It started with a surprise apple pie with three candles in it. The traditional birthday song was sung, the candles were blown out and a gift was given.
I’ll be getting two letters a month for a year, the so-called “Flower Letters.” I’d seen this advertised on Instagram before. It’s an intriguing idea, somewhat on the order of a subscription to a story that you receive in installments. My family chose a storyline for me that takes place in England during the Jane Austen era, which will include elements of romance and mystery, all within the context of what was happening in history at that time.
The first letter has already arrived, coming in an attractive tin which will hold all of the letters.
The portrait in the photo above represents the young man who wrote the letter, a fellow named Phineas. There will also be 12 attractive postcards that I can use to send to others. I’m looking forward to seeing the story unfold.
What a unique and delightful gift!
I’ll probably put this in a blog post tin in the morning.
Sometimes I start a blog post without much of a plan. Those of you who read this regularly are not surprised. I like the challenge of starting with nothing and hoping that something emerges. So here’s what I’ve got today: two photos that have been lurking in my smallified photos file for a few months.
The “little fisherman” is my dad, with his dad behind him. It’s a lovely photo, isn’t it? Toddler Dad looks adorable with his hat and his pudgy little face. Instead of a life jacket, he appears to have some sort of safety cord attached to his clothing, doesn’t he? What I’m really struck by though is the strength and focus of the man behind him. That’s the look of a father who knows how to keep his son safe out there in the boat. We should all remember this, that we have a Father who knows how to keep us afloat and safe.
And that little cutie is me, another little fisherman (fishergirl?) out in the boat. You can’t see him, but I am no doubt under the protection of my father, no longer a toddler, but now the one who kept me safe in the boat. Times have changed (I’m at least wearing a life jacket!), but the job of a father has not.
I’ll probably fish or cut bait on this in the morning.
I love everything about that photo, but particularly the man in the middle, the one whom I’ve been married to and following for 40 years and 1 day now. We’re headed into the autumn foliage of our lives together and the view is still grand.
God is good all the time, and all the time God is good.
My last post was a month ago. We have been hither and yon and living lives of such abounding activity that the blog was abandoned. Some of you have probably been relieved not to get the regular emails with my posts attached. If that describes you, I have no rancor toward you whatsoever. And if you decide that it was such a relief that you might as well unsubscribe, I will cheer you on. However, for those of you who actually missed my little musings, bless you. It is for you that I write.
Now as to the abounding activities, here’s a sampling of them:
We got reacquainted with 5-month old “Darling,” and met brand-new granddaughter, “Sweetheart.” Sweetheart was still fresh from the womb, only 3 days old when we met her.
Later in the week we had a family reunion, which included the other two grands, “Lovey” and “Dovey.” Being grandparents is such a joy. And we’ve got another little dear coming in October!
We went to our favorite used book store. Twice. And bought books both times. We currently own 2,131 books, but that number not only doesn’t discourage us from accumulating more, it’s almost an incentive to keep going.
Bowling! Our bowling crew included the 5-year-old and 3-year-old, who used the bowling ball ramps to send their balls toward the pins. Their dad was chagrined to find that they scored better than him for both games.
Swimming! Well…swimming is a bit of a misnomer. Let’s just say that we were in swimming suits and were, in fact, in the water at the local water park.
Farmer’s Market! (I feel like I’ve gone a bit to the dark side with all of these exclamation points). I’m more of a window shopper at the FM usually, but this time I bought tiny doughnuts to share with our crowd, as well as a tiny book for putting tiny drawings into.
Add to that many meals eaten together, two birthdays celebrated, a family photo taken, a few movie nights, visits to thrift stores, conversations with old friends, church services (and the baptism of Sweetheart) and you’ll see why we slid under our sheets tired but happy every night.
O taste and see that the Lord is good!
I’ll probably reboot the reboot of this rebooted blog in the morning.
I look at this photo of me and my brother way back when, and although I don’t remember that particular moment in time, I am brought back to summers of yore. What a delight on those hot days to jump into our little plastic backyard pool.
My memories of the summers of childhood are shot through with warmth, color, happy sounds, and the unique eating pleasures of the season. Back then our watermelons had seeds in them – is that a hardship story now?
We didn’t have air conditioning, another hardship story that wasn’t really too much of a hardship. Sleeping at night involved catching regular breezes from the oscillating fan and turning our pillows over to get to the cooler side once in a while. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable.
I’m certain that there must have been plenty of mosquitos in my life back then, but my brain has mercifully chosen to excise them from the nostalgia program that I’m currently enjoying.
I went barefoot all summer long in my childhood. The soles of my feet were tough as nails, unlike the weak and easily penetrated soles of today.
Dad took us swimming fairly frequently at the lake nearest to us, one of the advantages of living in the state of 10,000 lakes. And when we came back, Mom often had supper ready for us to eat in the cool of the back porch.
Life wasn’t always perfect, but strained through the passing of time my mind has selected only some of the best parts of those days to remember. Thank you, Lord!
I’ll probably delete this in the mornings of yore.
This is yours truly kissing my Grandma Lois on the cheek. Now that I have grandchildren old enough to do that, I know what pleasure it must have given her.
Having a good laugh with my own granddaughter when she was about the age that I was in the above photo. I wonder if she thinks I’m as ancient as I thought my own grandmother was…
Musings…
I’ll probably delete this ancient blog in the morning.
This bunny cup was given to me when I was born. At some point in my adult life, my mother gave it to me, and it has stayed in the shadows for all these years. Not in literal shadows, but the fact of its existence has never prompted any thought in my brain whatsoever. Clearly I’ve been packing it and moving it with us when we’ve moved, right? It’s been on a shelf collecting dust which I have not even bothered to clean.
Our daughter is expecting a baby, their first, and when I realized I’d be able to go to the baby shower, I was looking around for something old of mine to give her, in addition to other things. The bunny cup waved a metaphorical hand to get my attention and just like that, I saw it. How charming! I looked on the bottom of it and saw that it was signed “B ‘58.” No longer a random kitschy item, this had true provenance. I could tell by the signature that the bunny cup had been lovingly painted for me by one of my two aunts, both of whom had names beginning with the letter B. Which one? I couldn’t tell, but decided it had to have been the older “B,” since I knew she was the artsy type.
I cleaned it off and gift-wrapped it, preparing it for its new home out West. On the way out there, I got an unexpected email from one of my cousins, a son of the younger “B.” He attached several photos of his mother’s pottery, a topic we’d apparently touched on at some point and which I had forgotten. Lo and behold, there it was, her signature on the bottom of several pieces, the very same signature that was on the bunny cup. A small thing, but this was True Providence. Here was an item I hadn’t thought about or cared about for decades and almost the very minute I began wondering who made it for me, the answer came in an unprompted email. Some would see this as an unremarkable coincidence, but I see it as a kindness of the Lord’s, an attention to little details. What I put in the shadows, He brings to light.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning, if I can find it among the shadows.
The boy was doted upon as the only son of his parents. His mother was from the far away north, born in Norway and coming to the New World as a little girl. His father was a son of Minnesota, born among the pines and lakes. Somehow they met – God arranged it very carefully – and decided they were better together than apart. A marriage ceremony sealed matters nicely. The boy came along shortly afterward, but not too shortly, if you get my meaning.
He was a happy lad with a sweet and cheerful nature. But as he grew, he realized that his happiness was not quite complete. No, things wouldn’t be quite right in his world unless he had a brother. He made his petition to the parents and such was their devotion to him that they got right on it. The year the boy turned 5, everyone in the household made room for one more little boy, a baby brother, who also had a sweet and cheerful nature. And he, too, was doted upon.
Although I have added some verbiage to it, this is essentially the story my dad used to tell us about how he got a little brother. I have no reason to doubt its veracity. But there was always that twinkle in his eye as he told it…
Unless this post is doted upon, I’m afraid I shall have to delete it.
Our hearts are often tugged out West, where most of our children and all of our grandchildren live. Every so often, we follow the tug of our hearts and point our car westward. We’ve been out there so often, I think our car knows the way, but we still keep hands firmly on the wheel. And by “we” I mean my husband, since I don’t do any of the driving. We are both happy with this arrangement, thank the Lord.
I had thought, as usual, to keep up with this blog. And also as usual, I did not. I don’t mind this tug-of-war between plans and reality. It’s become part of the syncopated rhythm of my life when we travel.
And now, just a small sampling of our time away. I might share more in future blog posts.
Hello, new granddaughter! It’s lovely to meet you!Baby mobile finished and given!Flat tire!Mr. CoolMiss SillyFunny Faces Part 1Funny Faces Part 2
At the end of three weeks, our car rolled back into our familiar driveway. As if to herald our arrival, a rainbow was in the sky and our crabapple tree held out arms full of pink blossoms.
There’s no place like home.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow
I’ll probably do what with this in the morning? (This is a test, to see if you remember)
As I was sorting through our books a few weeks ago, I decided to sort through my cookbooks as well. In the process I came across an old cookbook called “Treasured Polish Recipes for Americans.“ It had been a Christmas gift to my mother-in-law from her sister in 1952. It’s probably been in our possession for a long time, but I’ve never looked at it. I picked it up and started to read the foreward: “This is no ordinary cookbook.“ What a great start!
It was published first in 1948 in Minnesota, right after World War II when there were many Polish families that had come to America. They did not want to lose their heritage, particularly as it relates to cooking. Let me just share with you a few random phrases from the introduction.“Baking in Poland, delicious in its results, was a test of endurance and muscle. Old recipes say ‘Beat butter or eggs and sugar for one hour and in one direction only.’” Yikes! My arm hurts just reading that sentence.
Here’s another one: “The generous use of butter in the recipes may startle you. You may ask, do they use so much butter in Poland? The answer is yes, and let us tell you why.” It turns out that in rural areas every household owned a cow and faithful cows give milk all year long. I have no objection to a lot of butter in recipes – sounds like a good plan to me.
“Warm hospitality is a characteristic of the nation. Stranger or friend is always welcome and never bid farewell without a serving of food – it little matters how modest – the little cottage shares what it has.”
Well, I just had to try a couple recipes after reading all of that. I started to read through the cookbook to see if there was anything that I, in my modern kitchen, with our modern grocery stores, could make. It was startling to run across a recipe for Cassubian headcheese that called for one pig head. And then jellied pigs feet, which of course calls for four pigs feet cut in halves. I had to move on to something a little more doable and after much perusing decided on making Bitki Wolowe w Smietanie (Beef Bitki in Cream) and Buraki (Beets).
The Beef Bitki recipe wasn’t as precise as I might have wanted, and I had to make a few judicious guesses and substitutions. The beets recipe was very straightforward. The author of the cookbook claims that Polish cuisine has hauntingly good flavors. I have to admit our beef and beets were very good, although I’m not sure what constitutes hauntingly good. It was a lovely excursion into Polish cooking. I’d make the beets again anytime – fabuloso!
Blessed be the Lord who daily loads us with benefits
AI dictation programs 😊
The coming of spring
Good food
Being inside on a very windy day
Good teaching and preaching (good food for the soul)
This post was not made with a pig’s head, though I can be pig-headed at times. Deleting in the morning!
Lynniebeemuseoday 