Every kid should get to climb trees. When I was little I had a favorite tree I would climb. It was in the front yard of our house on Appleton Ave. It had one long, fat branch that hung out over the driveway. That was my favorite branch. Sometimes I would ride it like it was a horse heading off into the "wild west". Sometimes I would hang down from it so my brother and sisters could try to get me. It was up too high and I'd always get away. If I went up one big branch higher I was in my make believe house.
When Marcia was big enough to climb, she would go on the lower branch and I would go on the higher branch. We took our dolls up there with us and prentended it was our house. When we got bigger we climbed all the way to the top. My Mom got mad at us and we couldn't go in the tree for a whole week. Sometimes when I wanted to get away from the other kids I'd go up in the tree and hide out. When I was a little older I'd take books and magazines up with me and hang out there relaxing in the warm air. I read just about every Nancy Drew book in that tree. In my mind I pretended to be in all different parts of the world. Wherever we learned about in school is where I'd be when I was in my tree. Sometimes when I wanted to see what our neighbors were up to I would climb way up high. There was a big field between our house and any others, but from up in the tree I could see what was going on in the neighbors yards.
But beware of cherry trees! My Mom and Dad said we couldn't climb the cherry tree. When my cousins came over, the Wiegand boys, they climbed the cherry tree. We found out real fast why not to climb that tree. Sap, tons of sap, was all over them. Cherry tree sap is almost clear... until it gets on your skin and clothes. Their clothes were ruined and they had to get in the bathtub and scrub until they hurt, to get the sap off. No cherry tree for me! But then there was the time Marcia and Steve climbed the tree???
When I was in 8Th grade and high school I climbed the trees in the back yard. They were much, much larger. We needed to trim them so my Dad and I, and a friend, Danny Weber, climbed the back yard trees and pruned the heck out of them. Wow! The sunlight could finally come in the kitchen windows again! We left up one big branch on a lower limb and hung a rope swing from it. Woohoo! Tarzan swing!
Everyone should get to climb at least one tree.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Never Forget
Twas the night before Christmas
When all through the land.
Not a Christian was praying
Nor taking a stand.
The "politically correct police" had taken away,
The reason for Christmas - no one could say.
The children were told by their schools not to sing,
About shepherds and Wise Men and Angels and things.
It might hurt peoples feelings, the teacher would say
December 25th is just a holiday.
Yet the shoppers were ready with cash, checks and credit
Pushing folks down to the floor just to get it.
CDs from Madonna, an X Box an I-Pod
Something was changing, something quite odd!
Retailers promoted Ramadan and Kwanzaa
In hopes to sell books by Franken and Fonda
As Targets were hanging their trees upside down
At Lowes the word Christmas was no where to be found.
At K-Mart and Staples and Penny's and Sears
You won't hear the word Christmas: it won't touch your ears.
Inclusive, sensitive, Di-ver-si-ty
Are words that were used to intimidate me.
Now Daschle, now Darden, now Sharpton, Wolf Blitzen
On Boxer, on Rather, on Kerry, on Clinton!
At the top of the Senate, there arose such a clatter
To eliminate Jesus, in all public matter.
And we spoke not a word, as they took away our faith
Forbidden to speak of salvation and grace.
The true Gift of Christmas was exchanged and discarded
The reason for the season, stopped before it started.
So as you celebrate "Winter Break" under your "Dream Tree"
Sipping your Starbucks, listen to me.
Choose your words carefully, choose what you say
Shout MERRY CHRISTMAS, not Happy Holiday!!!
When all through the land.
Not a Christian was praying
Nor taking a stand.
The "politically correct police" had taken away,
The reason for Christmas - no one could say.
The children were told by their schools not to sing,
About shepherds and Wise Men and Angels and things.
It might hurt peoples feelings, the teacher would say
December 25th is just a holiday.
Yet the shoppers were ready with cash, checks and credit
Pushing folks down to the floor just to get it.
CDs from Madonna, an X Box an I-Pod
Something was changing, something quite odd!
Retailers promoted Ramadan and Kwanzaa
In hopes to sell books by Franken and Fonda
As Targets were hanging their trees upside down
At Lowes the word Christmas was no where to be found.
At K-Mart and Staples and Penny's and Sears
You won't hear the word Christmas: it won't touch your ears.
Inclusive, sensitive, Di-ver-si-ty
Are words that were used to intimidate me.
Now Daschle, now Darden, now Sharpton, Wolf Blitzen
On Boxer, on Rather, on Kerry, on Clinton!
At the top of the Senate, there arose such a clatter
To eliminate Jesus, in all public matter.
And we spoke not a word, as they took away our faith
Forbidden to speak of salvation and grace.
The true Gift of Christmas was exchanged and discarded
The reason for the season, stopped before it started.
So as you celebrate "Winter Break" under your "Dream Tree"
Sipping your Starbucks, listen to me.
Choose your words carefully, choose what you say
Shout MERRY CHRISTMAS, not Happy Holiday!!!
Why I can't Cook
When I was little and we lived in Manitowoc, occasionally my parents would go out and party with relatives.
One morning, after my parents had gone out the night before, Marcia and I got up early. Obviously my parents were still tired, but we were up and ready to go. I thought I'd make breakfast for Marcia and me. I opened the refrigerator to get out my ingredients. I found the first bowl of "stuff'". Of course, being a kid I had to mix it with something I loved, soooo....
For breakfast that morning Marcia and I had leftover green peas mixed with popcorn! I thought I was the greatest cook in the world!
And like I said at the start of this blog site, memories really do affect who you become. I can't cook to this day, but I still love peas and I still love popcorn... Just not mixed together!
One morning, after my parents had gone out the night before, Marcia and I got up early. Obviously my parents were still tired, but we were up and ready to go. I thought I'd make breakfast for Marcia and me. I opened the refrigerator to get out my ingredients. I found the first bowl of "stuff'". Of course, being a kid I had to mix it with something I loved, soooo....
For breakfast that morning Marcia and I had leftover green peas mixed with popcorn! I thought I was the greatest cook in the world!
And like I said at the start of this blog site, memories really do affect who you become. I can't cook to this day, but I still love peas and I still love popcorn... Just not mixed together!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I Hate Saddle Shoes
It's funny how looking back on your life there are some memories that stay with you so profoundly, they only get stronger.
It was the summer before I was in 6th grade. Our family went to a picnic given by the bar owner of one of my Dad's favorite bars, Bubby Bentz White Chip Tavern. That was the first time I ever remember Bubby having a ride at his picnic. It was called the Whip. I went on it once and couldn't wait to get off. When my brother and sisters wanted to go on it I remember making up excuses not to take them on or let them go on alone. Maybe I was being a wimp, maybe it was my gut telling me to stay off that ride.
We were all sitting at the picnic table eating hot dogs when we heard screaming. Something had gone wrong with the ride and they couldn't get it to stop. As the cars would whip around the corner, they were smashing in to some people that were trapped by the cars that had gone off the track. There were screams everywhere, and way too much blood. I don't know if anyone died that day, but I know there were some pretty messed up people.
Just before the accident with the ride I met a nice kid whose Dad was one of my Dad's buddies. His name was Jeff. He was cute and a little cocky, but a nice guy. He was very nice to my family and kept watching us all day. I didn't know why then...
When school started that fall, Jeff went to my school. I remember seeing him on the first day, but I don't think he saw me. I was the only one in my family that went to that school because I was the oldest. After a few days I almost literally ran into Jeff in the hall between classes. At first he just looked at me, kind of sad, and then he said hi. That was that.
A few days later I saw him with his friends and he was very different. He whispered something to his friends and then said "Hi Cornpicker!" That became his name for me. Every day, between what seemed like every class. He said that name so mockingly. He seemed mean now.
One day after school I saw him with one of his friends. They were by the door I needed to go out to get home. All I could think was how can I get past them without him saying anything. I didn't like him anymore. Nope, it wasn't gonna happen. He saw me and it started again, "Hey Cornpicker! Where do you think you're going Cornpicker?" Finally I got so mad I yelled back at him. "What's wrong with you? Why were you so nice in the summer and so mean now?" Then I heard the ugliest thing I ever heard. "I had to be nice to you. My Dad made me. He said your family was poor and we should be nice to you all." He said he called me Cornpicker because his Dad told him we were poor and when we needed food we would go into the cornfield by our house and pick corn. Yes, we had a cornfield next door to our house, but we never stole corn from that field. The owner told us as kids that he appreciated how we didn't steal from him.
Was he crazy? Were we poor? Why would he say such a thing? My heart hit the floor as I ran out the door. I cried all the way home. Why was he saying that to me? We weren't poor. We had food to eat and some clothes to wear. This made no sense to a 6th grader. Thankfully it was the weekend and I didn't have to see him again for a few days.
All weekend I looked around at our house and my family. I kept crying at what Jeff said. I told myself I really hated him, but in my heart I knew I didn't. I hated what he said. But most of all I hated that Jeff had opened my eyes to the reality of our family. He made me see what I was ignoring. Yes we were poor in money, but we had each other. I had ruined my shoes running home through water that Friday. My Mom made me get Saddle shoes and forced me to wear them to school. Nobody wore Saddle shoes anymore! They were so ugly!
But, as they always do, Monday came... and Jeff was there when I walked in the door with those ugly, ugly Saddle shoes on. Now I was Cornpicker with the ugly shoes. I went home that night and begged my Mom not to make me wear them again. She said I was too hard on shoes and was going to have to wear them because that's all I had. Oh my God! We were poor! I only had the one pair of shoes and no way out of wearing them. The next day I put my stuff in my locker, took my shoes off, and went to class with my navy blue knee socks on. They were dark like shoes, maybe no one would notice. It was fine until lunch time. When we went to the cafeteria I still had my socks on. One of the other teachers saw it and yelled at me in front of everyone. She wanted to know why I didn't have my shoes on. My sister Marcia was in the cafeteria and heard me get yelled at. Somehow I left the cafeteria and never went to recess. I had to go back to my locker and put on my ugly shoes.
I had to put my shoes back on for the rest of the day. When I got home. Marcia told my Mom I didn't wear my shoes in school. I remember telling my Mom I hated them and that they meant we were poor! My Mom's face went cold. All I can remember is that I had different shoes on when I went to school the next day. I don't know where they came from.
That name went with me to High School. The reason I think I remember this so well is not just because of the meanness of it all, but because it changed me. I believe that it adds to my need to be successful and be validated in this world. I will never be a world leader or famous, but I will make my mark on this world. My faith will never leave. My God will take care of me. I will never be poor. I will earn peoples respect and work hard to make a positive difference in this world.
And I still hate Saddle shoes...
It was the summer before I was in 6th grade. Our family went to a picnic given by the bar owner of one of my Dad's favorite bars, Bubby Bentz White Chip Tavern. That was the first time I ever remember Bubby having a ride at his picnic. It was called the Whip. I went on it once and couldn't wait to get off. When my brother and sisters wanted to go on it I remember making up excuses not to take them on or let them go on alone. Maybe I was being a wimp, maybe it was my gut telling me to stay off that ride.
We were all sitting at the picnic table eating hot dogs when we heard screaming. Something had gone wrong with the ride and they couldn't get it to stop. As the cars would whip around the corner, they were smashing in to some people that were trapped by the cars that had gone off the track. There were screams everywhere, and way too much blood. I don't know if anyone died that day, but I know there were some pretty messed up people.
Just before the accident with the ride I met a nice kid whose Dad was one of my Dad's buddies. His name was Jeff. He was cute and a little cocky, but a nice guy. He was very nice to my family and kept watching us all day. I didn't know why then...
When school started that fall, Jeff went to my school. I remember seeing him on the first day, but I don't think he saw me. I was the only one in my family that went to that school because I was the oldest. After a few days I almost literally ran into Jeff in the hall between classes. At first he just looked at me, kind of sad, and then he said hi. That was that.
A few days later I saw him with his friends and he was very different. He whispered something to his friends and then said "Hi Cornpicker!" That became his name for me. Every day, between what seemed like every class. He said that name so mockingly. He seemed mean now.
One day after school I saw him with one of his friends. They were by the door I needed to go out to get home. All I could think was how can I get past them without him saying anything. I didn't like him anymore. Nope, it wasn't gonna happen. He saw me and it started again, "Hey Cornpicker! Where do you think you're going Cornpicker?" Finally I got so mad I yelled back at him. "What's wrong with you? Why were you so nice in the summer and so mean now?" Then I heard the ugliest thing I ever heard. "I had to be nice to you. My Dad made me. He said your family was poor and we should be nice to you all." He said he called me Cornpicker because his Dad told him we were poor and when we needed food we would go into the cornfield by our house and pick corn. Yes, we had a cornfield next door to our house, but we never stole corn from that field. The owner told us as kids that he appreciated how we didn't steal from him.
Was he crazy? Were we poor? Why would he say such a thing? My heart hit the floor as I ran out the door. I cried all the way home. Why was he saying that to me? We weren't poor. We had food to eat and some clothes to wear. This made no sense to a 6th grader. Thankfully it was the weekend and I didn't have to see him again for a few days.
All weekend I looked around at our house and my family. I kept crying at what Jeff said. I told myself I really hated him, but in my heart I knew I didn't. I hated what he said. But most of all I hated that Jeff had opened my eyes to the reality of our family. He made me see what I was ignoring. Yes we were poor in money, but we had each other. I had ruined my shoes running home through water that Friday. My Mom made me get Saddle shoes and forced me to wear them to school. Nobody wore Saddle shoes anymore! They were so ugly!
But, as they always do, Monday came... and Jeff was there when I walked in the door with those ugly, ugly Saddle shoes on. Now I was Cornpicker with the ugly shoes. I went home that night and begged my Mom not to make me wear them again. She said I was too hard on shoes and was going to have to wear them because that's all I had. Oh my God! We were poor! I only had the one pair of shoes and no way out of wearing them. The next day I put my stuff in my locker, took my shoes off, and went to class with my navy blue knee socks on. They were dark like shoes, maybe no one would notice. It was fine until lunch time. When we went to the cafeteria I still had my socks on. One of the other teachers saw it and yelled at me in front of everyone. She wanted to know why I didn't have my shoes on. My sister Marcia was in the cafeteria and heard me get yelled at. Somehow I left the cafeteria and never went to recess. I had to go back to my locker and put on my ugly shoes.
I had to put my shoes back on for the rest of the day. When I got home. Marcia told my Mom I didn't wear my shoes in school. I remember telling my Mom I hated them and that they meant we were poor! My Mom's face went cold. All I can remember is that I had different shoes on when I went to school the next day. I don't know where they came from.
That name went with me to High School. The reason I think I remember this so well is not just because of the meanness of it all, but because it changed me. I believe that it adds to my need to be successful and be validated in this world. I will never be a world leader or famous, but I will make my mark on this world. My faith will never leave. My God will take care of me. I will never be poor. I will earn peoples respect and work hard to make a positive difference in this world.
And I still hate Saddle shoes...
Monday, November 26, 2007
The Last Thanksgiving
I've spent the past few days remembering life just three years ago. When I look back and then look to today, the changes are overwhelming. If I were to say I was happy three years ago, that would be a lie. I was grateful, yes, but definitely not happy.
The day before Thanksgiving was a busy one. I was going back and forth from the bedroom to be with Dan, to the kitchen to go through the motions of making Thanksgiving preparations. I wasn't feeling very thankful... God was taking my husband from me. The selfishness I was feeling of wanting to keep Dan with me forever, was being challenged by the feelings of knowing he was going to be somewhere better, a place we had talked about many times. I knew from my own experience with facing death, that as much as you wanted people around you, you wanted to be alone. Alone to listen and watch how my family was continuing with their lives. I was trying to tell myself they would be fine over time. What a load of crap. No one is ever "fine" after someone they love dies. So, as those thoughts were going through my head, I was looking for the right balance of time for Dan. He deserved that.
Maybe God made all of this happen during Thanksgiving for a lesson that applied as much today as it did that year. We all get together for a family celebration. But why do we only do that once a year? If we celebrate the great fortune of having our families daily, wouldn't that make more sense? As my children will tell you, for years we as a family discussed that perhaps God was putting death in our paths to teach us to truly value our families. We all talk about each other when the other person is not there. Don't even try to deny that. But maybe it's what we are saying, thinking and feeling that is what really matters. Do we only see the bad things, focus on the bad faults, hear what we want to hear? Or COULD WE look beyond all of that and see the gift of time and life that God gives us with each of these people?
Our last Thanksgiving with Dan was out on the patio, in the sun, where Dan loved to be the most. Our table was set, with what, I don't really know. There was family with us while we talked about what were most thankful for. Yet as I think back on what was said, the words I hear most in my head were Dan's. He said "I'm not gone yet. I intend to keep on fighting."
In the days that followed the changes were heart wrenching. Thanksgiving night was the last night we slept in the same bed. He was in so much pain, that I wanted to hold him forever. I remember praying that God would change his mind and make this all be OK. Dan had lost so much weight. He felt so frail and old to me. I could hear his breathing getting harder. Every time we moved even the slightest, he was in pain. I remember trying to tell myself to memorize every second of that night because I knew that would have to last the rest of my life.
The next morning we ordered a bed from hospice. As hard a decision as that was to make, I knew he could not take the pain of every little movement of the bed. By the afternoon he was really having a rough time staying alert and awake. He kept saying there would be plenty of time to sleep later. Family visited him again that day. The pain I saw in every ones eyes was so heart wrenching. I wanted to hold everyone and tell them it would all be OK. But it wouldn't. That night he was so angry at having to sleep in a different bed. He knew what that bed meant. He kept saying he wanted to sleep next to me. So I climbed in the bed until he fell asleep. When I got up to go to my bed, my movements made him cry out in pain. From across the room I watched him sleep. As the sun came up I saw him. That day was the first time I knew he wasn't going to make it.
When my Dad died, the pain of those final days was emblazoned on my mind. In the sunlight of the Sunday morning I saw Dan laying there. His mouth was open, as he could no longer keep the muscles of his face in place to keep his jaw closed. Dan was dying, and God wanted us all to watch this. Why, I don't know or understand. All I could see in the few times Dan was able to open his eyes, was the same look I'd seen in the eyes of Christ as portrayed in the movie The Passion. I truly believe I saw Christ in Dan's eyes. Dan, like Christ, knew this was God's will. He knew this was already written and not to be changed. As the movie was playing in my head, the reality was playing out before me.
Several days later, Mom Haynes arrived. Again the movie played in my mind. I wanted to comfort her and knew that all she really wanted was to be with her son. I remember us walking her in the room. The look on her face was determined. That woman was the strongest woman I ever saw. She was on a mission and it began in that room. She didn't cry like we all expected. She simply took Dan's hand and began praying, and praying and praying... She taught me more about faith in those few hours than I ever thought I could comprehend.
Thanksgiving has a whole new perspective for me now. You may think that I am sad to be without Dan on that day. But I'm not. I'm so thankful for the day of memories of hearing him speak, watching his face, and holding him in our bed. I tell my family that we have that last good day to be thankful for, year after year. That last Thanksgiving...
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Be Thankful for ALL Memories
To remind us that every memory, good or bad, has a reason...
Thanksgiving Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes when she pulled open the florist shop door, against a November gust of wind. Her life had been as sweet as a spring breeze and then, in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a "minor" automobile accident stole her joy. This was Thanksgiving week and the time she should have delivered their infant son. She grieved over their loss. Troubles had multiplied. Her husband's company "threatened" to transfer his job to a new location. Her sister had called to say that she could not come for her long awaited holiday visit. What's worse, Sandra's friend suggested that Sandra's grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer. "She has no idea what I'm feeling," thought Sandra with a shudder. "Thanksgiving? Thankful for what?" she wondered. "For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life, but took her child's?" "Good afternoon, can I help you?" Sandra was startled by the approach of the shop clerk. "I . . . I need an arrangement," stammered Sandra. "For Thanksgiving? I'm convinced that flowers tell stories," she continued. "Are you looking for something that conveys 'gratitude' this Thanksgiving?" "Not exactly!" Sandra blurted out. "In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong." Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the clerk said, "I have the perfect arrangement for you." Then the bell on the door rang, and the clerk greeted the new customer, "Hi, Barbara, let me get your order." She excused herself and walked back to a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and what appeared to be long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped: there were no flowers. "Do you want these in a box?" asked the clerk. Sandra watched - was this a joke?
Who would want rose stems with no flowers!
She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed. "Yes, please," Barbara replied with an appreciative smile. "You'd think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn't be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again," she said, as she gently tapped her chest. Sandra stammered, "Ah, that lady just left with . uh . . . she left with no flowers!" "That's right," said the clerk. "I cut off the flowers.
That's the 'Special'. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet.
Barbara came into the shop three years ago, feeling much as you do today," explained the clerk.
"She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had just lost her father to cancer; the family business was failing; her son had gotten into drugs; and she was facing major surgery. That same year I had lost my husband," continued the clerk.
"For the first time in my life, I had to spend the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too much debt to allow any travel." "So what did you do?" asked Sandra. "I learned to be thankful for thorns," answered the clerk quietly.
"I've always thanked God for the good things in my life and I never questioned Him why those good things happened to me, but when the bad stuff hit, I cried out,
'Why? Why me?!' It took time for me to learn that the dark times are important to our faith!
I have always enjoyed the 'flowers' of my life, but it took the thorns to show me the beauty of God's comfort!
You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we're afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others." Sandra sucked in her breath, as she thought about what her friend had tried to tell her. "I guess the truth is I don't want comfort. I've lost a baby and I'm angry with God." Just then someone else walked in the shop. "Hey, Phil!" the clerk greeted the balding, rotund man. "My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving arrangement . . . twelve thorny, long-stemmed stems!" laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator. "Those are for your wife?" asked Sandra incredulously.
"Do you mind telling me why she wants a bouquet that looks like that?" "Four years ago, my wife and I nearly divorced,"
Phil replied.
"After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord's grace and guidance, we trudged through problem after problem, the Lord rescued our marriage.
Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she had learned from "thorny" times.
That was good enough for me.
I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific "problem" and give thanks for what that problem taught us." As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, "I highly recommend the Special!" "I don't know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life" Sandra said to the clerk. "It's all too . . . fresh." "Well," the clerk replied carefully, "my experience has shown me that the thorns make the roses more precious. We treasure God's providential care more during trouble than at any other time.
Remember that it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love.
Don't resent the thorns." Tears rolled down Sandra's cheeks.
For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on her resentment. "I'll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please," she managed to choke out. "I hoped you would," said the clerk gently. "I'll have them ready in a minute." "Thank you. What do I owe you?" "Nothing. Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart.
The first year's arrangement is always on me." The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra.
"I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you would like to read it first." It read: "My God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to You along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of Your rainbow look much more brilliant." Praise Him for the roses; thank Him for the thorns. God Bless all of you. Be thankful for all that the Lord does for you. "Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly, and leave the rest to God." We often try to fix problems with WD-40 and Duct tape. God did it with nails. Happy Thanksgiving,
Thanksgiving Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes when she pulled open the florist shop door, against a November gust of wind. Her life had been as sweet as a spring breeze and then, in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a "minor" automobile accident stole her joy. This was Thanksgiving week and the time she should have delivered their infant son. She grieved over their loss. Troubles had multiplied. Her husband's company "threatened" to transfer his job to a new location. Her sister had called to say that she could not come for her long awaited holiday visit. What's worse, Sandra's friend suggested that Sandra's grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer. "She has no idea what I'm feeling," thought Sandra with a shudder. "Thanksgiving? Thankful for what?" she wondered. "For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life, but took her child's?" "Good afternoon, can I help you?" Sandra was startled by the approach of the shop clerk. "I . . . I need an arrangement," stammered Sandra. "For Thanksgiving? I'm convinced that flowers tell stories," she continued. "Are you looking for something that conveys 'gratitude' this Thanksgiving?" "Not exactly!" Sandra blurted out. "In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong." Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the clerk said, "I have the perfect arrangement for you." Then the bell on the door rang, and the clerk greeted the new customer, "Hi, Barbara, let me get your order." She excused herself and walked back to a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and what appeared to be long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped: there were no flowers. "Do you want these in a box?" asked the clerk. Sandra watched - was this a joke?
Who would want rose stems with no flowers!
She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed. "Yes, please," Barbara replied with an appreciative smile. "You'd think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn't be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again," she said, as she gently tapped her chest. Sandra stammered, "Ah, that lady just left with . uh . . . she left with no flowers!" "That's right," said the clerk. "I cut off the flowers.
That's the 'Special'. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet.
Barbara came into the shop three years ago, feeling much as you do today," explained the clerk.
"She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had just lost her father to cancer; the family business was failing; her son had gotten into drugs; and she was facing major surgery. That same year I had lost my husband," continued the clerk.
"For the first time in my life, I had to spend the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too much debt to allow any travel." "So what did you do?" asked Sandra. "I learned to be thankful for thorns," answered the clerk quietly.
"I've always thanked God for the good things in my life and I never questioned Him why those good things happened to me, but when the bad stuff hit, I cried out,
'Why? Why me?!' It took time for me to learn that the dark times are important to our faith!
I have always enjoyed the 'flowers' of my life, but it took the thorns to show me the beauty of God's comfort!
You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we're afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others." Sandra sucked in her breath, as she thought about what her friend had tried to tell her. "I guess the truth is I don't want comfort. I've lost a baby and I'm angry with God." Just then someone else walked in the shop. "Hey, Phil!" the clerk greeted the balding, rotund man. "My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving arrangement . . . twelve thorny, long-stemmed stems!" laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator. "Those are for your wife?" asked Sandra incredulously.
"Do you mind telling me why she wants a bouquet that looks like that?" "Four years ago, my wife and I nearly divorced,"
Phil replied.
"After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord's grace and guidance, we trudged through problem after problem, the Lord rescued our marriage.
Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she had learned from "thorny" times.
That was good enough for me.
I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific "problem" and give thanks for what that problem taught us." As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, "I highly recommend the Special!" "I don't know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life" Sandra said to the clerk. "It's all too . . . fresh." "Well," the clerk replied carefully, "my experience has shown me that the thorns make the roses more precious. We treasure God's providential care more during trouble than at any other time.
Remember that it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love.
Don't resent the thorns." Tears rolled down Sandra's cheeks.
For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on her resentment. "I'll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please," she managed to choke out. "I hoped you would," said the clerk gently. "I'll have them ready in a minute." "Thank you. What do I owe you?" "Nothing. Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart.
The first year's arrangement is always on me." The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra.
"I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you would like to read it first." It read: "My God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to You along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of Your rainbow look much more brilliant." Praise Him for the roses; thank Him for the thorns. God Bless all of you. Be thankful for all that the Lord does for you. "Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly, and leave the rest to God." We often try to fix problems with WD-40 and Duct tape. God did it with nails. Happy Thanksgiving,
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
My First Thanksgiving Married
There are several things that make my first Thanksgiving dinner memorable. The best part is that Dan and I were living in New Market, England and had just celebrated being married 6 months. Now, anyone who knows me understands when I say cooking is not one of my strengths. But cooking for Thanksgiving... now that's my specialty. I love making the dinner and all that goes with it. It starts days before with all the shopping for just the right stuff. Think about it, two newlyweds from big families, and their first Thanksgiving dinner. The one thing we both agreed, we made way too much food! I guess we both cooked like we were still living back with our respective families. Learning to scale down the prep is something I still work on.
We were in a foreign country with a lot of lonely GI's, so we invited over some of the guys from Dan's job. They all moved with us to England when we left Spain. We were like a big family. The only newcomer was a guy named Kevin, who we met at the job in England. The day before the meal I was baking the bread and rolls. I made 6 pumpkin pies, 2 for dinner and one for each of the 4 guys we had joining us. There were 6 loaves of bread and 4 dozen rolls... like I said, we over cooked. I had an 8 piece corning ware casserole set plus two other casserole dishes. There was something in each of them. I'd asked the guys ahead of time what they liked most about their family meals and we agreed I'd try to make it for them. Hence, the rolls and pumpkin pies. I made 4 of the giant cans of sweet potatoes...and we ran out! Laugh if you want, but we made about 8 pounds of mashed potatoes, corn, green bean casserole, broccoli, cranberry sauce and cranberries, three types of stuffing, and 26 pound turkey. Yep, 26 pounds! We wanted to have tons of leftovers to give the guys to take with them. Do you have any idea how much lonely GIs miss homemade cooking? Before dinner we had the usual relish trays, cheese and crackers, summer sausage cubes, beenie weenies in BBQ sauce, chips, dips...you name it. I loved it. When you're not particularly good at cooking and you see what you've made literally disappear before your eyes, it's something you'll never forget. I actually cried in the kitchen listening to them while they were having such a good time.
Now, normally, in the States you watch football all day. They don't even play football in England, they play soccer. So the guys watched soccer and rugby. Dan kept coming in the kitchen to make sure I was doing OK. He wanted to help, but this is the one day I want to do it all. As can be expected, GIs "imbibe" in the beverages, he-he-he. Kevin drank so much wine that when Dan set the turkey on the dinner table for him tohave his first official "Head of the House" turkey carving rite, Kevin got impatient. Kevin stood up, put one hand on the side of the turkey and proceeded to pull the entire drumstick right off the bird! Dan's face went pale because he thought I'd get upset. Upset??? I laughed so hard I almost peed! We all burst out laughing! From then on I just sat and watched food getting shoveled into the mouths of the guys. It was great. They loved it. Watching Dan's face made every bit of the work worth it. He was the head of the house, with his buddies, eating good food, and not being homesick for a few hours.
Later that night, when everything was cleaned up, the guys had sobered up, and we drove them back to the barracks with their leftovers and their own pies. Life was good. We didn't talk much on the way home. We were both thinking of our Stateside families so we headed over to the Bob Hope Rec Center to call the families in the US. Those conversations always went by too fast. We couldn't afford to talk long, but we sure missed our families. Thank God we had each other.
That night we talked about how great the day was. We prayed for years of good Thanksgivings ahead. God answered our prayers for 28 more years... Tomorrow we may not be holding each other as we fall asleep like we did all the other years, but when I close my eyes, he'll still be holding me like he always did.
We were in a foreign country with a lot of lonely GI's, so we invited over some of the guys from Dan's job. They all moved with us to England when we left Spain. We were like a big family. The only newcomer was a guy named Kevin, who we met at the job in England. The day before the meal I was baking the bread and rolls. I made 6 pumpkin pies, 2 for dinner and one for each of the 4 guys we had joining us. There were 6 loaves of bread and 4 dozen rolls... like I said, we over cooked. I had an 8 piece corning ware casserole set plus two other casserole dishes. There was something in each of them. I'd asked the guys ahead of time what they liked most about their family meals and we agreed I'd try to make it for them. Hence, the rolls and pumpkin pies. I made 4 of the giant cans of sweet potatoes...and we ran out! Laugh if you want, but we made about 8 pounds of mashed potatoes, corn, green bean casserole, broccoli, cranberry sauce and cranberries, three types of stuffing, and 26 pound turkey. Yep, 26 pounds! We wanted to have tons of leftovers to give the guys to take with them. Do you have any idea how much lonely GIs miss homemade cooking? Before dinner we had the usual relish trays, cheese and crackers, summer sausage cubes, beenie weenies in BBQ sauce, chips, dips...you name it. I loved it. When you're not particularly good at cooking and you see what you've made literally disappear before your eyes, it's something you'll never forget. I actually cried in the kitchen listening to them while they were having such a good time.
Now, normally, in the States you watch football all day. They don't even play football in England, they play soccer. So the guys watched soccer and rugby. Dan kept coming in the kitchen to make sure I was doing OK. He wanted to help, but this is the one day I want to do it all. As can be expected, GIs "imbibe" in the beverages, he-he-he. Kevin drank so much wine that when Dan set the turkey on the dinner table for him tohave his first official "Head of the House" turkey carving rite, Kevin got impatient. Kevin stood up, put one hand on the side of the turkey and proceeded to pull the entire drumstick right off the bird! Dan's face went pale because he thought I'd get upset. Upset??? I laughed so hard I almost peed! We all burst out laughing! From then on I just sat and watched food getting shoveled into the mouths of the guys. It was great. They loved it. Watching Dan's face made every bit of the work worth it. He was the head of the house, with his buddies, eating good food, and not being homesick for a few hours.
Later that night, when everything was cleaned up, the guys had sobered up, and we drove them back to the barracks with their leftovers and their own pies. Life was good. We didn't talk much on the way home. We were both thinking of our Stateside families so we headed over to the Bob Hope Rec Center to call the families in the US. Those conversations always went by too fast. We couldn't afford to talk long, but we sure missed our families. Thank God we had each other.
That night we talked about how great the day was. We prayed for years of good Thanksgivings ahead. God answered our prayers for 28 more years... Tomorrow we may not be holding each other as we fall asleep like we did all the other years, but when I close my eyes, he'll still be holding me like he always did.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Let's Talk Tents!!!!
From as far back as I can remember, tents have been there. All shapes, all sizes, in the craziest places, tents have been a part of some of my favorite memories.
There was the baby blanket over the knee hole of my Mom's desk. My babies and I fit in there just perfect! I could watch TV from there, especially Captain Kangaroo (the original one). What about the porch... when Mom would shake out the rugs and hang them over the porch rails to air, we (Marcia and I) would put a blanket across the top of them and hook it to the porch chairs. Aha! a great tent! We lived on 8th street in Manitowoc. It was one of the main ways for the high school kids to walk to school. Our porch tent was the perfect cover if we played spies. We would "spy" on the kids as they walked by. Sometimes we'd yell something like boo, believing we were scaring them. Some played along and said "What was that! Ohhh it must be a ghost!" or things like that. We thought we were so sneaky. On Hoyt Dr. we had bunk beds. Now that was just a tent waiting to happen. All it took was a blanket down the side and "voila", an instant tent!
On Appleton Ave. in Menomonee Falls we had clothes lines in the back yard. Mom was pregnant with Tammy or Candy, I can't be sure. We put up the swimming pool under the clothes lines. Then we hung sheets and blankets all around the pool. Being Mom was pregnant, she didn't really want to be seen in a bathing suit, but we convinced her to sit in the pool, in the tent, in her clothes so she could cool off in the summer heat. Man we were slick. She cooled off, we built the tent, and we all got to swim in a tent. How many people can say that?
Auntie Suzie loved to build tents when she watched the kids, nieces, or nephews. (It was my trademark.) The living room quickly became a mass of blankets over the furniture. We always set it up so you could be in the tent and watch TV. The kids usually took their naps in the tent! If the parents wouldn't catch us, we would have snacks like popcorn, juice, or apple bits while we laid in the tent watching cartoons. I loved watching the kids come up with how to add on more blankets to make the tents bigger. The bigger the better.
The biggest tent I ever made was in England. We built it in the backyard. Yep, the backyard!
It started out over the clotheslines, like when I was a kid. But hey, I grew up, so shouldn't the tent grow too? At first it was just our girls and the kids right next door. We added the swing set... we covered the whole thing with sheets and blankets. We made rooms inside of it!
When more kids from the neighborhood joined in, we even added bikes and wagons to make it huge. Then I got out the radio and we sang and danced inside and outside the tent. I'm adding a photo to this where the kids were outside a "part" of the tent singing and dancing to "Walk Like an Egyptian", a popular song at the time. That had to be the biggest tent I can remember. At the end we had our 2 girls, the next door neighbors 3, the other neighbors 2, another neighbors 2, and most of the parents involved. I'll never forget Dan's face when he came out the patio door and saw the backyard covered as a tent! I guess living with me he knew nothing was a surprise, it was just me...
It doesn't matter what size the tent is, or even where it is. It was time having fun with the kids and making great memories. Now admit it, you are remembering some tents from your past right now. I guess I was a pretty weird sister, mom, neighbor, aunt and now Zamma. Oh well...! I think Kenzie and I need to make a mini tent right now!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Frankie and Porky
Let me tell you about Frankie and Porky...
For some reason, which I don't remember, I was in the hospital with Marcia again. I know I was there getting my tonsils out, but I have no idea why Marcia was there. She was in the bed next to me, in the same room. It was Manitowoc Hospital, really old looking, with the metal beds and rails. I was so excited because Mom and Auntie Gen came to see us. I was so happy to see Auntie Gen that I sat up. But then my stomach felt sick and I pucked up blood all over my bed. I was scared when I saw all the blood, but then the nuns came and made me lay back down. They cleaned up the mess while I rested and Mom and Auntie Gen sat down. I guess the blood made them a little queasy because the nuns kept asking them if they were OK too.
After everything got all cleaned up, Mom and Auntie Gen gave Marcia a stuffed pink pig with a blue hat, and they gave me a stuffed monkey. He was brown with a yellow vest on and he held a banana. If you put the banana in his mouth he would hold it there because there was a hole cut out to let it fit in his mouth. We decided to name the pig Porky, after the cartoon character, and we named the monkey Frankie. I don't know why we picked that name, but it stuck. I know we still had Frankie when we moved to Menomonee Falls, years later. We even had him when w moved in to Appleton Avenue in the Falls.
I know we had a lot of tea parties with Frankie and Porky. We would eat cheerios on my grey and yellow tea set dishes. I even had grey plastic silverware with the tea set. We used to play "communion" with Starks candy. Even Frankie and Porky got communion. I know all you Catholics will remember this as you probably played the same thing as kids. Koolaid was our wine!
For some reason, which I don't remember, I was in the hospital with Marcia again. I know I was there getting my tonsils out, but I have no idea why Marcia was there. She was in the bed next to me, in the same room. It was Manitowoc Hospital, really old looking, with the metal beds and rails. I was so excited because Mom and Auntie Gen came to see us. I was so happy to see Auntie Gen that I sat up. But then my stomach felt sick and I pucked up blood all over my bed. I was scared when I saw all the blood, but then the nuns came and made me lay back down. They cleaned up the mess while I rested and Mom and Auntie Gen sat down. I guess the blood made them a little queasy because the nuns kept asking them if they were OK too.
After everything got all cleaned up, Mom and Auntie Gen gave Marcia a stuffed pink pig with a blue hat, and they gave me a stuffed monkey. He was brown with a yellow vest on and he held a banana. If you put the banana in his mouth he would hold it there because there was a hole cut out to let it fit in his mouth. We decided to name the pig Porky, after the cartoon character, and we named the monkey Frankie. I don't know why we picked that name, but it stuck. I know we still had Frankie when we moved to Menomonee Falls, years later. We even had him when w moved in to Appleton Avenue in the Falls.
I know we had a lot of tea parties with Frankie and Porky. We would eat cheerios on my grey and yellow tea set dishes. I even had grey plastic silverware with the tea set. We used to play "communion" with Starks candy. Even Frankie and Porky got communion. I know all you Catholics will remember this as you probably played the same thing as kids. Koolaid was our wine!
Saturday, November 17, 2007
I really remember being three!
My Mom swears I can't remember being three, but there are two events I remember as if it just happened!
The first was the day I thought my sister Marcia and I needed to have an M&Ms party. But I gave us aspirin. Now think about it... white aspirin in a brown medicine bottle really do look like yellow M&Ms. At three, you don't realize there should be more colors than just yellow. You see... CANDY!!! I remember the medicine cabinet was right by the bathroom window. I remember climbing up on the sink and standing with my feet in the sink. It was a piece of cake. The sink was designed to hold me perfect and keep me from tipping over! How cool! I almost tipped when I opened the medicine cabinet door because I didn't realize that ducking my head would make it much easier. I got the big brown bottle out of the cabinet. Aha... I had the treasure! Now to have a party!!!
After I climbed down I remember fighting with the bottle and getting the cap off. There were no child-proof caps then. It was way too easy! Being truthful, when I went to divide up the "M&MS" I didn't split them evenly. After all, I did the hard part of getting them down! So of course, for every one I gave Marcia on my little grey tea party plates, I got "a couple" for myself. Being a pig did not pay off.
I can remember my stomach really hurt and I was sooooo sleepy. The one memory that still makes me queasy to think about was the nuns at the hospital putting the ether mask over my face. Whew that stuff smelled horrible. It kept making me hear sirens and feeling my head spinning. I can still see Marcia on a table next to me as they put that mask thing on her face. I felt scared that they needed to get it off her face or she wouldn't be able to breathe. I remember stuff going in my mouth and then waking up with a sore throat. I don't remember going home, getting spanked or even eating yellow M&Ms for years. Every time I look at one now, I smell ether. OK, so I'm weird. Guess that's why once I met Dan, green M&Ms were my favorite. But then, that's a whole different memory...
The second thing about being three was a horrible memory. It starts with me going in my Mom's bedroom. It was sunny and the light was coming in the window. Mom was coming out of her closet. She was trying to put on her blouse and she was crying really hard. I didn't like seeing my Mom cry! I asked her what was wrong and she said Kelly Paul, my brother, wasn't waking up. I remember stepping on the side rail of the crib. It was down and I could step on it very easily. I reached over into Kelly Paul's crib and tried to pick him up and wake him up. That just made my Mom cry more. She had her blouse on and buttoned by then. She told me to get down and go get Marcia and go in the living room.
The next thing I remember there were firemen coming in the door by the chair in the living room. We never used that door very often. The firemen had on fire suits and were carrying an oxygen tank. I didn't know what it was for or even why they were there. They scared me because of the looks on their faces. I remember the people from upstairs coming downstairs and getting Marcia and me. They took us in their bedroom. The bed was big. We sat at the end of the bed while they tried to put on our socks and shoes. Marcia wouldn't sit still because she was crying. I remember hugging her and saying it's OK. I helped put on her socks. They were white with yellow flowers on them. Mine were white with blue flowers on them. I don't know why I remember the socks so clearly. I wanted to get dressed fast and look pretty for Mommy. I didn't want her to cry anymore.
I remember seeing my brother in his casket. He was laying there with his arm up and his leg bent. He had on a little blue suit with short pant legs on it. He looked like he was sleeping. I remember my Grandma Vetter crying really hard. I can still feel her hugging me and crying.
And that was three...
The first was the day I thought my sister Marcia and I needed to have an M&Ms party. But I gave us aspirin. Now think about it... white aspirin in a brown medicine bottle really do look like yellow M&Ms. At three, you don't realize there should be more colors than just yellow. You see... CANDY!!! I remember the medicine cabinet was right by the bathroom window. I remember climbing up on the sink and standing with my feet in the sink. It was a piece of cake. The sink was designed to hold me perfect and keep me from tipping over! How cool! I almost tipped when I opened the medicine cabinet door because I didn't realize that ducking my head would make it much easier. I got the big brown bottle out of the cabinet. Aha... I had the treasure! Now to have a party!!!
After I climbed down I remember fighting with the bottle and getting the cap off. There were no child-proof caps then. It was way too easy! Being truthful, when I went to divide up the "M&MS" I didn't split them evenly. After all, I did the hard part of getting them down! So of course, for every one I gave Marcia on my little grey tea party plates, I got "a couple" for myself. Being a pig did not pay off.
I can remember my stomach really hurt and I was sooooo sleepy. The one memory that still makes me queasy to think about was the nuns at the hospital putting the ether mask over my face. Whew that stuff smelled horrible. It kept making me hear sirens and feeling my head spinning. I can still see Marcia on a table next to me as they put that mask thing on her face. I felt scared that they needed to get it off her face or she wouldn't be able to breathe. I remember stuff going in my mouth and then waking up with a sore throat. I don't remember going home, getting spanked or even eating yellow M&Ms for years. Every time I look at one now, I smell ether. OK, so I'm weird. Guess that's why once I met Dan, green M&Ms were my favorite. But then, that's a whole different memory...
The second thing about being three was a horrible memory. It starts with me going in my Mom's bedroom. It was sunny and the light was coming in the window. Mom was coming out of her closet. She was trying to put on her blouse and she was crying really hard. I didn't like seeing my Mom cry! I asked her what was wrong and she said Kelly Paul, my brother, wasn't waking up. I remember stepping on the side rail of the crib. It was down and I could step on it very easily. I reached over into Kelly Paul's crib and tried to pick him up and wake him up. That just made my Mom cry more. She had her blouse on and buttoned by then. She told me to get down and go get Marcia and go in the living room.
The next thing I remember there were firemen coming in the door by the chair in the living room. We never used that door very often. The firemen had on fire suits and were carrying an oxygen tank. I didn't know what it was for or even why they were there. They scared me because of the looks on their faces. I remember the people from upstairs coming downstairs and getting Marcia and me. They took us in their bedroom. The bed was big. We sat at the end of the bed while they tried to put on our socks and shoes. Marcia wouldn't sit still because she was crying. I remember hugging her and saying it's OK. I helped put on her socks. They were white with yellow flowers on them. Mine were white with blue flowers on them. I don't know why I remember the socks so clearly. I wanted to get dressed fast and look pretty for Mommy. I didn't want her to cry anymore.
I remember seeing my brother in his casket. He was laying there with his arm up and his leg bent. He had on a little blue suit with short pant legs on it. He looked like he was sleeping. I remember my Grandma Vetter crying really hard. I can still feel her hugging me and crying.
And that was three...
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