My mom was the youngest of three sisters. I love looking at old black and white photos of them from nearly 100 years ago. The sibling bond is a unique one. You share memories, for better or for worse, of growing up in the same home with the same parents. These three played dolls together, had to get the same kind of haircut, and no doubt shared a bed, a room, sometimes their clothing as hand-me-downs. The things that shape you as person are often bound up with your siblings, for better or for worse.
These three little girls kept up with each other their whole lives, though the oldest one went off to New York, followed by the middle sister. Eventually the middle one went through some tough times and came back to her roots in Minnesota and stayed. When their mother was dying of cancer, all three sisters sat vigil with her in the hospital. My mom told me later that they laughed like crazy with each other, and they wept together as they witnessed their mother slipping away. And the sibling bond strengthened, as it does when you share that kind of intimate experience.
Photographs capture a moment in time, and these are just a few of the many that we have from those years. All three of these little girls have passed on now, but oh, how young and vibrant and funny they were back then. The years have marched on, but the memories remain.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
The blog post must march on, but the memory of it will be deleted in the morning.
We lived in a big, drafty house when I was growing up. The only sources of warmth in the winter were the radiators, sprinkled throughout the house, with one in most of the rooms. Sometimes the radiators were warm and comforting to lean against. Sometimes they were very hot, not enough to burn, but enough to keep you from wanting to be too close.
We spent a lot of time in our living room and dining room, both of which could get uncomfortably cold even with the radiators radiating. My mom’s solution was to make a huge quilt which she hung up as a wall to separate the living room from the entry way, which we always called “the foyer.” Sometimes that quilt meant the difference between having a room that was livably warm and one that required sweaters, blankets and mittens for added bulk.
Mom could have just hung a blanket or two up, but she took the time and effort to make a beautiful quilt, one that I didn’t appreciate nearly enough at the time. You see, this was no ordinary quilt; it was embroidered with our names, our parents names, our grandparents’ names and the names of ancestors further back than that. Mom added the names in the white channels around the squares. This was before sewing machines could be programmed to do such things. She did it with her own clever hands. Our names (my siblings and me) were the darkest colors and each generation back from us was embroidered in successively lighter colors. It was an exquisite heritage quilt! Occasionally I would look at the names, but mostly the quilt became a wall, one that we did not dare leave pulled aside on those cold days.
When did she have time to make this quilt? How is it that I have no memories of seeing her work on it? How long did it take her to sew all those names on it? What a triumph it was!
Recently I heard from my youngest sister that this quilt and one other were in Mom’s cedar chest that she’d taken when Mom died. She didn’t think she’d ever use the quilts and offered them up to the sibs. “Me! Me! Pick me!” Well, no one else wanted them and they now reside in our house. For the first time in its whole existence, the quilt is covering a bed. I marvel at it and wish I could tell my mom, “Oh, what a wonderful work of art and family history you did! God blessed the work of your hands.” And I would hug her and kiss her dear cheek.
I might feel rather quilty if I have to delete this in the morning.
I’m going to serve up an eclectic dish of musings today on a number of unpredictable topics. Intrigued? Read on!
AI Commenter. It’s a first for me. I got a somewhat lengthy comment on one of my recent blogs posts from an unknown fellow. The comment was essentially a summary of my post, reduced to its basic elements and reeking of AI. Is that the best you can do, my friend?
High School. I was visiting my father-in-law recently and came across his senior yearbook from the year 1945. It’s been over 80 years since he graduated!
I thought that seemed like a lot of time until I remembered that my own 50th class reunion was this year. How the time does fly! I’ll have to ask my friend Julie if I should regret that I didn’t go to the party. Have you gone to your high school reunions?
(I am struck by the complete lack of wrinkles!)
Grasshoppers in Strange Places. What are the odds of a hopping grasshopper hopping into your rain gauge? My husband thinks there are two grasshoppers in the photo so perhaps it was a pre-arranged assignation. What do you think – one or two grasshoppers?
Wake up Call. One of our neighbors across the street in the apartments had the most unusual alarm I’ve ever heard. Keep in mind that I could hear this from across the street through my open windows. It began with a recording of a man shouting “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP NOW!” followed by some rambling chatter by the same man, and then looping back to the original WAKE UP…etc. It was about a 20-second loop. One day this started around mid-morning and went on for over an hour. Isn’t that strange? I wonder what his neighbors in the apartment buildings thought? It happened every day for about a week and then stopped. Somebody must have complained. Initially I was kind of irritated, but now I sort of miss it. Ha ha!
I guess that’s enough rambling for today. WAKE UP! (In the morning, so I can delete this post)
These two things have no point of intersection, by the way, in case you were hoping for an essay in which the fashion rules of striped ground squirrels was in the offing.
First, fashion rules. On some level, it seems like one should be aware of these things, but I have remained embarrassingly unaware. About 10 years ago, someone let slip to me that we are not supposed to wear white before Memorial Day and after Labor Day. I feel a little haunted by that revelation. In my ignorance I could wear white whenever I felt like it, but now, having received the Law of Wearing White, I am aware of and accountable for this Fashion Sin. Today someone told me that she wouldn’t be able to wear neon green very much longer because of the time of year. Okay, not that I’ve ever had neon green in my wardrobe, but what’s that about? She also told me that the Law of Wearing White includes white shoes. What?!? Please don’t tell me anymore.
Now for the striped ground squirrel, my latest postcard painted from a photograph I took a month ago.
I call him “Stripey Guy.”
If there’s a fashion rule about deleting blog posts, I don’t want to know about it, because I’m used to doing it in the morning.
A couple months ago I read a little snippet in World Magazine about the importance of our local historical societies. It impressed me enough that I contacted our local HS and asked if they could use a volunteer. It turned out they needed someone to help with research projects so I said, “Sign me up!” Or something to that effect.
I drove over and was greeted with this delightful tableau, which I felt was a sign of good things to come.
After meeting the director and the woman in charge of research, I got a tour of the research room, which looks something like organized chaos. One wall is packed solid with research books of various kinds, some of them quite old. There are city directories from the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, plat books, old yearbooks, memoirs, history books, state, county and city records of interest, etc. Another wall is half covered with file cabinets. A table in the middle of the room is comfortably rumpled with paper, pencils, foodstuffs and the occasional file, out of place.
I also found out that there was a company back in the day that made upright grand pianos! Isn’t that odd? They were apparently almost impossible to tune and not very handy, so the not very many were made.
When I report for research duty (currently volunteering about 4 hours per week, two hours at a time), the head of research hands me a piece of paper on which she’s jotted some notes after taking calls with requests for research, either on families, businesses or even sometimes some land. There’s an old computer that I use to access an online database, as well as an index of all the subjects found in the files. Once I’ve got my assignment, I’m off and running!
I find it completely engrossing. The two hours get gobbled up so quickly that I’m almost sad it’s time to go. Dream job!
So that’s what I’ve been up to – a little busier than usual, but loving it.
What have you been up to? Do tell!
I’ll probably delete this in an historical way in the morning.
The world outside is sweltering and I am happy to sit in the Sticky Chair with a fan blowing cool air in my general vicinity. Our family didn’t have air conditioning of any kind when I was growing up. We had a box fan in the living room and an oscillating fan up in the bedroom I shared with my sisters. I slept in the top bunk, where I would feel periodic air from the fan cooling my face. When the pillow got hot, I would turn it over to start afresh on the cool side. Sometimes my siblings and I would get into little scraps over people hogging the space in front of the box fan downstairs.
We went outside a lot in spite of the heat, probably because there wasn’t any significant relief from it in the house. My dad, who had summers off because he was a teacher, would take us to the nearby lake for a swim to cool us off. We would be wilting from the heat in the car on the way over, but once we ran into the lake, the air felt cool again. My dad would swim laps on the other side of the rope while we played water games on our side. We opened our eyes under water all the time, which I don’t think I’d do now. One game involved us all going underwater and one of us would try to say something. We’d come bursting out of the water shrieking with laughter over how funny it sounded, trying to guess what was said. Sometimes my older brothers would go underwater, let one of us younger kids step on their shoulders and then they’d jump up and throw us off. “Again! Again!” we’d cry. And they’d do it again. At last, it would be time to go home. We’d shiver from the cold and welcome the warmth of the car. Our fingers would be all pruny and our appetites would be sharp. Supper would be waiting in the back porch, so we’d sometimes stay in our suits and sit on towels while we ate.
We had no idea that we were making such rich memories.
In my mind, we had lots of photos of us going swimming, but I couldn’t find any. Here’s the swimming crew on a Sunday morning dressed for church. I’m in the front on the right. Littlest sister wasn’t born yet.
I’ll probably delete this with pruny fingers in the morning.
We like to talk about the weather, don’t we? If you go to the grocery store, the cashier might ask, “Is it hot enough for you?” Or mid-winter, you’ll get the opposite question: “Is it cold enough for you?” If you say, “No,” you’ll be throwing a huge wrench into the normal machinery of polite society, so you’d better stick with the script you’ve been given. The correct answers are:
“It’s beastly hot, isn’t it?” Or
“I heard that it’s 20 below zero with wind chill!”
Something along those lines.
Here in Minnesota we’re experiencing a heat wave. I can’t say “The Mother of all Heat Waves,” because it’s been worse. This is perhaps “The Oldest Child of the Mother of all Heat Waves.” And if you live here, say it with me: “It’s not the heat, it’s the _____________”. If you couldn’t fill that in with the word “humidity,” you need to turn in your Midwest card. You haven’t been here long enough to deserve one.
When we have weather extremes, I look at the weather app more often. Is this like picking a scab? I’m not sure, but I like to know in advance JUST HOW HOT it will get. Guess what I’ve discovered? The Weather Man has become positively poetic with his pithy reports!
Now listen, I don’t want any of you to tell me that this is a product of AI. I just don’t want to hear it. I have concocted a perfectly wonderful story in my mind about the Weather Man (or woman, if you prefer), sitting at his desk, determined to elevate the weather reports with lyrical, whimsical prose. And why not? I applaud you, Weather Man. Carry on.
One last thing about these muggy days. It’s time for me to resurrect the poem I wrote about the inventor of air conditioning, Willis Carrier.
Thank God for Willis Carrier Who made our lives much merrier. He packaged cold air in a box – Better than gold in old Fort Knox. Next time you turn on your AC Thank God for brilliant Willis C.
Yes, indeed. Thank you, Lord!
This post will faint from heat exposure in the morning.
I brought my “big” camera, the Nikon with the zoom lens, and walked around with my camera eyes on. Here are a few things I saw.
You should know by now that a good reflection is always going to catch my eye.
Who knew that gas cans could present such a lovely, colorful image?
If you look at this with a bit of whimsy, it looks like the skull is all agog with its mouth hanging open, saying “Wow!” Can you see it?
This doe came around while I was sitting outside the camper reading. She came again the next morning while I was still inside the camper, two fawns in tow. Sadly, I couldn’t get a photo from inside. I know they’re mangy, I know they eat up my flowers, I know all that… but they’re still beautiful, aren’t they? It was a hushed and holy moment, she and I just looking at each other. Then she crashed through the greenery and disappeared.
Summer vibes, right there, with a camper relaxing on an inner tube and all the life jackets in the foreground. It’s a happy photo all around.
Break time for one of the cooks.
Break time for one of the birds.
Lakeside vessels, waiting to be boarded.
A rather distressingly bad photo of the regal bald eagle. That eagle deserved better, but my camera’s not THAT great. I would’ve needed a much longer zoom lens. And the eagle steadfastly refused to come and perch closer to me.
This butterfly posed for me quite nicely. The eagle could take some lessons from it.
Black squirrels! I saw one that was inky black, but that little buffer didn’t stick around long enough for a photo. How can I enjoy the plain old gray squirrels that inhabit our yard anymore when I know that this exotic breed exists? I suppose they make just as much mischief as ours do.
The sign we pass on our way out of camp. “Be strong and show thyself a man.” That’s the kind of camp you want to send your boys to.
I’ll probably feed this to a black squirrel in the morning.
It’s our last day at camp today. My husband will be busy with projects until the last moment, but the week turned out quite differently for me than the one I anticipated. Instead of slaving away in the kitchen, I’ve had a lot of free time, most of which I’ve spent sitting down. Yes, the word you’re thinking of is “sedentary.” The most active I get is often when I walk from our camper to the dining hall for a meal. Or sometimes I walk over to the lake and sit, enjoying the breeze.
I actually went for a real walk today, though, down the dirt road leaving camp and out on the paved road leading to the highway. It was very “yoo-meed,” which is French for “humid.” It was the most mileage I’ve put on the new knee in one go since I got it: 1.75 miles. Seems paltry, but it’s not.
Our camper has AC, for which we are very thankful. Even so, most of the time I sit outside, acclimating myself to the temperature while I read through books, pencil in hand. I like to underline as I go, making occasional remarks or inserting a heart or smiley face.
I’ve also continued to do some painting, trying to get the most out of my limited palette. Two more tiny art paintings have emerged (copied from Pinterest) with my signature droll commentary on them. I even wrote a tiny poem to go with one of the tiny paintings!
My sister gave me some postcards made of blank watercolor paper; I threw those in with my little bag of wc supplies and now unveil for you three of them that I did this week. Perhaps one of these will make its way to your mailbox – you never know!
That last one of the bike is what happens when I decide to go wild and paint something that is right in front of me, rather than copying something on Pinterest. Think of it as a primitive Grandma Moses painting to make it seem better than it is.
I made a discovery last night that completely derailed me: you can now make collages on Pinterest! Suddenly nothing else mattered. I kept making more and saying to myself, “This is my last one.” Here’s my last one (for now):
Isn’t it charming? I am stupidly excited about these, even though they serve absolutely no purpose. An intervention might be needed.
Thank you for coming along with me this week, and my apologies for not having more interesting fare to dish up for you. Don’t give up on me!
I’ll probably collage this whole thing in the morning.
I reported for duty in the kitchen at noon yesterday, not sure what to expect of the day. What will it be like to work with these young men? How will they feel about having a stranger enter into the comfortable rituals of the kitchen that they’ve already established? An older woman, no less! Will my presence be a restraining one? I hoped not.
Caleb greeted me, letting me know that with a cap on my head, shoes on my feet, and a shirt with short sleeves, I was fully outfitted for the day. He fetched me an apron, told me where to wash my hands and instructed me to put on a pair of plastic gloves. He set me to work on filling bowls with CCP, kitchen lingo for Celery, Carrots and Pickles, items that are put out for both lunch and supper. I also filled peanut butter bowls. The presence of fresh bread, peanut butter, and jelly on the table has been a real treat for me. I love PBJ sandwiches! But I hardly ever eat them. I’ve indulged myself this week by making a half PBJ to eat with lunch and supper. Even having three meals a day is a bit of an indulgence, since we’ve gotten into the habit at home of eating just two.
In the absence of young head cook Daniel (17), Josh (18) was in charge of the kitchen. We worked on putting mayo, turkey and cheese into buns that had been soaked briefly in melted butter. The sandwiches were to be baked in the oven. A controversy arose when a couple of the younger table waiters discovered that the plan was to put mustard and onions in the sandwiches as well. Objections were voiced, along with the suggestion that we put those things out on the tables for people to add if they so desired. “Not everyone likes mustard and onions,” said one fellow sensibly. The decision rested with Josh, who assumed the mantle of leadership by deciding to put the questionable items out separately. Well done!
It was a relaxed atmosphere in the kitchen. We chatted easily and joked with each other. Caleb was playing some classic rock as a playlist for our work, while Grisha, when he wasn’t helping, watched something on his phone. Lunch (1:15 p.m.) came and went: the sandwiches, in all their buttery glory, were tremendous! Josh told me to come back at 4:00 to help prep for supper: pizza and caesar salad.
By the time I came back at 4:00, I was feeling less like a complete newbie; plus I was really enjoying the company of these young guys. They are all friendly and easy going – not a sour note in the whole song. Supper was at 6:30, so we had plenty of time to work on getting the pizzas ready to bake and cutting up lettuce for the salad. Josh sauced the pizza crusts, Grisha sprinkled them with shredded mozzarella, and Caleb and I added the pepperoni. Caleb took some artistic liberties in making one pizza look like it had eyes and a nose. This is just the kind of quirkiness that I appreciate.
During a lull in the prep time, Caleb and Grisha folded and sorted the kitchen laundry (towels, washcloths, aprons and such), while Josh and I talked about all sorts of things. Both his father and grandfather were involved at this camp back in the day. His grandfather even helped build some of the original cabins. Quite a legacy! I asked Josh what kind of spiritual impact the camp had had on him. He’d started as a camper at age 10. He was open about not really grasping the gospel of Jesus Christ for himself until he got more involved in leadership at the camp. Telling those Christian stories to others really put it on his own heart and made all the difference.
Just before serving supper, while I was getting the caesar salads ready, Daniel appeared at my elbow, having returned from his meeting. “Thanks so much for helping out,” he said, adding, “You’re doing a great job!” That’s the gift of encouragement, right there.
I’m glad I had the opportunity to be of service in the kitchen for a day. We pray regularly for this camp and have a list of the staff, but until this week they’ve just been names. I’m grateful to be able to pray now with faces attached to those names, and with a deeper appreciation for what this camp means to the boys and young men who come here. One of the camp t-shirts reads “Camp ____________, where God hangs out with the guys.” Yes, indeed!
L to R: Daniel (standing), Caleb, Josh and Grisha
I’ll probably CCP this in the morning. Gotta use the lingo!
Up here at camp, my husband has been busy working on various projects that have been set before him. He’s quite a handy guy and has been up for the challenges of making a wooden ramp, cutting and bending a sheet of steel to fit a certain area in the kitchen, and today replacing some lights in the wash house.
My work has been of a different nature. I brought a lot of books: five non-fiction books and five fiction books and have been making my way through a few of those every day.
I also brought a small assortment of painting supplies. I almost didn’t pack them because so often I bring something and never use it. I have a flat paint packet for traveling and have given it a good workout this week.
I do a little walking around here every day and made time yesterday to put together another creation of sticks and stones. I haven’t checked to see if it’s been destroyed yet.
I’ve had time to do some writing, thinking, and praying. I found out this morning that they’ll be needing my help in the kitchen for the supper meal. I feel less confident about this, but I am assuming that the guys in the kitchen will give me plenty of instruction.
We meandered over to the campfire by the beach last night. There was singing of silly camp songs, a funny skit, some spiritual songs, and then one of the young men told a story that ultimately symbolized the sacrifice of Christ for our sins. He prayed and they all sang “I have decided to follow Jesus.” The sun was setting and the reflections on the lake were beautiful. It was a good day, and a good end to the day.
I’ll probably throw this in the lake in the morning.
