Fried pies and growing gardens.

 I watched the dirt fall back from his shoes in clumps, first this way and that, as he pushed the plow through the rich, unturned soil. The mule had done this a time or two, and they moved in unison in our old garden spot. I followed behind every step he took, waiting for instruction. "throw the big rocks to the side we just finished, baby" he would say. We will come back and gather them up later. I could not been more than eight or nine. I would get a five gallon bucket from the garage and gather those big rocks into the bucket, to move from the garden. Daddy watching over me but not doing it for me. 

Daddy always knew when it was time to plow the garden. The smell of the deep, rich soil filled my nostrils as I walked behind. I'm sure mama was relieved to have her house to herself to finish her weekend chores, on those summer Saturdays. My brothers would often be helping in the garden or doing something else daddy requested done. We were all "outdoor" kids but I suppose all kids were back then. 
Daddy and mama would linger over the dinner table in the weeks before plowing, deciding what and how much to plant. Mama knew how much freezer space was available and depending on her obligations, how much time she had to devote to harvest. The boys, bigger than myself would do a lion's share of the tending, while daddy was at work. 
I still remember the lingering scent of his aftershave on his neck when he came home and quickly changed into work clothes. He seemed to hurry a little more in early summer to get into the garden after work. He loved those fresh vegetables and while I never remember doing without anything I needed, I'm sure the garden was a necessity for us. It was for most everyone we knew. Daddy gardened big, even leasing land to farm on. We raised hogs every year as well. You slaughtered in fall every year and we had an abundance of fresh pork, daddy made sausage so lean mama had to add fat to the pan to keep it from sticking. He fished incessantly, he loved it. We always had fish in the freezer. 
There was an abundance of family surrounding us and everyone shared what they had. The closest being Uncle Lattie & Aunt Jim, they had pear, peach and plum trees, cattle for a while and we got eggs from his chickens. Mama and Aunt Jim would have us gather the fruit and make jams and jellies that day. (tackling the other fruit on another day.) Often mama and I would take extra jars and more fruit home to knock some of it out later.  Aunt Jim made delicious fried Peach Pies. (One of my Daddys weaknesses) 

One day Aunt Jim called looking for daddy. She was not very happy, I could hear it in her voice. Seems she had made fresh pies that morning and about five of them disappeared. ? ? When we were kids, no one locked their doors. Kind of hard to even imagine now. 
Daddy would go by Uncle Latties to sit on the porch and drink a cup of coffee. Apparently this particular morning, Aunt Jim made fried pies and they had somewhere to be, early. The pies were cooling on paper bags on the counter. Fresh coffee was made and just sitting there. I believe the story goes, he got himself a cup of coffee and stood there and ate a pie. He said they sure were good. He ate another couple sitting on the porch sipping coffee. Grabbed a second cup and a pie as he walked out the door to go down to Charlie Vines. When he came back by to leave their coffee cup, he ate his fifth pie. 
I can just see her counting those pies and fussing under her breath. I also think it's hilarious that she knew exactly who would have eaten five pies. When the story got back around to my mama, she said "surely not, Jim" "how could he eat 5 pies at one time?" . . . but he did. He admitted it and promised not to do it again, with a smile in his eyes. But he did say, it was kind of her fault for making such good pies. My Aunt Jim loved my daddy but I bet she felt like choking him that day. She never managed to stay mad at him at him for long. 

Life was very simple back then. In summer, we played from sun up to sun down with chores intertwined between. I do not ever remember chores feeling like work. Things were expected of each of us, a particular behavior, depending on your age and gender. (As I was the youngest and not as strong as the boys) The boys cut grass, cleared brush, chopped wood and all the heavy duty things I could not do. We all worked in the garden and everyone learned to cook. Both my brothers are good cooks, thanks to mama & daddy. We hardly watched television at all, but then again we only had three channels. We looked forward to seeing cousins on the weekends and playing in the woods. We fished about any time we wanted and mama and daddy both excelled at nature trivia. They shared their knowledge of how things grew and where they came from. Mama was an avid reader. Daddy worked hard at Hayes International but he also was a brick mason (on the side), could do about any kind of woodworking and he made knives from scraps at work. If you wanted a knife that lasted, you would have one of daddys made from the high grade metals that came off the fighter jet scraps. I still have one of his knives, gifted to me by a cousin. 
It seems so cliche but life was much simpler then. Evenings were spent in the living room together, watching television.. In spring we would shell peas sitting around the table and mama on the couch with a huge bowl in her lap. We played board games and cards too. Daddy raised peanuts and often had a large pan in the oven roasting to eat while we shelled peas.   
I have many memories of time together playing, working and laughing so hard we cried. I learned hard work is worth it, expectations on me, made me work harder and gave me coping skills and love was constant and true. 

Those were the best days of our lives and on my not so great days, that is where my mind goes. 
I've always felt God allows us memories to sustain us until we see them again. In the grand scheme of things, it is but a short separation. 

When you are covered by the blood

 

This post is not a lifestyle post so much as a documentation of an event, for our grandchildren to read one day. This way they have a timeline.

Most anyone that knows us, knows Don is a heart patient. (5X CABG in July 2019) He has done fantastic for almost 6 yrs. Back in February he had random chest pains. (Quite unusual for him, as he had never ever used a single nitroglycerin for anything) He kept having them, every few days. They did not last long, from a couple minutes to 10 minutes was the longest. Off to our cardiologist we went. They did a few blood tests, a physical exam, talked with him and then scheduled a heart cath. (If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck. . .)

Once they got in there, his heart looked great. Like great for any age man, not just an older man. Our cardiologist even had another cardiologist in the cath lab come in and look, in case he had missed something. "Do you see ANYTHING I may not have seen?" He saw nothing and noted Don's heart looked great.
Meanwhile, in the early days of his chest pains I felt a nagging to check something. I discounted it as my brain racing trying to figure out what was wrong. (I'm a classic over-thinker and have a need to figure things out.) Finally after he was home and rested I talked to him about it. Some thirty odd years ago Don was diagnosed with sleep apnea. He went for his sleep study and before he could get home the next morning, they called and said "send him back" he must have a cpap, now! (He stopped breathing over 40 times every 30 minutes) It was severe.

He wore that mask for the next few years while I felt I was sleeping with Darth Vader. (Exactly what it sounded like) He tired of the mask and decided to have the surgery they offered at that time. Which was probably very early 90's.

Treatment for Obstructive Sleep Apnea~ [It was called "Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty" or UPPP.] Quite common surgery at the time, it involved a resection of the uvula, tonsils, & part of the soft palate to enlarge the airway and reduce apnea episodes. It was horrible for him! If you think about them removing skin and tissue from the throat to make more room. I believe he told me about day 10 or 12 post surgery, "I have to get better to die". He had to use liquid tylenol, he ate soup and soft scrambled eggs and his throat completely scabbed over. I nursed him back to health and he all but completely stopped the apnea episodes. We thought we were done. What we could not know is over time, aging, weight gain, muscle laxity, etc could cause you to begin the process over again. Now, it is 2025 and he has been snoring like a freight train coming through the middle of the room. Add chest pains. After his heart cath the cardiologist decided it may just be micro-vessels clogging and gave Don a new medication to help clear them out. Yet, the chest pains continued. They have since stopped and I'm sure the new med helped. Unlike his forty yr old self, he agreed to retest for apnea. So we requested a new sleep study. Gone are the days when you must sleep in a clinic overnight covered in wires all over your chest and neck. They mailed us a pack and he applied it to his chest, a lead on his finger and slept in it for three nights. Then we mailed it back to be diagnosed and he informed me if they wanted to do "that" surgery again, he was not a candidate. He would prefer to go on to Jesus. I assured him they no longer do that surgery and they had other solutions, even the cpap machines are better now. Well, he has severe apnea again. A cpap has been ordered and soon he will be in a newer, sleeker model. Here is the God part, if he had not had chest pains how would we have known? OSA shortens your life, causes blood pressure issues, heart attacks, stroke and can cause the early onset of dementia. No chest pains and we would not have known? I watched his symptoms increase as he slept too much, was tired all the time and was beginning to forget things. I'm watching to make sure all these things get better as his body finally gets what it needs. If you are suffering any of these symptoms or snore badly, please get yourself checked for OSA. It is so easy now to do the sleep study and treatment is much easier. If not for the chest pains and the urging in my spirit, what could have happened?

Psalms 91:4 He shall cover you with His feathers, And under His wings you shall take refuge; His truth shall be your shield and buckler.

There's only 24 hours in a day

 

There are days and dates which seem to make life a little harder. We usually experience a pause for memories, tears and longing. It makes me wonder if that is why God only allowed twenty-four hours in a day. Maybe to keep us moving forward. There is something about the date that haunts us all- the years we will miss, the conversations we no longer have face to face. 
Today it has been forty-seven years since daddys passing. It blows my mind I have lived so much longer than he did. That I am now more than a decade older than he was at the time of his passing, yet I learned so very much from him. He taught me to fish, showed me how to wet a hook, he taught kindness, tolerance for what was different, respect and most of all unconditional love. Almost fifty years later I still retain the belief system he instilled in us. He was not perfect but he was a man of integrity, and fiercely loved his people. I always imagine I will see him first when I get to my heavenly home. I still remember the solid, unwavering tone of his voice. 

I am thankful we had mama much longer, I hope she knew how much she was loved. She would have been 100 years old Sunday. Both dates were tossed close together by life, intertwined forever in my head. I believe I say this every year, but God has been so gracious to us. After mama's passing beautiful memories flooded my mind. 

After she died, this memory came to mind as I drove home from the hospital. She needed to bake a cake. She was waiting for family driving in for a couple nights & she always did her best to feed them well. I remember the half panic, half laughter on her face when she could not remember if she added the salt or not. It's such a tiny amount of salt, will it be noticed?    But the perfectionist in her could not leave it alone. I tasted the dry flour mixture w/my finger- no salt flavor. She tasted the flour, and we began to giggle. We continued our tasting until we were out of clean fingers and her head dropped back and she laughed so hard she could not catch her breath for a few minutes. We did add that 1/4 teaspoon of salt and she baked that sour cream pound cake. More perfect than the cake everyone enjoyed was what God allowed, those memories of better days. Those years before suffering the ravages of her brain betrayal by dementia. During the last couple years of her life, I feared I would never remember those good days, the wonderful childhood days and adult days with her. Times I had not thought of in decades continued in a constant rotation over the next few weeks, in my head. Is our heavenly Father not completely amazing? He gave us this ability to remember, while often painful it still soothes and sustains us. While all these years later I still miss her terribly, I am forever grateful for the time we had together. 

Then, just the other day this memory came to me. Mama used to say pretty regularly, "you can't have anything nice when you have children", I thought it was a bit contrary at the time. (Then I grew up, had children and knew exactly what she meant) She only meant with children in the house, things just happen. One of her children had a knack for breaking things, more than the other two, but I won't call him out here. He flipped over the end of the couch to show me what he could do and busted her floor lamp. If memory serves he did it twice, to two different lamps. He jumped up (like when he played basketball) and touched the kitchen ceiling and knocked the cover off the light-all over the kitchen floor. There was also the "innocent" cutting down of the hedges bushes, she did not want cut. How did that happen? She used those hedge bushes to whip our behinds. (Save your gasps in disbelief, it was a different time then. If you got the switch to your legs, you likely had earned all of it w/your poor behavior.) 

She also always kept slipcovers on the furniture. These were not the slipcovers you see today. They were absolute perfection made by a wonderful lady, Mrs Higgins, who lived near relatives of ours not far away. You would have thought they were the original fabric because she fit them to your couch with precision, took all the pieces away and in just a few days would call and say, "put your sewing machine out, in case I need to make adjustments." She would come put the covers on. She and mama would critique her work and make any adjustments they needed, most often they were perfect. Mrs Higgins made draperies for the first home Don & I built, she was much older by then but still did amazing work.

Because Mary had three rambunctious children, she threw sheets over the chairs and the couch to protect her investment. Mama was not interested in wasting money, she was very frugal. Yes, those sheets stayed on the furniture most of the time. If a car came rolling up the hill, she would go to comb her hair and que one of us to grab the sheets off the furniture. My daddy hated those sheets. He would complain and argue they would not stay straight and squared when he sat down. They bunched up and it certainly bothered him. (which explains a great deal about my ocd tendencies.) Mostly,  he sat down in his chair mumbling under his breath about the stupid sheet. Once he grabbed that cover off and started to sit down when mama gently stopped him. She simply said "look at it, Fat", she meant the sheet. (Because most all mothers and wives know, our husband & children all say the same thing, "I'm not dirty, I'm perfectly clean".) So, daddy held the sheet out and looked it up one side and down the other. He then gently spread it back on the chair and sat down, without another word. I don't remember him ever complaining about those sheets again. 
Today while thinking of them both, I am reminded this is not our forever home. Thank you Lord! Truth is, I don't remember either mama or daddy complaining about much. They were well satisfied with life. One twenty-four day at a time. 

I Miss Those Days

 

I miss those days when they were little and a play telephone made them happy for weeks. She packed it in her bag with her stuffed animals when she went to her granny or mamaws house, where she could reach me.  
I miss those days when I walked out in the cold and picked up some of the carrot and raisins we had left for reindeer, because they always checked. I actually miss the Tinker Toys in the floor. 
I miss those years he got little cars and "men" from his latest phase. (When school started back I had to pat him down because he stuffed them in his pants to take to school.) Skinny little boy w/bulges all around his body, as if I could not see them. I had to hold a straight face until he got in the door at school. 

I miss those days when we baked on Christmas Eve until we were punchy. They were all still at home and it was wonderful, we laughed & laughed. I would announce we were also making "nougat" and they all groaned! It always amused me. (my almond nougat recipe made 125 pieces (or more) and they had to be individually wrapped) They hated wrapping it but they didn't mind eating it.

I miss those days when they fought with the cousins over who would have their granny spend the night. She acted like she didn't care- but she loved them fawning over her. She always read to them on Christmas and watched every Christmas cartoon they wanted to watch, played games and she made over whatever they had made or colored for her. I miss the laughter coming from their rooms when she was there.

I miss the little handmade gifts my children had for me. Precious little treasures they created because they had no money. I still have many of them tucked away safely. They are dated and named by who made them, for my grands one day to see. I hope my children see them again and remember. Maybe we weren't perfect parents but we tried our hardest. I hope they remember that. Especially because they will make mistakes too and it's important to know you put forth your best effort.

I miss those days when they took money to "santa shop" and I prayed they shopped for someone else and not themselves. In they came w/a single pencil or paperback book for themselves and gifts for others. Success! Thank you Lord, they do have caring hearts for others.

I miss those days, walking in the back door at mama and daddys house and smelling all the fabulous food she toiled over. She always had a favorite dish for each of us. I miss the fire in the fireplace my daddy built. (Sometime he built a fire and we had to open the windows because it was so warm but daddy thought everyone should have a fire burning on Christmas.) I miss those days when we made it home in the evening, lit the tree and listened to the low din of their day, as they laughed and played w/their gifts. Those days are hard, sometime chaotic and always needed to be followed by about ten hours of sleep. But they were the best days ever. If you are there I hope you can realize how fleeting they are and soak up every minute.

I pray this year, you have the Christmas day you need. It may not be perfect, everyone can't be there but relax, they won't remember whether it was perfect or not. You can visit with them another day and on that day, it will also feel special. See your old people today, it's important. I miss those days with all our family here, there are seats no longer taken. The children are at their own homes and we will see them all over the next few days but most of all, it's the celebrating of Jesus. It hasn't changed, that is our constant. Oh, what a gift.

Broken but still useful

 

I pulled this mixing cup from the kiln yesterday. My first thought was disappointment. The glaze ran and it's stuck to the "cookie" I used to protect my shelf.  I will figure out the why another day. The cookie did it's job though, it kept a glaze mess from my shelf. Now, how to get it off without destroying it. . . This is requiring thought as well. I have several options and while I am tempted to simply take my hammer to it and begin chipping away, I think that would certainly destroy my hard work. 

I say this all the time but there are so many parallels to pottery and your faith life. 

We make a plan, carefully thought out and execute the plan but often times life (as in pottery), it doesn't work out as we planned. Where was God in the plan? Did I consider or pray on the outcome before I made it? Was I listening for his guidance?

To some it may seem trivial or even ridiculous but to a Christ follower and believer, we have the opportunity to choose each day whether to go out on our own (free will in play) or seek guidance and trust in what or how the Lord directs us. 

I find I always think of my daddy when I create pottery. Because he always said, "we do the best we can at the time with the information we have, baby. When we know better, we do better." He fully believed that and I am thankful for the lesson. Because it allows me to be satisfied with the end result, to rest in my decisions.  Daddy never doubted his prayed over, thought-out decisions. He seldom did things haphazard and without giving them great thought. Yet, if something went wrong, he tried to teach us to learn from it as he did. That, in and of itself is a gift. 

We also have to consider, sometime we can do everything right and things still do not turn out like we would want or desire. That's just life. Life is not always fair. There are still untimely deaths, still cancer, still pain, sorrow and disappointment. Sometime life is plain hard. 

Even after several protocol based attempts to remove the cup, it failed. It broke where I had hoped it would not. Isn't that just like life?  

                                   

How do I begin to analyze what went wrong? Well, I'm getting older and that means there is a smidge of wisdom, some experience always helps. My ability (sometime in question, if I'm honest) and there may even have been a momentary urge again to just toss it in the trash. Back to wisdom- when I glazed this piece, I followed the same protocol from wedging the clay to the final product. Did I get in a hurry? Did I count my coats of glaze like I usually do? Maybe I added and extra coat by mistake. Possibly it was too close to a heating element. Clearly, something did not go as planned. 

Look in the cup, what do you see? 

Pieces chipped away on the bottom outside but it sill holds water, it still stands straight up. I can use it. It may simply hold brushes or be my wet sponge pot by my pottery wheel. It's all in how you look at it, just as daddy said.

I know this- God still uses us in our broken state. In Acts 9, on the road to Damascus we see an example of this with Saul. God cleans us up and clothes us in righteousness, gives us insight and laser focus. He sets our feet on the right path. We simply must be willing to follow in obedience.

We each have a choice, every day. Will we choose to listen and be obedient even when we feel beaten down and broken? The last few years have been hard, struggling with health, new diagnoses, watching others struggle with life problems, but we know we are not alone.  I used to sit in the embrace of my earthly fathers shoulders. He was strong, unwavering and stood behind me no matter what was ahead. How much more does our heavenly father love us and stand at the ready to protect and guide. 

We simply have to give up our will and lean into his.