A Few of My Favorite Christmas Day Things…

A Few of My Favorite Christmas Day Things…

1. Realizing dinner did come together despite all the cooking catastrophes. 

2.   My daughter-in-law joyfully putting on her apron and plunging into the after dinner mess.  

3.      Whipped cream on the laughing faces of after-dinner game players (Jolene, you were adorable with whipped cream on your nose, and your sneakiness will live in the “Berg Legends” forever).

4.      The Christmas Story read to the background music, “Let It Go, let it gooooo….” (thank you Mila and Elsa).

5.      Knowing my 7-year-old grandson will choose me when picking a team (thanks, Julian, for believing me when I said, “I am not a spy!”). 

6.      Commiserating with my 5-year-old grandson (Me: Miles, I didn’t get my kitten.  Miles: I didn’t get my bunny either. Miles and Grandma frown in silence. Miles brightens:  Maybe next year you’ll get a bunny and I’ll get a kitten! Grandma brightens: Maybe!) Christmas hope springs eternal.

7.      Truly, holding on to her highchair tray in anticipation of something yummy.

8.      Visitors who bring the chill of the evening, the crisp smell of out of doors and the family dog for a Christmas visit (Masha, Jon, Ethan, Kelly, Wesley and Clancy, it was so wonderful that your Christmas trek included at stop at our home. We hope you found it warm and welcoming.)

9.      A sweet 3-year-old who asks for a nap at 8:00 in the evening (Grandpas and little boys need naps at odd times to keep from being grumpy).

10.   Seeing my youngest son on one knee, asking a beautiful young woman to “share all of his Christmases.” (Congrats to you, TJ and Brooke, may this be the first of many memorable Christmases together).

There are so many more happy moments that are now Christmas 2015 memories. Every person in my family has helped to make my heart full. I have so much to be grateful for.

One More List

My last post was part of an assignment for my creative writing class. I had written two Harper's lists and selected one to submit to the professor. This is the list I submitted.

When reviewing what I have written in the past, I find it sometimes catches me off guard and I can't believe I was so transparent. Not a bad thing, I suppose, just startling.

Things the social worker taught me:

·         Foster children do not trust easily. Patience is a must.

·         The stipend won’t cover the cost of keeping the child, you will not become rich as a foster parent.

·         You will cry when some children leave, dance when others go.

·         Give it time.

Things the social worker never taught me:

·         Children don’t remain strangers for long. They grab your heart very quickly.

·         Foster parents are often thought of as “bad guys.”

·         A child needs you to say “I love you,” until it is true.

·         Just about the time you have bonded with a child, they will be moved.

·         It doesn’t matter if you know a child better than anyone else, no one will listen to your opinion of what is best for them.

·         The state will not pay for a casket upgrade. You are not allowed to pay for a casket upgrade. You have no say as to where that child will be laid to rest. Sometimes it is on the rocks of a lonely Island in the Bering Strait. Some people will not understand your grief, after all, he was only a foster child.

·         There will come a time when a child goes and you know that if you give one more child away, your heart will be irrevocably broken. You have said goodbye for the last time.

Things My Mother Taught Me

 Masha and I were just talking about how fun it is to make lists and how we were going to journal more lists this year. 

A writing assignment from my Creative Writing Workshop asked us to write a list of things a significant person your life has taught you and didn't teach you. It was interesting how most of the students wrote about parents.

As I wrote these things down, I tried to remember if my mother actually said these things to me or if they are a figment of my imagination. I realized although she may not of voiced them as you see them here, they were taught by her parenting and how she lived her life. 

Things my mother taught me

·         Telling the truth doesn’t mean telling everything you know.

·         When reading Dickens, don’t give up. It will make sense eventually.

·         When two people are in a relationship, one usually loves more than the other.

·         The dishes aren’t done until the floor is swept.

·         How you treat old people when you are young is how you will be treated when you are old.

·         There are worse things than being alone, for example: being alone without reading material.

·         Pasta, potatoes or bread with plenty of butter can cure almost anything.

·         The same people who love you fat, will love you skinny, and then fat again.

·         When the time comes to die, you don’t have to be afraid, death is not the enemy and heaven is not some far off place, it is only one breath, one heartbeat away. There will always be someone waiting to welcome you, and for you, it will be me.

Things my mother didn’t teach me

·         That you will believe you are dying each time you give birth, and that same feeling will reoccur when your baby goes to kindergarten, walks down the aisle or is rushed to emergency surgery.

·         That laundry mountains can never be summited. Ever.

·         That sleeping opposite a cold shoulder is lonelier than sleeping alone.

·         The only thing sweeter than your baby’s kisses are your grandbaby’s kisses.

·         Calories get bigger as you get older.

·         Becoming who you were created to be is between you and God, and you may have to ask some folks to kindly butt out. A home and family is a good thing, but it’s not always enough. Don’t be afraid to wear red shoes, turn the car radio up, roll the windows down, and let your purple hair blow in the wind.

·         Learn something new, travel, and take good care of yourself.

·         Treat your sisters gently, you will need them when you're grown..

 

I would love to see some of your lists!

 

 

College Life

The year of 2014 brought me to a new place in my life. I took a stand, became determined to the point of anger, and stepped into the world of college student. The feeling of thrill and fear that sets your heart racing and your spirits soaring must be the same feeling a mountain climber experiences when he summits a peak. That comparison may be a little dramatic, but I have had to overcome a few hurdles, or should I say, climb a few slopes to get to that point. The process of finding documents was quite intimidating. Birth certificates, college transcripts, high school transcripts, marriage certificates, certificate of Indian blood, who knew? That was just for the application of a grant! The college registration took several visits to a guidance counsellor, testing, touring the campus, figuring out the bookstore and so much more. As each rise became a mile marker behind me, I came closer to the day.

My first day of school was a cold, snowy day in January. I was armed with text books, notebooks and shiny new computer. As I walked through the shifting snow, trying to concentrate on putting my feet where it was safe, I almost missed that moment. The one that makes you come to a standstill, hold your breath, tear up and then grin like an idiot! At last I was crossing the university campus with all the rights and privileges of a student! My dream was coming true.

I do realize that the dream, at times, becomes a little vague, clouded and even disappointing, but I can honestly say there was never a time, during those semesters, that I didn’t want to go, didn’t anticipate, didn’t celebrate going to class. Crossing the parking lot of ice was monumental for spring of 2014, but I braved it and God in His mercy saw fit to keep me upright. Yes, I was the oldest student in all four of my classes, but age has been an advantage in interpreting poetry, finding a thoughtful perspective,  and writing a solid research paper. Most of my efforts were successful, but I had a few times when my eyes wouldn’t stay open over ancient texts and my quiz scores were not “awesome.” At those times, I was grateful to mentor, Jolene, and she would tell me, “It’s just one grade out of many, mom. You are doing great!” The dream has survived the first go around.

The next semester begins in a few days and I am more confident in parking, finding my classes and locating the coffee shop. I still, however, feel the anxiety of being out of my depth, wondering if my creativity will hold, and feeling the age difference between me, my student peers and even my professors, but I am reveling in the sheer joy of learning.

Thank you to those who have helped make this a possibility: My husband, my children (especially my scholar/mentor, Jolene), my pastor, my boss and work associates. They have taken up the slack at home, at church and at work. May God bless you for your generosity. And lest I forget "GO SEAWOLVES!"

Memory Lane: Wisconsin and Wyoming

I have been an in-law for 34 years today. However, I'm so far away from my in-laws that I don't get much experience in that department. This summer, this month in fact, I had the opportunity to have time with the in-laws. Tom's Aunt Ruth had her 100th Birthday on June 12th, and what better reason is there to visit the "old folks at home?"

Tom was able to reconnect with siblings, aunts, uncles and a whole host of cousins. As for me, I tried to stand back and just watch the reunion unfold.

I heard old family stories told in different versions, much like the gospels, all truth just from different perspectives, and I saw my husband in a whole different role of brother, cousin and beloved nephew. I liked him in that role; he was funny, attentive and definitely more sociable then I have seen him in a long time! I found myself wishing I had known him "way back when."

Many of the stories and memories were centered around life on the farms. Corn fields, gardens, and houses all soaked in childhood memories as well as those of young parents of large (and I do mean large) families, raising kids and corn together.

Even though I grew up hundreds of miles away, I found myself feeling connected to these old buildings, tree swings and memories.

Journal Entry: June 14, 2014

"I can understand why people feel as if they lived a different life or time. The old barn, the fields and country roads stir a longing in my soul to "return."

Somewhere in my unconscious memory is a little girl curled up with a book and a barn kitten in the hay mow (pronounced mow as in cow for those of us non-farmers). Or was that something I read in a book as a wishful child while lying under a tree in the suburbs of Casper, Wyoming? 

Either way, the "memory" is as warm and familiar as an old friend.

On this same trip I had the opportunity to return to my own childhood roots as well.

 I visited the cemetery where my mother's parents are buried.

And visited the house where I spent a portion of my childhood years. I took a chance of sneaking around the corners of the house like a ghost, reliving memories of building sandcastles in the alley, and thrilling to thunder storms from the safety of the screened-in porch. (Bob, do you remember running out and catching hail to make "tapioca pudding" in tin cans on the old gas stove in the living room?  How could I have forgotten? I will remember for the both of us).

How can I not mention the joy of hearing the song of a meadowlark, smelling the goldenrod, and the distant smell of a skunk? All things I had longed to experience one more time (it was too early for crickets, but the oriels made up for the lack; thanks, Linda.).

All in all, a lovely trip down memory lane: The Farmlands of Wisconsin, The Wheat Fields of Wyoming.

Habakkuk 3:17-19

What if spring never arrives? Suppose every morning from now on was 5 F and the sun had no warmth for the rest of our days. What if the fruit trees never bloomed in May and the pumpkins never grew round and fat for October harvest? What if I never again felt the lazy warmth of the afternoon sun on my shoulders while I watched my grandchildren play on green grass?

"Yet I will exalt in the Lord, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation." He will make me strong and I will climb to the high places, even when they are dark and frozen.

This was a journal entry from February. The coldest part of the year, when hope for spring sometimes wanes. But, here it is spring, and I will rejoice in the God of my salvation!

Winter Wheat

Winter fields. Yellow, hollow wisps of the remnants of harvest in tufts amongst the blowing, ever changing snow drifts.

The fields of the semiarid Midwest desperately try to retain the moisture that will help to bring life to seeds not yet planted; the seeds laying safe in the barns, weighed and measured ready for planting when the winter has finished her ravaging. 

Not all the frozen fields are waiting, however. In the fields that were plowed unseasonably, broadcast with wheat kernels, something is sluggishly stirring beneath the crusted snow. 

Winter wheat. 

 

It is planted after the harvests are gathered and stored. It is flung out into forgotten fields while the land still retains a little warmth from the waning sun, and then is left to itself to endure the bleak chill of winter. While its sister wheat has been harvested and safely rests, the winter wheat hardens itself. It snuggles down into the frozen earth waiting for momentary thaws and fresh white moisture to descend. 

Despite the long days of winter winds, small green sprouts begin to appear. Roots anchor the stunted plants to the soil and then when the season begins to change and the skies, steely cold, begin to warm, the wheat begins to grow in earnest. Then the unseasonable harvest beings. 

 

The winter wheat is harvested in late spring or early summer. 

The kernels are few and pithy, small and hard, and yet packed with the stuff of life. It will yield the proteins that will make our bread nourishing, and the gluten that will provide beautiful loaves and dainty cakes. 

 

Simple, energy packed grains will cross oceans to feed the hungry of the world. 

A desirable, rich harvest brought about by cold drought, thawing and freezing, forcing the kernels through the devastating winter that has brought about this amazing heartiness that the final milling has released.

Winter Wheat

by Kat Cavanaugh LaMantia for Melanya

The pumpkins are carved

The apples are picked

Fields gleaned of their goodness

are quiet as an empty womb

They whisper even at rest, "Fill us"

Those obedient first fruits are content,

the ones who fell as seed from hands

newly come from April's sunrise prayer,

fully ingathered now and bursting with

summer vitality

The empty fields do not call

to such delicate seed to be filled

They beckon to the hard-shelled,

Johnny-come-latelies who slept through

spring rains and abstained from the

glorious summer sun

"Fill us" they call as the days

shorten and the ground chills

There is bounty saved for these

late hours where frost sings

your beauty to life-

where December celebrates Christ's nativity and your own

You are the second spring whose

holy bread all the long winters of this world

have waited for