Remembering Mother's Day

Sometimes as a blogger who records the happenings of real family life, I get way behind in posting the events that linger in my mind and on my camera.

Now is one of those times.   So.. even though we are barreling headlong toward Father's Day, how about I back up the train to...

Mother's Day?

We celebrated the week after by gathering at a restaurant. My dear daughter-in-law Dee offered to host, but she and Ben have graciously hosted so many events that I wanted to give them a break.  My mom chose the restaurant, and she and I sat beside each other. The kids showered us with cards, gifts, flowers, and hugs.





































The best part was everyone's company ,though, which always and forever will be.  You never know when this gathering might be the last one when you're all together.



At one point I just sat there in my seat, and realized I was basking with joy just looking at my children. And when I say "children," I include both daughters-in-law. I really do feel like I have three daughters and three sons now, and I love them all. So there I was, practically oblivious for a moment to the noisy restaurant, the glossy menu, the ginormous TVs about to televise the Preakness--an event which was so important to Mama that she chose such a restaurant.















My eyes were fixed on my large brood as they talked and laughed amongst themselves. I leaned close to Mama and said, "I just love my family! I can't help it, I could just look at them all day!"   She smiled broadly and nodded her head. "Me, too. It's just wonderful." And then she asked softly in my ear, "but aren't you glad you're not responsible to feed them every day now? "

Yes, indeedy!



















I read my cards from the kids,  and she read hers. Is this the face of a blessed grandmother or what?

Despite the sincere smiles, there had been some serious talk between my parents and me about Mama's recent bad health report.  The doctor told her that two-thirds of her liver is dead, and the surgeon said that her abdominal hernia is inoperable at this time. My dad put it bluntly, "We need a miracle. Please pray with us for a miracle."  He said it with the voice I recognize as desperation under control, the voice of an 80-year-old man who has loved this woman for almost 54 years and can't bear to think of  a day without her.  My father has always said she is his everyday Valentine, that he is still on his honeymoon. She says that he is "the incarnation of Jesus to me.'

After some hard news, we watched good news literally race before our eyes:  American Pharaoh won the Preakness! He would go on also to win the Belmont Stakes to become our first Triple Crown Winner in three decades.

After our dinner, my parents went home, but the rest of us wandered into Vaccaro's, an Italian dessert shoppe, for some tasty cannoli. I lived in the moment and didn't snap a single photo there. But it was
a "very sweet" ending to a very sweet Mother's Day.

A is for Artichokes

Welcome! To my new and "old" readers alike, I'm glad you're here. I have joined the A to Z Blogging Challenge.   In short, that means posting every day except Sunday during April, beginning with A on April 1st, and ending with Z on  April 30th.

Some of the 1800+ bloggers have chosen a theme to guide their posts. I'm a theme gal, so I "bit" into that wisdom myself.










To provide structure, I have chosen three criteria: 

1) my theme will be memoirs based on food and drinks in my life, 

2) my posts will be limited to 26 sentences, and

3)  the memory I have of each food (or drink) taught me something about  people, life, God, or myself.



My one hope is that you will enjoy each post like a good meal, walk away satisfied, and come back for more.

So, there it is: 26 days in April, 26 letters of the alphabet, 26 foods or drinks I've got memories about, each one written in a maximum of 26 sentences.

Here we go.








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A is for Artichokes



It was Spring Break 1984 when I met my first artichoke. Strange looking creature, that artichoke, but captivating with its green spiky armor. Normally I would have been skeptical to try it, except I trusted the cook.

My Aunt Linda, quite arguably the world’s best chef, prepared a meal of orange roughy, spinach salad, baked potatoes, and steamed artichokes with lemon butter.

I remember the care she took to strip away the toughest outer leaves of each artichoke before steaming it.

I remember the oak table, with its thick, shiny brown beams, set with thick, brown cotton napkins, sturdy earthenware plates, wine glasses, and water goblets.

I remember thinking what a double luxury this was to get away from cafeteria food and have food served as art, with love and candles.

I remember that Aunt Linda put on a  Joan Baez record, and then we sat down to eat.

We talked, ate, talked, drank, talked, laughed, talked, cried. Being with her, a person who cherished me, who accepted me as I was, who created a soft place for me to land--there was nothing quite like it.

Aunt Linda had to show and tell me how to eat artichokes; peel, dip, eat, savor. Peel, dip--"don't be afraid to get messy!"--eat, savor. "The best part is the heart," she said.

Artichokes, that night nearly 30 years ago, became my personal metaphor for how to get to know people.

Peel their rough edges away carefully.
Dip yourself into their world and don't be afraid of the mess.
Eat up experiences with the people you love.
Savor time with the people who love you.

And always remember, the best part is their heart.

L is for Linda

My aunt Linda is my mother's only sister, and she's always had a special place in my heart. She was always the cool aunt, the fun aunt ,the wild aunt.

The first memory I have of Aunt Linda is from 1972 or '73. I was seven or eight. I will call the memory "The Cigarette and the Seminary." My aunt had come from Kansas to Missouri to visit us when we lived at the Baptist seminary where my parents were taking courses. Our apartment was about the size of a hopscotch board with the airport closer than the grocery store. I remember having to stop mid-sentence while a jet flew over, about every third minute of the day. I think that's when I learned to talk fast. It's also the first time I ever flicked the ash off of a cigarette, and it thrilled me. My aunt would hold the cigarette while she talked, and I just sat there watching the thing burn till I could flick it. Funny how things stick in a kid's mind. Aunt Linda smoked and she was cool; I concluded that I wanted to smoke when I grew up.

By the time I was in the seventh grade, Aunt Linda had moved to Ohio and we to Maryland. My mom took us three girls out to visit her. Aunt Linda was a product of the 60's, so she had this groovy, hippie style about her clothes, her house, and her music. It was all so foreign to this little dyed-in-the-wool Christian school girl of a niece. Her dark house was full of character, antiques, and quilts. She seemed to know everything there was to know about quilts and had her own shop. I couldn't fathom paying that much money for a blanket even if I had it. (I understand now, of course.) Her bed was a high, old, antique wooden bed with a feather mattress and comfy American quilts. We loved to take turns sleeping in it with her because we could stay up late talking. She seemed to really enjoy our company. It was probably hilarious because we were so doggone naive.

Aunt Linda was, and is, a gourmet chef. I won't even say "cook." She exceeds everyone I know in culinary skill, and I know a lot of great cooks. Nothing came out of a box or a can that I remember. Everything was fresh. She chopped onions, tomatoes, avocadoes, cucumbers, lettuce. She grilled fish and chicken and beef long before it was popular. The best homemade I've ever had in my life was at her house on Spring Break in 1993. That's how good it was. I went to her place for the week instead of going home. She served orange roughy with fresh lemon, steamed artichokes with butter, and a tossed salad. The thick oak table was always set with brown cloth napkins and stoneware. No delicate china like my mom used. Aunt Linda's style was 100 percent earthy.

*As an aside, I had three smoking experiences growing up, all of which were quick and non-habit-forming. One was in third grade in the loft of a barn. Not smart at all. One was right after high school when I worked as a Woolworth waitress and everyone smoked. And one was in the college dorm/former convent in my freshman year when my roommate and I wanted to see if we could smoke a whole pack or eat a whole bag of Combos first. We got so sick trying that neither cigarettes nor Combos has ever appealed to us again, so that's the last word on the cool charm of smoking for me. )

Back to Aunt Linda...

Twenty-one years ago she adopted a darling girl who now has a daughter of her own. My young, cool, hippie aunt became a grandmother. It seemed weird that the same woman who loved Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell and marijuana and beads hanging in the doorways was now rocking a grandbaby, but to every thing there is a season. (Turn, turn, turn.)

Aunt Linda and I stayed up late talking about all kinds of stuff. Geriatrics was a favorite topic, believe it or not. I don't know if she or my parents (or all three) helped me develop a love for old people, but I learned much from my aunt. She was the director of a nursing home in Ohio and loved it so much that she moved to Santa Fe to build a home that became an adult daycare facility in the 80s and 90s. When it was no longer financially profitable for her, Aunt Linda converted it into a bed and breakfast called Casa Pacifica. Once again, her signature style of quilts and antiques and rustic, earthy decor filled the rooms. And once again, she used her gift of hospitality to welcome and nourish hungry travelers. Her business acumen (learned from her mother) helped her make a living at what she loved to do. She named one of the rooms in my grandmother's honor. It's called Tola's Favorite. If you're ever in Santa Fe, please stay at Casa Pacifica B&B and ask for Linda. Tell her Zoanna sent you. (She might double your rate, but oh well.)

There is so much more I could say about Aunt Linda. Her love of language, puppies, Kansas skies, and the Rolling Stones are just a few of the things that endear her to me. (Well, I could take or leave the Stones.) Her quick wit, great questions, hearty laugh, and affection have wrapped me up like a warm quilt in my reminiscence of our brief visits together.

I will always love my Aunt Linda, and I'm certain it's mutual. She is leaving a legacy of hospitality, and true hospitality is love.

E is for Eva

Eva was my great aunt, my dad's uncle's wife. Aunt Eva and Uncle Frank had eight children. Seven sons and finally a daughter. They named her Joyce, but I think it's because they were RE-joicing that, at last, they had a girl. I want to say she was "Eva's Diva," but I don't really remember that Joyce was spoiled. Probably was, but I didn't really get to know her until she was in college, and she was a lovely, admirable girl with high moral standards without being a snob.

Aunt Eva and Uncle Frank Nickel travelled often with their whole family in a hearse, which is I guess the closest thing to a limo or van they could get back then without appearing to be materialistic Baptists or wayward hippies. They were a singing group, and their music took them all over the United States. They could turn four-part part harmony into ten-part harmony by simply opening their mouths. I remember when they came from Illinois and pulled into our long, gravel driveway one hot, summer day. As they emerged from the hearse, I believe there were only four kids. There weren't ten Nickels left (or, as Uncle Frank said, "fifty cents") by the time Joyce was in grade school touring with them, but as I recall, at least a sextet from the Nickel Family Singers' Hearse/Limo.

Every meal started with prayer and/or a sung prayer. Every after-dinner conversation seemed to make its way to the piano for a hymn-sing. Every farewell was set to beautiful music. You would think you'd been transplanted onto the Austrian Alps alongside Julie Andrews and those drapery-clad Von Trapp kids. The hub of this family wheel was Aunt Eva, smiling at Uncle Frank and the almost-all-male brood with them while they sang, "God Be With You Till We Meet Again."

What a sweet memory. Aunt Eva left a legacy of music in me. And she also left an unforgettable image of a singing hearse parked at our house in Maryland countryside.

It's Cancer

One of my brothers-in-law has been diagnosed with malignant melanoma in his scalp. He is having surgery tomorrow (Thursday) to remove as much as possible and see if the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes. We are praying that God will have mercy in this situation. If you are a praying person, would you please join us? Thanks. Please also pray for his wife, children, grandchildren, and other family members as we process this sobering diagnosis and treatment options.

I will be taking a little break until Tuesday of next week for a variety of reasons.

Snow. Shower.

What do you get when you cross a thin layer of snow and ice,

icky rain and old windshield wipers, too little sleep the night before, followed by too much coffee the morning of, fur-lined snow boots and daringly high heels, pink
carnations and baby's breath, toll booths that could bankrupt a Rockefeller, fifty women dressed in pink and black, one really tall dimple-faced guy in a Ravens polo, a lot of prayer and Kleenex,


darling shoe-shaped white chocolates, a show-stopping leopard print chair and a tiara, delicious food, thick gloves and thin stemware, a heavy microwave and a light Christmas ornament,

with a petite dimple-faced sweetheart of a girl who thought she was just going to breakfast at Chick Fil-A before an 11:15 premarital counseling appointment at her church?



You get a surprise bridal shower in New Jersey, that's what!



Ben did a super job of getting Dee there without her suspecting anything. She expected to see our daughter later in the afternoon at her wedding dress fitting with bridesmaids, but she was clueless about the shower.


She dressed in casual pink and black (her signature colors) and looked adorable, as usual. But her twin sister had brought her a leopard print jumper and black high heels and black sweater to change into.










He stuck around just long enough to eat lunch and publicly honor her with a few words.

I had the distinct privilege of hearing so many good things about my son from ladies in that church who have gotten to know him over the past year.

I heard the following.

1. "So you're Ben's mom! He is
such a mature guy. Really a great match for Deirdra."

2. "Ben is a real man's man. A strong leader. I can't imagine him saying, 'Whatever you say, dear. Whatever you want, honey.'' I chuckled, "No, not at all. On the small things he'll compromise, like wearing pink in the wedding, but on the big stuff he sticks to his convictions."


3. "Deirdra used to babysit my girls and we all just love her. When she told me she'd met this great guy and fallen in love, I had to meet him. Had to see if he was good enough for our DeeDee. Don't worry, he is!"

4. (From Dee's mom) " I could not have picked a better man for Deirdra if I'd tried. He treats her so well. When you're a single mom, that's just extra important to know your girls are being taken of. Ben is an answer to many years of prayers." Dee's mom knew he was special when he helped pack, carry, and load up boxes and stuff into her car after her other daughter's wedding. "He is so helpful and such a gentleman. I don't know how we could've done it without him. I knew at that moment he was a keeper."

Dee's twin sister, Siobhan (pronounced "Shuh-vahn") knows her better than anyone. The shower was perfectly decorated in a very Dee way. Check out this chair, but first the story behind it.

As you know, twins have this mysterious "thing" between them --a sixth sense, I guess--that they are really in sync with each other when they're miles (or states) apart. Siobhan was looking at Craigslist for furniture for her own place when she spotted (no pun intended, truly) this leopard print spiked-heel shoe chair. She emailed her mom the link. "We've got to get this for Dee. It would be great for her shower and her house!" Of course this was all hush-hush. Siobhan bought it for $30 really fast. A few hours later, she got a text link from Dee. "Check out this chair. I love it! Ben would kill me if it came in the house, but isn't it great?!"


















photo credit:
Ambrey Zaun

(The shoe chair and all the ones with brighter lighting are her pictures. The others are mine.)









Cupcakes courtesy of her friend,
Katie, who has her own cupcake
business. One word for these:
Wow.









The prayers of blessing meant so much
to us. Marriage will be a big adjustment, but maybe moreso for Dee since she will be leaving all her friends, her mom, and her church in NJ. Thankfully her sister lives ten minutes from their new apartment.





















One woman asked if I was embarrassed as Ben's mom to see Dee opening
lingerie. I jumped up with my camera and said, "No way! If it leads to grandkids, I'm all for it!" (I'm all for it anyway, but I can hardly wait to have grands of my own.)




























Hugs and kisses for the soon-to-be Mrs.

A Beautiful Weekend up North

This past weekend my daughter and I drove to New Jersey to meet up with our son and his fiancee' and her mom for a multi-purpose weekend:

1. to taste-test the food at the restaurant where we will have our rehearsal dinner
2. to scope out the wedding and reception venue
3. to see Deirdra's dress (Be still my heart! Heart-stopping gorgeous!) and to get Sarah's bridesmaid's dress ordered
4. to go to church together


Our get-together dove-tailed with their engagement picture photo shoot (which I can't wait to see).

All the food was yummy, and we sat around like Food Network critics ordering six different entrees, two different salads, some appetizers, and desserts. Naturally we shared everything till we had zero tolerance for one more bite. We narrowed our selections and are working with the owner to come up with a sort of prix fix menu. Let me say for the record, our table agreed the burger we shared six ways was the absolute best we had ever tasted. In fact, another guest came over on her way to the ladies' room and said, "When I heard you all talking about the burger, I made my husband order it! Wow, was it ever good!" The pictures in the restaurant didn't turn out, but we will definitely be making a tradition of visiting that place. (I will tell you the name of it after the wedding!) My personal favorite was a pork and apple pasty. Dee described it as "Thanksgiving in your mouth."

We went to church Sunday morning, and I needed the message. A familiar passage about the
seed falling on four different types of soil, I initially wondered if the message was going to be
"Bible lite." But far from it. The pastor asked us to take out paper and identify which of the four our own heart soil is. He also asked us to make a list of our worries, because perhaps we don't realize that worries are choking the tender plants that are trying to grow up in our hearts. Then we were to pray our worries to God and surrender them. Wow. I didn't realize until they were on paper just how many I have. Somehow writing them down and praying about them made them smaller and less frightful.

Afterward in the lobby I had one of those moments that sort of "freeze frames" in the mind . Ben had walked off to get a drink at the fountain as one of Dee's old acquaintances approached her. She was 'catching up' and asked, "Is that your hubby?" "Hubby to be, "she beamed. I don't know. It made me gulp. Dee's mom said, "And here's the mother of the hubby-to-be." I reached out my hand and said, "He was my baby just a few months ago, wasn't he?" She understood; with her was a seven-year-old son and this woman also had a 20-year-old son. The mother and I locked teary eyes for a brief moment as we guarded our emotion with nervous laughter.

An hour later we were at the wedding venue, touring the beautiful historic site, previously a church. As all the details were being handled by the bride's mom, I took the liberty to explore solo. I glanced around the grand foyer with the din of chatter behind me and thought,
"This is really happening. My baby boy...born in March...a man now... taking a wife in March... starting his own new family." I can't explain the mix of joy and sadness that welled up in an instant. Our family unit as we've always known it, going from six down to five, yet simultaneously six to seven and eight and nine ...as we embrace his bride's family and then, who knows?, maybe ten, eleven, twelve...as those baby Ben-n-Dees come along??

And I found myself wanting to cling to him, my son, my tall and handsome and responsible and funny and intelligent and strong and precious son whose birth ushered me into the sorority of mothers past, present, and future. My heart rejoices in God for the treasure of this child, this man, this hubby-to-be.

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The glorious colors of fall, and the beauty of family. What a combination!

My girl, 22






















The future Mr. & Mrs.































































































And "The Moms," one of whom is dressed in red and having an electrostatic
hair day.













A really big leaf, whose length was greater than my shoe. I wonder if the Mama Tree
watched him flutter and release himself when he found a darling little leaf to complete him?

Wednesday Hodgepodge: Gadgets, Grandparents, and Games

Once again, here come some great questions from Joyce. I find myself wondering if she spends all week coming up with her Wednesday wizardry. I hope you enjoy reading my answers as much as I enjoy writing them. Link up this week, won't you? This is one fun meme.

1. Of all the tools and gadgets you own which do you most enjoy using?

Wow, I love a lot of tools and gadgets, ranging from big to small, necessary to superfluous.
Of the biggies, I like the lawn mower because, having mowed the front yard, it' "stays done" longer than other jobs. Of the small tools or gadgets, I am fond of paintbrushes and chalk pastels to apply color to paper in the name of art. I also can't deny my love for the computer to stay in communication with the outside world. But I would say that on a daily basis, my favorite low-tech tool is the pen. There's nothing like a fabulous, smooth, cool writing pen. I have a penchant for them!

2. When (if ever) is impatience a virtue?

Impatience is never a virtue. It's a fruit of selfishness, demanding one's own timetable to be met. The opposite is a biblical imperative because it's in the nature of God. So to be like Him, one must be patient.

3. What temperature do you keep your thermostat set to in winter? Do you have another way to heat your house besides a furnace of some type?

Keep it? Well, prior to this year and the onset of female "power surges"--ahem-- I was prone to jack up the temp to a toasty 72 when I got cold. But hubby preferred it 68 during the day, 66 at night. Now that he has had a milestone "age spurt" (thanks to Joyce's hubby for coining that delightful term), he's been wearing two layers around the house, and he shuffles around in slippers. My guess is the 'stat might go up to 70 this winter. We have a heat pump, which, letmetellyou, is far more pump than heat. I mean, is it a misnomer or WHAT when the air blowing out of a heat vent is cool in December? If there's one thing I miss more than anything about our previous house, it was the fireplace. Oh, don't get me started...

4. Do/did you have a close relationship with any of your grandparents?

Unfortunately, no. I can count on both hands the number of times I visited my maternal grandparents. My mom's parents divorced when I was two; we were living in Maryland, they in Kansas. So when we did get to "vacation" out there, we had to "make the rounds" from my grandpa and his wife's farm in Valley Falls, to my biological grandma's house in Lawrence, and out to my dad's parents' home in Sterling. (There were hours and hours of driving associated with these rounds.) My grandpa was a quiet man who loved animals and smiled with his eyes, and when he did talk, people listened. His wife, Mayme, was a nervous type, always busy keeping an immaculate house, but not one to sit and play with the kiddoes. I always felt more like a guest than a grandchild.

My other grandmother ("Granny"--my mom's mother) stood an imposing 5'9" and could be curt and even abrasive at times. One thing she demanded was a yes or no when she offered something (usually an edible treat)-- not an "I don't care" or "It's up to you," or "If you feel like fixing it." She would say, "Well, if you don't care enough to give me a yes, I don't care enough to fix it for you!" So if you wanted ice cream, honey, you'd better say, "Yes, please" If you really didn't, then "No, thank you." I credit Granny with molding me into a decisive person, especially when it comes to food! (I also find myself annoyed when people don't give me a straight answer. "Do you want cheese on your eggs or not????!!! Yes or no????" (Oh, that would be would my unvirtuous impatience showing, wouldn't it?)

There were two wonderful years, however, when we actually lived in Kansas, only seven miles from my paternal grandparents. I felt closer to them because Grandma took a genuine interest in me. She sat next to me on the piano bench and sang hymns while I played. I still remember her favorite, "His Eye is on the Sparrow." She had a famous witty saying, "Oh, I just love old hymns. So much of the Bible is based on them!" She played baby dolls with me in the metal camper out back of their house. She remembered my name when she got Alzheimer's and couldn't remember my sisters. So, as "close" goes, I was only "close" to one grandparent, but it's not like some people who can remember "every Sunday going to Grandma's for supper" or anything as idyllic as that.

5. When did you last have a family portrait taken?

Two weeks ago at my parents' 50th wedding anniversary party. Portraits have always been important to my mom, so we hired a professional. At first I thought I wouldn't be keen on
portraits, just candids, but the last one we had of just my "six pack" was about 10 years ago. In preparing for the party ,going back through pictures, I realized the blessing of having the family I grew up all in one shot where we all actually tried to look our best, is truly a step-up from a bunch of randoms. (Wish we'd had more randoms as well, but taking pictures wasn't my parents' thing. Heads chopped off, lampshades giving us a halo, you know what I'm talking about.)

This year would be the last our nuclear family of six would be together in a professional portrait. We splurged. The next family portrait will include our new daughter-in-love in March, Lord willing!!

6. What does the word patriotism mean to you?

It means a lump in my throat. It meas the national anthem, the flag, soldiers, standing for freedom, voting, honoring veterans --especially those in our family, sending cards and cookies made by special young'ins to a beloved soldier, welcoming him home with a private parade on our street, watching this tough guy tear up at the prayers of thanksgiving offered by children who sent him Gummi Worms every month. Patriotism is personal to me, in case you can't tell.

7. Do you like to play cards and if so, what's your favorite card game?

It really depends on the game and my mood. I have two favorite card games, Pit and Spoons. Pit is that loud stock-market game where you trade "crop" cards (wheat, barley, oats) and try to get rid of the Bear but keep the Bull. I also like Spoons. If you've never played it, you really should try at your next gathering. The thing that's cool about Spoons is that you don't need to know good English to play it. The most fun we've ever had was playing it with Chinese students from the local university at Thanksgiving one year.

8. Insert your own random thought here.

The season of fall certainly is a metaphor for midlife. The leaves change color inevitably, and it's over way too soon. If childhood is spring, and adolescence is summer, and old age is winter ,then I am in the fall of my life. I can't deny the glorious beauty of some of the changes, but it seems to they seem to be happening with every sunrise, and I find my heart writhing at the rapid succession of changes as it grabs the heels of Today."No!! Please stay! Please stay! Please don't go! You just got here!"

Silly Sister Sleepover

As best we could recall, it had been 30 years since my sisters and I had all four bedded down under our parents' roof at the same time. Rachel went off to college in 1981, and she was the first to leave home, followed by me in 1983, then Andrea in 1985. Jill commuted from home to college, and didn't leave the nest until she was married in 2003. (She is 14 years my junior, hence the big gap in time.) So from 1981 to 2011, we had gone our separate ways, and although we've been together since then many times, we have slept in hotels, extended families' homes, or our own homes (for those of us close by).I probably would have had to miss out on this slumber party had my dear husband not been able or willing to take Friday off to drive our boy to and from school, and tend to his needs while I was busy doing a host of things with my sisters. A big thanks to my honey for that!My parents absolutely loved having their four girls at their place, all snuggled up in pj's under blankets. We sure got silly. I mean, giggly-giggly and about as immature as immature gets. But boy, oh boy, was it fun. We laughed till our sides hurt and our faces cracked. My family is into big words as a matter of habitual speech, and phrases that sometimes could be simplified aren't. We understand each other, though. Yet it's comical to realize it's not "plain English" to everyone. We occasionally catch ourselves and ask, "Do you mean__________?" and then we just "lose it".
Let me give an example. Thursday night, when we girls were trying to decide sleeping arrangements, and Daddy wanted to know what we wanted for breakfast (since he is Breakfast King), he asked what time we each get up. I said, "Well, first, five o'clock, to pee, and then I go back to bed till 7--ish." Mama started the giggle fest when she asked if we were aware that nocturnal urination is an early warning sign of diabetes.

Rachel: "Do you mean peeing in the middle of night?"
Mama: (sheepishly grinning) Yes.
Me: I thought it was just from having too much to drink at eleven!
Andrea: Well, better nocturnal urination than nocturnal flatulence.
Jill: If you get nocturnal flatulence, Andrea, you can sleep by yourself!

We went on and on and ON about nocturnal this and nocturnal that. My poor mother just wanted to inform us of diabetes warnings, and we go making light of the symptoms. To the point we almost DID urinate on the sleep sofa!

Our silly sister sleepover. It was the most refreshing time I've had in ages , even though I didn't fall asleep until 4 a.m. My parents are truly old, as evidenced by the setting on their thermostat. It feels like they keep their house a toasty 84 degrees (or is it 94?). At any rate, menopause and toasty already go hand-in-hand, so I wasn't exactly comfy. Nocturnal perspiration. Nocturnal suffocation. Plus, I really had had a Coke while we were making pumpkin vases a few hours earlier. Guess I'm more sensitive to caffeine than I thought. We then got up at 8 for the grand decorating day that was upon us. Beauty rest eluded us, but I repeat: it was so much fun!

Grace is Here

Thank you to those who have been reading along (and praying) about the plans my sisters and I have for hosting a big Golden Anniversary party for my parents. I would like to tell you specific ways that God has shown His grace when I've been tempted to "freak out" or "lose it" when I'm really in the mire of details.

1. My sisters have willingly taken on responsibilities that they're good at. My older sister, Rachel, has done a phenomenal job at scrapbooking 20 pages that will first be displayed on walls at the facility, and then I'll transfer them and finish the book within a month. My next younger sister, Andrea, sort of "interviewed" my parents and came up with a bio-bingo game as an icebreaker .That should be more fun than listening to any of us give a biographical speech. My baby sister, Jill, who is a senior administrative assistant professionally, is a natural as project manager, handling both the "big picture" and details like a trapeze artist. Did I mention that two of my sisters are out of state--way, WAY out of state?

2. Conference calls. We've had one, and are planning our second this Sunday. It's really fun to listen and talk to them all at once. As much as I have a love/hate relationship with technology ,I do love hearing my sisters' voices on the phone line. We can really get to laughing, though, since we are planning this event for what Bill Cosby calls "our common enemies"! When you have been a family for over four decades, there are a LOT of inside jokes, are there not? We could turn this into a roast if we wanted to. Easily. But we'll behave like the mature women our parents believe they've raised. At least for two hours.

3 Linking arms with the other non-Martha Stewart type sisters when the one Martha among us (not I) suggests something like--yes, true story-- adding color to the table by using the scrapbook paper as placemats, but making contrasting borders for them as well! All 60 of them! Um, guess what? Big fat NO! She also suggested hanging the picture boards from fishing line on the ceiling. Hello? If I'm in charge of the picture displays and I'm only 5'4" on a frizzy hair day, and I'm scared of stepladders, let's just say that's not happening. Lots of laughs behind the no, because she asked on a day I was "losing it." The other girls added to my "no" in their unique ways. When I say "unique," I mean one gives a wordy, diplomatic "too much trouble," and the other asks, "Are you KIDDING? No way!"

In the midst of all the busyness, Paul reminded me this past Monday that his brother wanted to come up for two days at the end of his conference in DC. (His older brother from Ohio.) When was the conference ending? Thursday. Normally I might come unglued, but since I already came unglued Sunday over something else, it was no big deal! Paul changed the sheets on the guest bed and took us to dinner, so it's been smooth for me! For two days they've had some brother time, which for them means a lot of talking about sports, politics, church, music, food, and their jobs . Oh, and a copious use of this statement: "I used to be able to do that, but not anymore. "

The "blast from the past," above is a portrait from 1983 . I know because the white dress was my high school graduation dress. I loved it, so gauzy and light. But it looks a little nun-ish to me now, all high-collared and everything. And if you look closely at all our faces, doesn't it appear we have two photographers? Half of us are looking west, the other east. Oh, well. For however the pictures turned out, I'm glad my mom insisted on professional sittings back in the day, because we have almost no whole-family pictures otherwise.

Monday Thirteen: Big Event Theme

I'm going to be a whirling dervish the next couple of weeks. Who knows if I'll be able to post ,let alone comment on any blogs. I'm staying sane by the grace of God, and one of the graces is the wonderful four-letter word "list."

While I'm in List Mode, here's 13 things going on in my mind, world, and heart, in random order.

1. My son Ben is the typical groom-to-be. Details are not important. Since the wedding is in March and I hadn't seen the need to put it on the calendar (it's not like I'm going to forget it, right?) I didn't register the time, either. All I could remember was they're serving brunch food. It's the bride's favorite. So I was thinking noon-ish.
2. My future DIL asked me to find out from our side of the family who will be renting hotel rooms what night so she can reserve a block of them. I asked Ben what time is the wedding? He said 11.
3. So I sweated and panicked and thought, "Eleven??? Seriously?? That is SO early for Marylanders to get up to New Jersey!" I hate to ask people to rent a room the night before, but was having nightmares in the day (daymares?) about half the family showing up late or missing it! The combo of not-early-birds, notorious traffic, and unpredictable weather known between MD and NJ in March, my stomach had tied the knot many times!
4. I highly encouraged folks to rent a room Friday because the wedding would be starting at 11 and ending in mid-afternoon. Not so much need for a Saturday booking.
5. I asked Dee and she said, "The wedding is at 1."
6. "One?! Whew! Where was I getting 11 o'clock? Oh, yeah, from the GROOM! I figured he ought to know.
7. Why should he know? My own groom nearly 25 years ago didn't care about the "details." I guess in a groom's mind, details include the time of the wedding.
8. Um, no, honey. A detail would be the time the girls are having their make-up done. I wouldn't expect you to know or care about that. In fact, I might be worried if you did.
9. My other young adult son is wondering what to give his girlfriend for her birthday. He is such a romantic, such a planner, but a broke romantic planner. Her birthday is in two weeks. Won't surprise me if he starts asking for some odd jobs around the house for money. If you hear someone singing, "Scrub! In the name of love! before you break her heart...o-o-whoa-whoa..." that's me as I hand Steve a rag.
10. My daughter sweet-talked her daddy into getting tickets to the Ravens game yesterday. You should have heard her build her case. "It's one of the few Sundays I won't have much homework this semester. The weather is beautiful. It's a 4:oo game so we're not gonna miss any church. We could make a memory. You know you want to." They took the boy with them. He was in his glory. Pictures coming soon. ( "Upload pictures to laptop" is on another list somewhere. Oh yeah--in my head. Not likely to happen if left there. )
11. I've started decorating the house a little with fall touches. Knowing your sisters are coming in from out of state has a way of making you notice that other things need your attention as well. Kind of want to get from "to do" to "ta-da" without really working., though. Not sure how...
12. I heard an excellent message today by a visiting pastor, a message that has encouraged me for the short- (and hopefully long-) term. It was from Jude 1b. That's right: Jude One b. The words "called," "loved," and "kept" are so sweet, so amazing. If you're a Christian, you're called. Why does God love you? Because He loves you? But why? Because He loves you! It's not because of anything lovable in you. ( "Sorry, pal.") And you are kept in Jesus. Kept! Forever! That is, if He has called you to Himself, and you have repented of your sin and put your faith in His work alone on the cross, you are His and kept forever. "That should put a really big smile on your face!" he concluded.
13. I am really tired and really excited at the same time. The effect of stress on me is somewhat narcoleptic. Seriously. I yawn a lot, and if I close my eyes, I can fall asleep on the spot. I really think so. I get it from my dad. Here's a picture from his retirement. He is holding up a sign he would post outside his cubicle before stretching out on the floor behind his desk. You can imagine how unsettling a sight that would be if the sign were absent. He's always believed that if your body needs sleep, give it sleep, not coffee, if you can.

She Combs His Hair

I took this shot of my parents, probably 12-13 years ago when we were passing the camera around on the lawn at their old place.

Mama had taken a look at Daddy and noticed a hair or two out of place. He pulled out his trusty comb, handed it to her, and said, "Make me handsome, Brenda."

She replied, "Well, God made you handsome, honey, but I am keeping you that way!"

Pro Rege and the World's Oldest Profession

Last night I was putting my nine year old to bed. Soon he will find he feels too old to snuggle, but for the time I have left, I enjoy the ritual of reading aloud, exchanging back-scratches, talking about anything and everything, and sometimes helping him master a memory verse.

What's been especially sweet about his attendance at this new Christian school is that he has begun to sing again. And not just commercials. From the time he was about five until last month, he didn't think it was cool to sing. That broke my heart. He wouldn't sing in church. He wouldn't sing when I tried to teach him some hymns at home, and only once in a while he'd sing in the shower. At his old school he felt uncomfortable singing on stage in the musical.

Imagine my joy at the resurrection of his singing! All the kids, even the boys , at school not only have to sing, but enjoy it. I love it!

So far he has learned a US history song that recounts major players and events from the 15th century to the French-Indian War. He was signing it for me as I lay there in the stillness. His voice is precious and nearly pitch-perfect. Then he asked if I'd help him with his Bible verse which he'll be tested on today. His dad had written it on a card and helped him remember the first letter of each of the four lines: BBTW. I told him there were 25 words and the lines have 6,6,7,6 words each, respectively. Then I got to explain to him what the verse means, because, let's face it, words like "reconciled" and "blemish" need some 'splaining to a fourth grader.

I suggested we put the verse to the tune of "Amazing Grace," and it worked! (We messed around with the meter, of course, but doing so only bolstered the memory.)

But now He has reconciled you
By Christ's physical body through death
To present you holy in his sight
Without blemish and free from accusation.
Colossians 1:22

Joel then asked if we could sing the real song. So we did, in the dark, cozied up under blankets; we sang "Amazing Grace."

Pro rege. (For the king.)

I asked Joel if he knew what "Pro Rege" means. He said no.
I explained, "Pro means for. Rege means King, like regal. Like pro-life is for life."
He asked, "Professional is for fessional?"
I snickered. And then he said, "How about pro-stitution?"

I snorted and gathered my wits.

"Do you know what that means?" I asked.
"No. What?"
"Never mind. I'll tell you when you're older. Good night, son. I love you."

Oh, boy. How did we get from "Amazing Grace" to pro-stitution in a matter of seconds?