And I've let loose the feelings of yearning to be right there with them. Watching is good. Listening to their first-hand accounts is exciting.

       Bruce likes to say, "Enough is a feast." It is enough to watch, to remember, to take part even through the window, in their fun and excitement. And so, today I participate in a feast...of abandon and the joy of living vicariously.

Nostalgia

     
       We watched the movie, Midnight in Paris, and I was struck with the realization that the nostalgic desire for a bygone era is not limited to modern people. The main character, who has had a chance to travel back in time, meets a lady who longs for an even earlier age. 

       In November my daughters and I had a lovely evening at the World War I Museum in Kansas City. We went to meet and listen to Sir Alastair Bruce, the official historian to the Queen of England and the historical advisor to the popular British series, Downton Abbey. We were so excited; we love history so much, that we were almost giddy to meet Sir Alastair Bruce. He was gracious and kind and best of all, so genuine that one would think he was an old friend. A gentleman, he asked if he could place his hands on our shoulders for a photo. He introduced himself as "Alastair."

       Susanna asked if he would allow her to "...do the teenager thing and take a selfie?" He graciously and enthusiastically obliged, later answering her tweet as to what a great shot it was!

       What a kind man. His lecture was fascinating and entertaining. My four oldest daughters and I have always loved historical dramas. Perhaps because most Americans have ancestral roots from other countries, we love pieces set in the UK and continental Europe. For example, I love to watch the British mini-series North and South, because my father's family were cotton millers from the Scottish border and Northern England in Carlisle. Alastair Bruce discussed the changes in aristocracy and landholding between the late 1700s through World War I. Due to great taxing of the large, old country houses, many were no longer financially viable and were literally blown up. Thankfully, Highclere Castle and others were preserved. Highclere is the setting for Downton Abbey. Another great house, Chatsworth, home of the Duke of Devonshire, is used as Mr. Darcy's Pemberly in the most recent Pride and Prejudice movie. Netflix has some great documentaries on these houses.

       I found myself saying to the Geek Squad guy who came and straightened out our router (they really do visit in little orange and black painted cars) that I must have been meant to live 50 to 100 years earlier. Technology, though miraculous, is frustrating and complicating far too often. To my children's chagrin I really do remember playing outside all day and using my imagination well. I truly did ride my horse, or someone else's, for hours and hours in wind, rain and snow. It was a beautiful childhood. Will my children say that all of the gaming and TV viewing was "beautiful" one day?

       The character from Midnight in Paris does find contentment in the present. He uses his nostalgia of the past to share with a new friend, and to write novels. I am glad that I can share my love of history with my daughters, to sit with a pot of tea and watch a beautifully filmed show. And of course, to write.

Vive les Heroique!

     
       God bless the people of France. We Americans understand fairly well what they are going through. The French supported us after 9/11 and I have seen an outpouring of support from Americans toward France on social media.

       One meme circulating again is that of Mr. Rogers and his quote about how in times of tragedy his mother comforted him and taught him to "watch for the heroes," for those who do great good. They are more prolific, really, than those who do harm.

       The sad part is that the harm was done, and harm will continue to occur in life. I recently watched a show where a character was trying to help a woman through the fear of repeated sorrow in her life. She'd lost a husband, almost lost a serious boyfriend and didn't know if she could go through it again. She was told by this character that she must go on, because with life comes sadness, but it must be lived.

       Having survived many losses, I know I do not want to go through another. I dread it. But I know that God has gotten me through this far and will do so again. I don't know what the big picture is, but I trust that he does.

       During and after 9/11 there were so many stories of heroism and support. Our country came together like no other in my lifetime. We must all do that, wherever we live. We must come together and support, and be the heroes we can be--even in our limited circles. Like Mrs. Rogers to her son.

Ch- ch- ch- ch- Changes!

       ...turn and face the strange changes...

       I was a teen when I first heard David Bowie sing Changes. I don't think I ever contemplated the meaning. How old was he when he sang those lines? Thirty? Did he think himself old? How he must sigh now.

       What changes we have seen in the last forty years! I'd wager they are more than in any forty-year period, previously. Horses to cars. Cars to planes. Planes to a man on the moon. Man on the moon to the iPhone.  Eve took a bite of the apple for what? To know everything. I know virtually all that one can find out in a question posed to "Siri." And on the back of Siri's housing? A bitten apple.

       Oh, the changes.

       Bruce and I flew to Maryland and, thankfully, had no calls of accidents back home. We attended the wedding of our friend's daughter, who is also our daughter's friend. It was in Annapolis and we were able to walk the historic streets. So beautiful.

       And the water! I miss it in Kansas. I miss the seafood, too, so we ate as much as we could of it!

     The State House in Annapolis has had some renovations. My friend's son is a master-plasterer, and participated in the work. In tearing out some damaged plaster they found vestiges of old designs. History is so fascinating, as are the people who walked in it. George Washington gave his resignation speech in the State House. America became governed not by the militia, or a king, but by the people.

       I took a long drive through my old stomping grounds in Northern Baltimore County. My Lady's Manor was about 10,000 acres of land when inherited by Lord Baltimore's daughter, Charlotte. It was apparently deeded back to her father-in-law to pay off the debts of her husband. I knew it as the land I took hayrides through, partied with friends in, and fox-hunted over. It is as gorgeous as any English countryside. Even past the autumn peak of colors it is breathtaking.

       I was probably at someone's party in Monkton when I heard Bowie's Changes. I'd never have imagined that decades later I'd be looking back on them. When we are young it seems we are immortal and indestructible. I wouldn't jump the four foot post and rails I did back then! The incredible memories. I am thankful for them.

       Things have inevitably changed. The Baltimore beltway is always congested now. Even on some of the country roads, people drive and pass with such urgency. What was a pumpkin patch in the 1970s, and then the Hunt Valley Mall of the 1980s built "in the boon docks," is now a redesigned outdoor mall with a movie theater, scores of restaurants and a very crowded Wegman's grocery. I told a man at the DSW shoe store that I worked at the original mall. " I remember it, too," he said, " I was just a little boy!"

       Big smile, and sigh.

Don't Do It

I was driving in the rain to Kansas City this morning. The windshield wipers were working hard and I felt tense. Lots of shifting over three lanes for left-handed exits. I missed one turn. I ended up at the wrong clinic.

I had to call for directions at one point and the nice man didn't understand what I meant by a block looking "sketchy." I have been around teens for decades and so I explained to the aged gentlemen that it meant "not quite right and perhaps a bit dangerous."

We made it, though, and Mary Pat will soon have an "Augmentive Communication Device." She still can't speak well but her understanding of letters gives her the ability, in the experts' evaluation, to pick out some words and pictures on this tablet-like device.

On the drive home I listened to the radio. There was a "quick minute" with a theologian, a nun named Mother Angelica. She quoted the Bible: "Do not let your hearts be troubled..." She made the point that God didn't say that He would necessarily take the troubles away. Troubles will come. They happened to Christ so they'll certainly happen to us. But we should fight discouragement. There is always hope.

I imagined some recent troubles in my life. Did I trust God enough to handle them?

Yes. I decided I did. And in anxiety's place came peace.

When I got home I google-searched the verse: John 14:27

I might have to keep reminding myself to let God handle troubles. Truly, some situations are much harder than others. But I will claim his promise. I hope you'll read the verse, too.


I don't have time to add to Renata, but I'll share some recent photos from the farm. They are from yesterday morning: misty, crisp and Fall-like.

God bless you.

Wisdom

   
       I read a quote yesterday that really got me thinking: 

       "Wisdom, after all, is just healed pain."

       Healed pain?

       I have prayed often for wisdom, but I have never prayed for pain. If wisdom only comes after pain, then our society is a bit backwards. Don't we emphatically try to avoid pain? 

       Can we strive too hard to avoid pain, and in so-doing, lose something very valuable...sense, priority, judgement, principle?

      Strangely enough, I think the answer is yes.

Never Waste a Chicken

       Before I left for Nashville our stove had just been repaired. Normally I would have left homemade casseroles, but instead filled the freezer with corndogs, frozen pizzas and the like. The kids were happy about it; convenience foods are a treat to them. Marie had specifically asked for a couple of rotisserie chickens, hot out of the oven.

       Like many busy Moms, sometimes the menu plan has not been made and we're left looking at the cupboards. I play a game with myself--that I'm on Chopped or The Next Food Network Star and I'm given some random ingredients with which to make a dish. Today was easy. I tell my kids to never throw away chicken or turkey carcasses. I keep hambones, too and freeze them for later use in soups.

       So today the rotisserie chicken leftovers became a lovely pot of chicken and dumplings. My mother used to make it, and my grandmother before her. It's super-easy.

Grandma Breiner's Chicken and Dumplings

Chicken bones and leftover parts

Two or three stalks of celery

One coarsely chopped onion

Two chicken bouillon cubes

Two cups of flour, divided

Two eggs

About six to eight cups of water

Salt and Pepper to taste

Cover chicken bones, and leftover meat with water in a soup pot. Add about a teaspoon of salt, and the chopped onion and celery stalks. Bring to a boil, covered, then reduce the heat to low and allow to cook two to three hours (you can rush it in about one hour, but the flavor will not be as developed). 

Turn the soup off and allow to cool until you can handle the chicken, about an hour. Strain the soup into a large bowl, preferably with a pouring spout. I use a glass one from Anchor Hocking or Pampered Chef. Separate the edible pieces of chicken and break up into bite-sized pieces, placing them in a separate bowl. I have a bowl for bones, and bowl for the soft cartilage and skin, which will later be fed to the outside dogs. 

Once separated, throw out the bones, unless you have another use for them. I am told that pets can eat raw bones, but that cooked chicken bones break into sharp shards. I play it safe and feel I've gotten great use out of them. Press the soft, inedible pieces in the strainer with the back of a spoon to allow juices to run into to the large bowl of soup, Return the soup to the pot. 

Stir about half a cup of the flour into a cup with about a cup of water. Beat it until the flour is no longer in clumps, and add this liquid to the pot. Whisk it and turn the heat on medium to bring to a boil. The flour mixture will thicken the soup slightly. Stir it frequently. I add a couple cubes of chicken bouillon for extra flavor, and add about a quarter teaspoon pepper. Taste and see for yourself.

For the dumplings:

My grandmother used to put a pile of flour right on her kneading board and make a well in it, to which she would crack a few eggs to make her dumplings or noodles. Using a bowl is more "modern." Today I put about a cup and a half of flour into a medium bowl and cracked in two eggs. Beat the eggs while pulling in a little flour at a time, and add water a little at a time, until the mixture is a very thick batter, not pourable--more like a wet bread dough. Let it sit until the soup in the pot is bubbling and has thickened. Then, using a teaspoon, scrape up the side of the bowl, bringing a teaspoonful of the batter up. Drop it into the soup, allowing the spoon to get wet--which keeps the next spoonful of batter from sticking to the spoon. Repeat this until all the batter has been spooned into the soup. Return the saved chicken pieces to the pot and stir gently. Turn off the heat when the dumplings are floating and allow to cool a bit. Serve in big bowls with a salad or green vegetable on the side, and some bread. There are rarely leftovers to refrigerate, but if there are, they taste even better the next day. Enjoy!

Best-Laid Plans

       This past weekend Bruce and I had plans to fly to Nashville to see our new baby granddaughter. We haven't been away from the children for more than two nights and I even think our honeymoon was three. This was to be four nights away! Was. As we turned our phones off airplane mode they were filled with notifications of texts and calls.

       Ben, ten, had taken a bad fall, breaking both bones in his forearm. The paramedics stopped the bleeding (I won't be more graphic), had given him pain medication intravenously and were taking him to Children's Mercy Hospital. Our daughter Susanna, a nursing student, was following the ambulance.

      Even if I'd taken the very next flight back I would have missed the surgery necessary to reset his arm. Bruce and I went to see our beautiful granddaughter, and took time to formulate a plan. Holding Norah was soothing and lovely. Grandparents say that there is nothing like having a grandchild, and it is true. Sharon had flown in from Japan. Bruce stayed to visit, it was his birthday weekend. I flew back the next morning.

       Bruce has told me that there is a saying in the Army: "Planning is everything, but the plan means nothing." In other words, do have a plan--but be ready to adapt it. I don't really think the plan means nothing, so much as the plan must be flexible. We are told the Bible says not to be anxious, and I believe planning is important to that end. One must look ahead to be wise. There are verses about fools running into lions and bad folk, because they were not looking ahead and being safe.

       When I read about "preppers" I have some admiration; they are far more ready for emergencies than I. While it is wise to have food and supplies in store, and even a back-up generator, I wonder if those who have loads of firearms and supplies for a year or two might be taking it too far? I wonder. Perhaps I'm just feeling inadequate, but the attitude seems key, especially the attitude toward fellow man in need. There was a man in the Bible who stored up so much for his own household and was proud, and then promptly died. The lesson was about trusting God. Each must find his "middle-ground."

       Ben is doing well. He had a rod placed in one bone and he is in a bent-arm cast for eight weeks. He's a happy fellow. Today his teacher texted me a photo. He sat out of recess and instead taught the Kindergartners about dinosaurs. Bones heal fast in little ones. "Happiness strengthens the bones." Another Bible verse. Ben is happy so I also choose to be. I missed a weekend planned, but there will be others. I got to hold Norah, and I got to be with my Ben when he needed me.

 

A Flashing Cursor and Poised Hands

     I recently ordered a book I remembered reading as a teenager. Lionors: King Arthur's Uncrowned Queen by Barbara Ferry Johnson, tells the tale of King Arthur's truest love. There is a poem at the end of the book which I remembered. It came within two days, thanks to Amazon Prime. I have not reread it yet, but I recall a pond and an island on it where they played as children.

       We have a lovely pond on the Abbey Farm. I've spent some time there the last two afternoons; the weather sunny with a crisp chill in the breeze. It really is some of my favorite weather. I told Marie, who accompanied me one day, that we go on vacations to experience this. Though we only had an hour, I decided to make it a memorable one. I tried to be as fully present as I could. So I didn't have a week--couldn't I gain some benefit from an idyllic 60 minutes? I have decided that the answer is yes. I am convinced that living fully in the present, and having a grateful attitude are key to aging happily.

Marie, pencil in hand, I am sure

       I move furniture when I don't want to do dishes and laundry. I changed around the small room where I have my desk and a sofa. I put things up on the walls that have been put away for years. I even hung my saddle, and it smells so very good in there now. I look up at my meager-yet-meaningful ribbons, my bits, my polo mallets, a picture of me foxhunting...I can't do any of those things anymore. But instead of sadness, I have intensely beautiful memories and gratitude. I call it the sitting room now. Maybe I've watched and re-watched too many Downton Abbey episodes!

1987

1991

     

1996

        

   

A Single-Subject Spiral, and a Sharpened Pencil

       I mentioned my screenplay. Screenplay writing is formulaic. Even so, talent is a must and I claim none. When I was a little girl, my friend Bev and I wrote novellas. We'd exchange them and giggle. They were almost always love stories. A single-subject spiral notebook and sharpened pencil are still two of my favorite things. Other writers understand the hypnotic attraction.

       I still see my story as a movie. Novel writing is much harder. My daughter Marie has written a few and I urge her to publish. She's gifted.

       I decided to try and write my story. I'll start here. It is inspired by one of my favorite people and her gift of giving. The character in the novel is not the same, however, in that events are purely fictitious. A name here and there, a line, a setting--but the rest is from my imagination.

       It is the story of the people influenced by a woman named Renata. Renata means rebirth. Some say that for all women, their genius--their greatest gift--is life-giving. Whether we have children or not, we have the ability to inspire, to support, to love in a very unique and special way.

 

In The Moment

       It is good to live in the moment. We're not dwelling on the past, we're not wishing life away by focusing on the future--we are experiencing the present. But what if the present isn't so good? What if we are suffering?

       I think we grow up learning from society around us that suffering is something that "shouldn't be." Mistakes are not supposed to happen--on the road, at work, in the McDonald's drive-thru or at the hospital--and if they do...then sue. Three of my friends were told by their doctors to terminate their pregnancies because of bleeding and an inability to find a fetal heartbeat. All three women said no, and there are now three healthy boys running around our town. I am convinced that the doctors felt that they had to recommend termination, for if they had not and the woman had complications, they could have been sued. Sadly, mistakes happen.

       I think it's possible that a mistake was made on our farm and that may be why Mary Pat has deformities and developmental disabilities. I will never confront anyone about it. There is no real proof. But if it is true, then it caused suffering. I have written about Mary Pat; she is such a blessing. She always knows more people in the local supermarket than I do. It's like being with a celebrity. Children run up to her as I walk into school and hug her, or give her a high-five. Through our suffering, through her life, many people have been blessed in ways that could not have happened without Mary Pat's life.

       Living in the moment is hard at times, but it can also be blissful. Sitting on the beach with the waves crashing and soft breeze blowing. Hitting that run of moguls and the adrenaline surge of speed and skis pounding hard. Jumping a horse over a big fence. Embracing a loved one. A first kiss.

       But there are also illusions of a moment, aren't there? They can lead us to errors in judgement, to impulsive acts. The things that keep us from making these errors are formed in us well before that moment, in our interior lives, in our moral formation. I am told that developing virtues combats these errors in judgement. All the education in the world may not keep someone from committing a crime or a huge mistake, but virtue might.

       I came across a beautiful and tragic quote the other day:

       "Let Herodius now groan, she who is guilty of the impious murder,
        for it was neither love of God's law, nor life eternal that she loved,
        but the illusions of a moment."

       Shakespeare?
     

       No. It is a reading from the Byzantine liturgy regarding the death of John the Baptist. Herod kind of liked John, even though he didn't mince words about Herod's sinful lifestyle. Herod's wife, however, despised John the Baptist and finally devised a way to force Herod to kill him. Her daughter Salome (Herod's niece) danced such a beautiful dance one night that Herod told her to ask him for anything and he'd give it to her. Her mother whispered to her to ask for John the Baptist's head, and Herod, beside himself with conflict, gave in. Herodius got her revenge.

       Revenge sometimes feels good in the moment. So do big mistakes--like infidelity, sin, porn, getting drunk when we shouldn't. Later, we may regret it terribly. At the moment it felt and seemed good!

       Moments are indeed precious. Illusions of a moment assert that the moment is more important than wisdom and judgement, than right and good, than even the One who created moments.

       I believe that God wants the best for us. I want to be grateful for my moments, even in the suffering ones. Christ suffered. We learn that to follow him means taking up our cross. That does not mean a cross of gold and happily ever after fairy-tale living. There will hopefully be some great moments, but there is no promise that life will be without pain. Ann Voskamp wrote an inspired book about her life, about the suffering of her family and how all was turned around for her when she focused on gratitude.One Thousand Gifts  is a book which changes lives. I hope you'll read it.

       And I hope you'll live solidly and gratefully in the moment, that you'll be wise and perhaps take some more moments before deciding on a course that you might later regret. Sacrificing that illusory moment might be the most fully in-the-moment thing we ever do.

Hershey Chocolate, Screenplay, and Cupid

       And--they're back to school. Next year I will plan better for summer activities, and maybe even a distant camp or two. That was something I never had the opportunity to do as a kid. I'm not complaining, I think I had a great childhood. I remember my friend Bev went away to camp every summer. The boys' and girls' camps were owned by her mother's family: Green Cove and High Rocks. I visited with her when we were in high school; a lovely little southwest corner of North Carolina, in the mountains.

       That's a bit far from Kansas, but I think the older boys would like more activity. I'd had a busy school year and I kind of "veg'd" with them this summer. I learned that teaching a college course, tutoring, substitute clinical instructing, grad school, every other weekend doing community health nursing, and being Mom to six under twelve was...too much. The six needed more of me. So we veg'd. We did go to Hershey, PA. That's always fun. Chocolate. And I think Milton Hershey is my new hero.

       Later in the summer Mary Pat, Susanna and I flew to Milwaukee for a special wedding. Joe lived with us the summer of 2013 and during that time met Maria, who helped care for Mary Pat. Joe fell in love watching her sing to Mary Pat, and care for her so lovingly. They asked for Mary Pat to be their flower girl. It was a wonderful weekend. Maria says Mary Pat is like the paper airplane in "Paperman." She's a cute little cupid!

       I did one other big thing this summer. I wrote a full-length, motion picture screenplay. I'm sort of amazed I got it done. The idea had been mulling around in my head for a number of years, with notes here and there. I read in April that Meryl Streep was funding the New York Women in Film and Television (NYWIFT)writer's lab workshop in September. Eight scripts would be chosen, their writers flown to a lake in upstate New York to develop their screenplays. The writers had to be women over 40.

       I got the email on August 1st that 3500 screenplays had been submitted (!) and mine was not in the eight chosen. Truthfully, I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try. The workshop was the incentive I needed to get something really big done, that time had not previously allowed. I had a couple months between grad courses, I'd become a disciplined writer and I did it. I have some future plans for the screenplay, but we'll see. I thank my children for encouraging me to finish that first draft. It may never have been completed without their support.

       So, back to today. The two oldest boys said it was a great day in their new school. I'm proud of them. The others were equally enthusiastic. Mary Pat was ecstatic to go back to her school and almost raced from my hand to the bus!

     
       Summer 2015 was good.

       Here's to a great Fall for us all!

Everything But The...

       Sometimes I feel I've tried everything but the kitchen sink. Actually, in respect to raising kids and home management, I probably have.  My stick-to-it-iveness is the problem. Or maybe it's that in a very large family no day is like the one before; there are schedules and sports and appointments. For years, there was a new baby every 14-20 months. I wondered when things would return to normal.

       Then I realized that normal for us was the state of flux. I've read so many books on organization. I wrote a blog post about some of them. Each has something very helpful, though it is unrealistic to expect just one to fit our family long term. I still like referring to them. Life just keeps changing. Marie and Susanna have moved into an apartment together, we have no foreign exchange students and so we "only" have 6 children at home. They are all school-aged, which is wonderful. For the first time in literally decades I was home alone some days of the week this past school year.

       The children are on summer break now. In times past we organized home "camp" days but this summer they range in age from almost 13 down to 6 and the older boys aren't excited about "Pirate Day," or "Astronaut Day." We still do a lot of learning serendipitously, though. We've been playing with the animals more, and their chores involve feeding and watering them, moving the ponies from stall to coral, and collecting eggs from the chickens. It used to be that I had to limit television. Now it is limiting computer and X-box time.

       Yesterday they played for hours outside, the weather cool. It was so much fun to see them running around with backpacks and plastic Nerf guns, working as a team. Ben would stop to roll around on the grass with some dog or cat. Max and Gus moved stealthily into the barn to avoid enemy wasps. Thankfully, no stings.

       They also love swimming in the pond (all swim well), paddle-boating and canoe-ing. Red is a great color for the canoe because I can locate them easily on the pond. Gus loves it especially. We have taught them boat safety, and our pond is small.

       There are still days where they claim boredom; those are the days I send them outside. "What do you think children have done all the thousands of years before air conditioning and computers??" "Aw, Mom, that was the olden days--kids do different things now!" Watching them play Army yesterday reminded me of playing with my brothers forty-five years ago. It doesn't have to be so different. Many families have stricter rules and even no computer time or X-Boxes. I respect that.

       Instead of feeling like I've failed at a given tasj, I remind myself to take from it what I can and move on. That's not to say I don't get down about it sometimes.  I tell myself, like Dori from "Finding Nemo" repeated: "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." Jesus told the disciples that if a town didn't welcome them to kick the dust off their feet, to keep doing what they were meant to do. Disappointment and negativity can render one ineffective and hopeless.

       Not today! Today I had the kids formulate a contract of turns on technology and initial it. They abided. Some broke off to play piano, clarinet and guitar, and the others went to the pond.

       Then we made cookies. A double batch in my giant new Kitchen-Aid mixer. Marie and Susanna are excited to inherit my old tilt one. Over the years they helped mix thousands of cakes and cookies with it. Before they were born I used it to bake wedding cakes and birthday cakes and our family's favorite Dobos Torte. Unless you have a Hobart or a commercial mixer, I think a Kitchen-Aid mixer is the best small appliance. My KSM-90 is still going strong after 28 years. I hope my new larger capacity mixer will, also.

       So here's the recipe. "Everything But The...Kitchen Sink Cookies." If you don't have a Kitchen-Aid, it will be quite the upper body workout. I doubled the recipe, but that won't work in a 4 or 5 qt. bowl. You'd need this baby (or a Hobart--lucky you!):

Everything But The Kitchen Sink Cookies 

Beat together:

1 cup butter, softened

1/2 cup white sugar

1 cup dark brown sugar

1 1/2 tsp pure vanilla

Beat in:

2 eggs

Stir dry ingredients together, and mix in slowly:

1/2 cup coconut flour

1/2 cup unbleached white flour (I like King Arthur Brand)

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

Stir in very slowly:

2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats

1 cup organic dried coconut (or whatever you have)

1/2 cup chopped pecans

1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

When well combined, drop by tablespoonful onto an ungreased cookie sheet and bake til golden in a 350 degree oven (about 10 minutes). Cool on baking rack.

You can add other ingredients. A basic oatmeal cookie is one cup flour and three cups oats. I have purchased gluten free oats before and ground some to make the 1 cup of flour. I've added crispy rice cereal, granola, different types of chocolate chips and different nuts. You could even add cinnamon or some almond extract. Today I thought dried cherries would be good, but I didn't have any on hand.

       Have fun with the recipe. If I struck a cord with you, if you are also an organizational book junky yet have failed to find just he right system, perhaps we're ok the way we are. Just be sure to take one day at a time and to kick the dust off your feet from the methods that don't work. Keep moving on and doing what you do best.

Reminiscing

      
       Myers-Briggs and other personality tests attempt to describe a person's tendencies and temperament. The temperament types were originally identified by Greek philosophers and were attributed to the four "humours:" blood (Sanguine), yellow bile (Choleric), black bile (Melancholic) and phlegm (Phlegmatic). It's worth a google search if you've never heard of them. 

       I'm not fond of the association with body fluids but reading about each type is interesting. The one thing I know is that I am not choleric. I kind of wish I were, because the typology reminds me of my friends who are so organized, on top of everything, know what to say at any moment, and their cars are clean.  I seem to be jumbled up when it comes to temperament type, but test consistently with Myers-Briggs.

       It explains why some enjoy reminiscing more than others. Of course, much of it has to do with whether or not the past was worth reminiscing about. I would think that most have some fond memories, the ones which comfort us--of being held by a loving parent, of a favorite pet, of a place, of an old friend. 

       We've had a great experience visiting family and friends on the East Coast recently on vacation. I feel like it's recharged my soul. All of the sights, the smells, the memories can't possibly be chronicled. I'll block the fact that it is so much more crowded in many areas. Cars go faster, there are six lanes where there were two, houses have sprung up where I remember vast fields. But some areas are not changed. 

       Northern Baltimore County is lush and green and I find myself wondering how I never noticed it as a child and young adult. I rolled down the window when driving up the road I grew up on, covered in a canopy of trees beside the stream I knew every inch of. I drew a deep breath and memories flooded back. The smell--I hadn't experienced it in years and quite honestly, I was almost in tears. Wet granite with last autumn's leaves mulching into soil. The sound of wind in the trees and the water cascading over rocks into pools. My brothers and friends and I built dams and caught crayfish and salamanders. The minnows and water-striders were too fast so we watched them when we were tired.

       We never seem able to see all the folks I wish to when coming back to Maryland. I saw one old friend I rode ponies with. I kept my first pony at Amy's farm. We rode to pony club each Sunday, at first with her Mom, then later just the two of us. The roads were less traveled and young teen girls could giggle and canter, crossing fields and roads the four miles to Bacon Hall Farm, carefree. It took a good 30-45 minutes and we loved it. The United States Pony Club Association teaches young people how to care for and ride horses. There were horse shows--Amy did a whole lot better than I--and three-phase events: cross-country jumping, show-jumping and dressage. 

       Seeing Amy again brought a flood of memories and much laughter.  Sometimes I wish I were less melancholic, remembering and feeling so deeply. The balancing parts of sanguine and phlegmatic bring me back and help put all into perspective.

       I'm happy to focus on the positive. All of us have sad times we'd rather not dwell on. As long as they've been dealt with in a healthy way I'm happy to let them go. I don't live in the past, but the past helped make me. I hope that it won't be too long until I can roll down the window again and experience the aroma of memories.

Creator, Through The Created

   
  I've mentioned that I teach a college Nutrition class. We hosted two speakers in the last week, both farmers. One farms thousands of acres and the other, hundreds. Both are successful men with wonderful families; both are open about their faith in God and how it drives their worldview and business practices. Both are ethical, intelligent and caring. One farms conventionally and the other organically. The students have so much to think about!

     What struck me was that each spoke about God openly. Each stayed after to offer sage wisdom and advice to students. They cared. Neither man was asked to speak about his beliefs or faith, and yet it was clear that in farming the land they came to know God more deeply. I have friends who are interested in crystals, some in art, some in the oceans, some in saving women from human trafficking, some interested in climate change. From the perspective of a Christian, I believe that the Creator is drawing them to him through nature--through his creation. They may see him differently, or they may not yet acknowledge him. Christians are human and imperfect but their God offers choice. He sings a love song which is heard and experienced through the senses in many ways. And he awaits his beloved.

Kansas Mangroves

      
       My students in class had never heard of mangroves. It is understandable, as they are young and we are in Kansas--pretty far away from mangroves. No, they are not a place to find men, though you can find man living in harmony with them. Mangroves are an ecosystem far from Kansas, but which impact it, nonetheless. We have all heard of how the destruction of rain forests affects the planet. People breathe oxygen; plants "breathe" CO2. In an age where we're really studying the effects of carbon in our atmosphere, I find it astounding to learn that mangroves sequester (breathe in, if you will) up to five times more CO2 than the rain forests on the planet. That is significant.

        It is also significant that we have destroyed 35% of the world's mangroves in the last few decades, with an estimated 1% destroyed each year. Shrimp farming, coastal development, resorts and golf courses are some of the causes of destruction.

       So what is a mangrove? It is a coastal ecosystem in the subtropics and tropics. Trees and shrubs grow in this shallow, watery area at the edge of saltwater bodies, and provide nurseries to young fish, shellfish and marine mammals. I read that some sharks will swim thousands of miles to return to the mangrove in which they were born. Mangroves also control storm surge, fight erosion and protect coral reefs. There are large projects and initiatives that have begun in effort to conserve mangroves and even to help generate new ones.

       My friend, Bev, is a scientist who has studied mangroves and their amazing contributions to so many ecosystems. My students were in as much awe of her work as I was when first hearing about it. Bev is a force for change on a global scale. My students looked at each other, wondering what they could do. Then they discussed the many things they could on a personal and community level that affected the world, and water runoff--and even mangroves. And we felt empowered and motivated.

       In a Nutrition class which covers topics like diet, vitamins and minerals as well as feeding the world, population growth and food availability--mangroves fit into discussion surprisingly well. Feeding our people and taking care of our planet can be done without hurting either. We just have to want to enough.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhLlqdPB_Rs
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UcUwYZ9CI0A

Childhood Friends, Lifelong Friends

  
       I am looking forward to seeing two of my oldest friends later this week. We have not been together--the three of us--since 2000 when my late husband passed away. Though Bev lived hundreds of miles away with a busy speaking and teaching schedule, she was by my side within hours of Bob's death. Sandy was there within minutes. I count myself so blessed to have friends like them.

       My work colleagues cautioned today, "Don't get into trouble!" The worst I can imagine us doing is laughing too hard and annoying some around us. I admit I feel I will become childlike again. But I have gotten pretty "in-touch" with my inner child. My temperament allows it. A Myers-Briggs INFP, a melancholic with sanguine as well as phlegmatic flares, I guess I am a natural contemplative.

     My brother once commented that I was more like my mother than he. "I wish I could care more about things sometimes, like you do." I admitted that I wished sometimes I was not so empathetic: it takes a lot of energy. It also leads to some disillusionment, as I have intimated in the last couple of posts. Without disillusionment, though, is life realistic? For many it leads to anger and distrust. I reflected in my last post about trusting God with the big picture, and that thankfulness was a key to true joy. Happiness is momentary and transient. Joy is a cenote: a wellspring under the surface.

        It is thought that the Mayan culture, which grew to an estimated 20 million occupying the Yucatan Penninsula in the first millennia A.D. survived because of thousands of miles of cenotes: underground caverns full of water. Crystal clear. Life-giving. Though joy may be unseen and unfelt because of tragic life events, that spring is ever there, ready to well up when we least expect it. I felt it--not as happiness, but of peace--when riding in the ambulance just after Bob's death. I felt it again a month later driving to my Mom's place in South Carolina. One minute wondering how the world could go on, the next feeling the presence of the Holy Spirit, the Comforter--it seems implausible. The Peace of God which passes all understanding. Truly.

          Sandy and Bev and I have differences, especially in regard to politics and religion. We all three feel emotions very deeply. We are testimony to deep love and understanding and tolerance. I think that much of what Sandy and Bev and I will talk about will revolve around our life experiences and how we've met the challenges faced. We'll talk about memories as well as menopause. Sometimes life events are themselves the cause to ponder, and sometimes they are the signal that it is time to ponder the past. Tears as well as laughter can heal. I plan on much of both--with some feasting and thankfulness and joy.

When We Can't Pick Up All The Pieces

     I had one of those great long talks with an old friend the other day. The kind that realigns you; where you bear your worst fears, relive sadness, reassess decisions made, and shed tears.  It is so important to have someone you can bear your soul to and who would never give you cause to regret that you did.

     Time changes things and that is inevitable. On the farm it is certainly true. I've chronicled the various animals arriving and the joys they brought. We still have joy, but we have had to live with some difficult losses. Annabell was never able to conceive and so we could not keep her. One philosophy about working farms that is difficult for non-farm folk to understand is that if an animal, or crop, or aspect, does not work in the plan, then oftentimes that part needs to be changed. Annabell was given to a very nice family. A cow named Sugar was sadly given away as well. Betsy was sold. Who would guess that I would develop a severe allergy to cow dander. I tried everything. It was very hard to give up the dream, but I started the process.

     And then one February morning I walked into the pasture and Flossy (Betsy's daughter I hadn't sold yet) had dropped a beautiful calf. We were so surprised; we did not know that at 9 months, Flossy had been bred when our neighbor's Gelbvieh bull kept hopping the fence. I'd figured Betsy was sold pregnant, but never dreamed that little Flossy was with-calf. We named him Friday for the day he was born and the dream that Marie recently had about a calf. Flossy produced delicious Jersey milk and I tried milking again. We were blessed with new tenants who wanted to milk, plus a slew of other friends who wanted to, and things worked well.

     We even bought another cow, with great plans in mind. May was a beautiful Jersey/Red Angus cross. She had a gorgeous brindle coat and she was bred. Not too long after, she dropped a bull calf and we named him Norman. All was well, but then a really tragic event occurred. One night a pack of feral dogs attacked and killed all six of Marie's sweet Nubian goats. We had hand raised most of them. Marie was away at college and for that I was thankful; the sight was one I won't forget. Over the next few weeks an anxiety came over me that was not easily shaken off. It was a long process of trying to make all of the other animals (the small ones) safe. My cow allergy worsened. I didn't sleep well.

     A month later we found May lying still in the pasture. She had died suddenly of bloat. We had a vet come out and run tests; it was a freak occurrence. I wondered what God was trying to tell us, to tell me. The stress became too much and we sold the rest of the cows--Norman to our neighbor and my dear Flossy and her Friday to a wonderful homeschooling/farmsteading family.  We also let go of one pony to the same family. In retrospect it was a dream which was not meant to last. That is what I spoke to my friend about, in sadness.

     Like the best of friends she listened, and she told me she was so sad for me. Then she said something that maybe I wasn't prepared to hear earlier, but could now. She said what a blessing there was even in the sadness. It was obvious to think she referred to the people who were gifted with our animals, and even that Marie was not home to see what happened to her precious goats. That was not all she meant. What she said that resonated deeply was, "There are so many people who will never do the things you have done, who will want to but have no farm or no means to have pets. But you always wanted horses and cows and goats and more. And for a brief time, you got to live that life of milking cows and raising goats. Maybe you will again, maybe you won't. But you did."

     She went on to tell me something we'd talked about before: "Life is full of so many puzzle pieces. We may never see them all put together, but our Lord does. He sees all the stages, all the beauty, the tragedy, and even His finished picture. We can trust that the pieces are placed before us by Him, that we can pick them up and turn them around and stare intently before placing them. Some we can move around. Some need to be put aside for another time." She made it sound so comforting, so deep and wise and true. Life would always involve change, and it would not always be easy, but we could trust the true builder of the puzzle, and we could be thankful for the pieces, even aspects of the difficult ones. Love, thankfulness and trust were the keys to working the puzzle.

     Driving home one day, pulling into our lane I saw the Robins return. Always a moment of joy in those first days, I remembered when my Mom was alive and the game she played with our landlord, Mrs. Mayo. Who would see the first Robin return after the long winter. I smiled and thought of Mom. My heart ached with missing her, a tear fell down my cheek but was replaced by a smile. What memories! I realized that some of the puzzle pieces would stay exactly where they were for the rest of my life, not to be picked up again. I might not see the finished picture, but much of what had been laid down and interlocked carefully--or even hastily or even forced--was there to stay.  And that was okay. It continues to be built. A beautiful and unique picture in the journey of a life.

Seeing Through Busy

          Every one of my friends will say that their life is busy. I remember seeing a commercial from the 1950s which predicted that all of the new electric appliances would give women so much more leisure time! I do not think they understood the "Size of a Woman's Purse" philosophy. I don't know if I made that up, but I do know that whatever the size of my purse--it is filled to the brim. The same with "extra time." It gets filled. It is too cliché to say that many of us don't know how to say "no." We want what is best for our loved ones, our family, our husbands and our community. Our cup fills, and runneth over.

          I have not posted for a very long time. Life has been busy. Our two oldest are now married! The next two are in college and all the rest are in school this year. So did I make more leisure time? Did I dive into housework? Neither. I took on three jobs and started my graduate degree. As I write this it seems nuts, but every decision at the time was a right one. Each job is very part-time. It is the masters in nursing education which takes the most time, but I have loved it. I think it would be fun to be independently wealthy and become a full-time student. I love learning so much. I also love inspiring students to learn when I tutor, teach a nutrition course and teach clinicals. And I love being a home health and hospice nurse on the weekends. So much good stuff!

          It is running over in good and not so good ways. I now remember what a conflict it is juggling home and work. We had another lovely young lady live with us last year. Stephania is back in Columbia and we miss her terribly. She was truly one of the finest young people I have ever known. She helped our family immensely. I have decided that I am taking a few months off my graduate studies to dive back into my most important role: Mom.  It is only a delay in my studies, and I know I won't regret the time with my family. The best of Moms take care of themselves, but they figure out how to give their best to their families. It is not always clear-cut, and sometimes it is difficult; but it is a great goal.