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!
A recent visit from my cousin Mitch resulted in me having temporary access to several small boxes of pin-on buttons and other miscellaneous items that my Grandpa Harry had collected over the years.
Some of you may not know this, but I was made for the work of sorting. The good Lord put it into my nature to find sorting a very pleasant and interesting activity. I consider this to be a balancing feature to the fact that He has made other people who are able to work as EMT’s, a job I could not and would not do. I am probably the very last person you would want to have around in a crisis or an emergency. Thank God for the ways in which He distributes these different giftings. Maybe EMT’s hate to do sorting of any kind and are thanking God for people like me.
All that is to say, I spent a very pleasant half hour sorting through all those buttons and geegaws. Grandpa Harry was an executive in the Boy Scouts of America for much of his career, so it wasn’t a surprise to find lots of BSA buttons and paraphernalia.
There was also a collection of stars that had been put on little felt circles. I’m not sure what those were for. Was it Boy Scouts related?
I think he must have been a regular volunteer for what used to be called Community Chest, a fundraising entity that became The United Way.
He also had a few old buttons from political campaigns. Willkie & McNary ran in 1940 against FDR. I looked – the buttons aren’t worth very much in spite of them being nearly 90 years old.
Harry also had a small collection of buttons and pins from the University of Minnesota, dating back to 1917 and 1919 and later. Over 100 years old!!
Mitch told me that Grandpa Harry was involved in some sort of Mosquito Prevention effort which involved him wading around spraying stuff. It sounds like nasty work, but at least he got a nice pin out of the deal.
Lastly, I found a bunch of old cufflinks among his things as well. There’s something innately classy about cufflinks, in my opinion.
Even the old salt codfish box that some of the buttons were stored in was interesting!
I felt like I knew Grandpa Harry better after looking at the things he collected and valued. And now I know where I get my propensity to collect little things like that.
I’ll probably have to do some blog post prevention in the morning.
In honor of my dad’s birthday today (he would have been 98), I’d like to share a rewrite of the poem “Sea Fever” by John Masefield that he wrote to celebrate his own love of canoeing up in the Boundary Waters.
I must go back to the lakes again, To the lonely lakes and the sky, And all I ask is a sturdy canoe And a compass to steer her by, And the paddle’s kick and the wind’s song And the white caps shaking, And a gray mist on a quiet lake And a bright dawn breaking.
I must go back to the lakes again, For the call of the loon Is a wild call and a clear call That cannot be denied, And all I ask is a windy day With the white clouds flying, And the Norway pines and the portage trails And the sea gulls crying.
I must go back to the lakes again, To the voyager’s gypsy life. To the eagle’s way and the beaver’s way When the wind’s like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn From a laughing fellow paddler, And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream When the long day is over.
The older I get, the less capacity I have to fit multiple things in the mental space that is my brain. Hence the two-week break from posting on this blog. Other things were occupying the Space Formerly Known as Blog Posting.
But it’s a new week, one in which space has opened up again. It’s time to share some random photos from February and finish up with a list of Daily Benefits.
The Scepter of the Fairy QueenPlaying peek-a-boo with a squirrel. “Please kind lady, could you give me a peanut?”“Much obliged. Thank you. Now leave me to eat in peace.”A visitor to our yard. Our latest granddaughter!Adorable!!! ❤️
Note: Even though my readership is small, this is a public blog, so I don’t use the proper names of our grandchildren on here. For that reason, I ask those of you who know the names not to mention them in your comments. Thank you!
Blessed be the Lord, who daily loads us with benefits:
Grandchildren!
The miracle of babies.
Black bean soup…yum
Body parts that still work.
Warm days in early March.
Letters in the mail.
Neighbors who will text you when you have an eagle in your front yard.
Psalms, hymns and spiritual songs.
All righty then! I think it’s time for my usual sign off: I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
I interrupt my regularly scheduled blog post for this grand announcement: we are proud grandparents of a bouncing baby boy! He hasn’t actually started bouncing yet, but I’ve had 5 boys and they tend to be very bouncy creatures, so I know the day will come.
So adorable! This fat little buffer weighed in at 9 pounds, 11 ounces.
Rumor has it that boys are made of only three things: snips and snails and puppy dog tails. That seems an odd amalgamation, doesn’t it? I don’t think that can be true, even though the idea has a huge following.
Nope, I think I can weigh in on this issue, having done empirical research on this with my own little study sample of five.
Boys are made of fidgety stuff; They’re jumping beans, They like to play rough
Boys are made of loud things, Of battle cries And sword “shings”
Boys are made of bones and muscles of backyard fights And bedtime tussles
God bless the boys and all their noise Bless their fightings and their smitings Bless their roughness and their toughness. Make them brave and make them strong Let them praise Your name with song God bless the boys!
Lynniebeemuseoday 