Childhood and butter cracker days

 

Looking back, I guess by todays standards we would have been considered financially poor. However, to look upon it as children it seemed we had it all. We had a snuggly home in winter and despite the fact the home did not have a drop of insulation in the rafters- in summer it was remarkably cool inside. 
Daddy used a coal stoker furnace for heat and with a couple boys in the household there were plenty of hands to carry coal to the basement. When the power was off there was a big fireplace in the living room to keep us warm. We always had clothing. Each year before school started mama and I would go shopping and I got four outfits. Not five, just four. It was what mama had budgeted in her head that she could afford for me. She made sure, without my knowledge the shirts were cotton where they could be worn summer and winter and the pants were not too heavy. Every Christmas I got one or two more outfits to add to the mix. Come Spring the shirt sleeves were cut off and hemmed, dress sleeves were changed and pants were cut off for shorts. Sometime mama would change the pants by adding a trim or some embellishment. I would then wear my "new" pants with great pride. Yes, by todays standard that would be poor but I never felt that. I can assure you my mother and all her good senses also knew we had enough. She carried no unneeded guilt because we didn't have material wealth. We had all we needed. 

We always had great food. More than one of our uncles had cattle, we always had fresh beef in the freezer. Another uncle had fruit trees and we had plums, pears and apples for jam and jelly. Mama made the best jelly. My favorite was blackberry and sometimes she made just a few jars for me.
Daddy farmed a piece of leased land on occasion only a few miles from home. It was called "the old Brogden place." I remember sliding into the cool seat in mama's Ford Fairlane to take daddy and the boys sandwiches for lunch. Mama also made a gallon jug of tea and took water. She bagged ice in a brown paper bag and took jelly jars to drink out of. We would picnic right on the tailgate of the truck. Daddy pulled an old stump up for mama to sit on.
I would run thru the corn field higher than my head, break open watermelon and at night we shelled peas until our fingers were purple. There was the smell of earth at that farm place, it smelled of freshness and life. Daddy stood strong and straight. He had a tremendous work ethic and he taught it to his children. My brothers worked like men tending the garden with daddy. Daddy believed in hard work to keep you out of trouble and keep your heart humble, grateful. We raised peanuts and a full garden at home, plus hogs. The hogs were butchered come Fall each year and the meat shared with family. They shared their garden harvest every year as well. (I was the "corn silking" girl. After summer I never wanted to see another ear of corn. I must have silked thousands of ears.)
Daddy packed bushel baskets with fresh food to take to others. If a car was rolling I always wanted in it but mama never let me go with daddy on those deliveries. She didn't want to possibly embarrass the recipients. Back then everyone put others first. How incredibly sad that doesn't happen today. 

We were not allowed many sweets in Mary Lou's house. If we ate raisins we had to brush our teeth. I can remember thinking "my mama is very wrong about this" and what I didn't realize was my mama was very smart. She was being thrifty by making sure our teeth were clean and we didn't need an unexpected trip to the dentist. Plus, she was pretty sure sugar was of the devil. We had homemade cakes for our birthdays and on holidays, that was pretty much it for sweets. 

At the Hicks house our "cookies" were vanilla wafers and graham crackers. If you didn't want those mama felt you were probably not very hungry.  Then there were those butter cracker days. When I was home sick from school or had a random stomach virus. Sometimes, just because we wanted them. It was always when it was just my mama and I. She would make a fresh pot of iced tea and she would get her Fostoria glasses out. Oh, we hardly ever got to use those as kids, we drank out of a jelly glass most of the time. [The jelly glass was the equivalent of the red Solo cup today.] Because, you know, kids break everything. You could always save more jelly glasses. 

But. . . on those butter cracker days mama pulled out the good glasses and I got very excited. 
She would let me help her and we would spread a thin layer of butter on saltines. Sometime on a couple graham crackers. She and I would sit down on the front porch to eat crackers and drink tea. I felt like a real lady. We would talk about school and projects she needed to work on at home. I always asked when we would be going to Pensacola to visit family and mama would offer a shopping trip to look at the new dresses for Spring. She would tell me which curtains needed cleaning or if a bedspread needed pressing and I would always help her. Not because I was required to but because I wanted to help. She made me feel special. We didn't have to go buy something, no dinner out or movie, just those butter crackers and tea with my mama. I still hear her laughter in my daughters voice.  
It was only a week or so ago when I was making butter crackers for myself. I had a fresh glass of tea, no longer in a jelly glass. I sat on the back porch and listened to the birds. I miss her and those talks but I learned so much about life from her and that butter crackers are good eating.
It is important to know how to treat people, how to be happy with what you have, how to love your people well. Mama knew how to be happy in whatever situation she found herself in. Those lessons sustain me daily. It's "butter cracker satisfaction" I believe. A choice to be happy, every day. 
My husband and I have much more than our parents did but it's still the simple things, simple days that bring joy and contentment. 

Thank you Lord for simple days and butter crackers. 

  

Life changes but Jesus.

 

It's hard for me to reconcile myself to the dust that blew up as we traveled down that little dirt road. Less than two weeks ago we had dangerous flash floods in our area and more than one of my friends had damage from rising waters. But there we were, riding down that dirt road in rural central Alabama watching the dust roll up in front and behind us. 

It was a good day. We decided to take a couple grandchildren down to enjoy a day at local farm and pumpkin patch, Griffin Farms. There was much for them to see and do. They had a wonderful day. They slid down long, tall slides, played on hay bales, wandered through a real corn maze, had a hay ride and don't forget the zipline. They loved on farm animals and lay in the grass gazing at the sky. A good day indeed for children and Honey and Pop too. They tried boiled peanuts and ate cotton candy.
I selfishly want more of these good days. 

It has been a tough month or so. Mid-August in a routine skin check a melanoma was discovered on my scalp, right at the crown of my head. It was a speedy process getting the biopsy back, planning surgery and down to the wound vac that went on. We've learned a great deal about the process. I've learned a great deal about melanoma in general. Like, you can have it in your eyes. I had no idea before this. 
I was diligent about sunscreen before but now I must wear it all over, every day. When I'm driving, when I'm sitting in a window feeling the sunshine on my back. Why? Because melanoma can be deadly. Yes, it's the one skin cancer that can take your life. I will have skin checks very three months for the next year or more, then every six months.. Doctors hope they will not see a recurrence for 5 years. That's my best case scenario. Melanoma can pop up anywhere in your body at any time though. It also makes you more susceptible to other cancers. [I had thyroid cancer in 2020, likely caused by melanoma, we didn't know I had at the time.] My PSA to everyone- please do not postpone getting your skin checks. I have gotten annual skin checks since I was 19 because my mother always insisted. (I am fair-skinned and blue eyed) but mine was postponed due to covid in 2020. 
Life has changed, drastically. I will always be a cancer patient now, the result of melanoma.
I hope to be NED (no evidence of disease) soon but it never goes away. The information is overwhelming at times. It never leaves you, it sometime causes restless nights and hard days. I am determined though satan will not win this fight, I have a Savior and He alone I will trust. #gettheebehindmesatan 

There are things that are not as important as they were before. There are things that are more important now. God has allowed this in my life and it's the consequence of actions taken when I was young and some heredity mixed in. Melanoma may one day take my life but it's not today. That's how I want to face each beautiful day. It's not today. I want more days at Pumpkin patches, reading books, laughing with friends, loving my people. I've been learning pottery for the last 18 months and I want to throw a six pound bowl. I plan to see our church move into the new sanctuary and watch God's people use that building to tell and share the gospel. I'm waiting for my husband to build that backyard fountain we talked about, I want to hear the water gently flow over the rocks.  I've got things to do and places to go. I want to live to see my grandchildren accept salvation. There will be weddings, vacations, babies and so much more. 

Like, traveling down dirt roads with the dust rolling up behind you.. That particular evening at Griffin Farms as we rolled away, the sun was beginning to drop in the sky. The dust was thick, covering my car and sometime we had to slow down to allow it to settle enough to see the road in front of us. Life is like that sometime. It's hard to see the road ahead and we have to slow down to orient ourselves again- make adjustments and continue down the road. Then, through all the dust I caught a glimpse, then the further we drove the sun was in complete view, right over the tops of the trees guiding us.  

I thought to myself, Thank you Lord, there you are guiding us. Still watching over me, even on a dirt road, even with uncertainty of disease looming but there's Jesus. There are those who think those things are exaggerated and only coincidence. I know better. I know He watches over me because I've seen the evidence of His care, I've felt His presence in my darkest hours. 
I've had the privilege of expert care from praying doctors, praying surgeons who also trust in His divine healing. That makes all the difference. 

Don't forget those skin checks friends. It takes just a few minutes and could save your life. Go out today and live life. Call a friend, text someone you love and just tell them you love them. Be an encourager, get involved in helping others. There are twenty-four entire hours in this day. What will yours look like? 
Today is another beautiful day to share the love of Jesus with someone. Get going.. 

Trials only last for a while.

I've never been a melancholy person. I believe I can thank my mother for that.
I have bad days like everyone else but there is always the urging, pressing feeling to be thankful. I believe God gives us the ability to see things with hope because of His good and perfect gift. 

Just over a year ago I had my thyroid cancer removed, treatment followed and I'm still here. Almost two years ago my husband had bypass surgery after a stroke on both sides of his brain, five bypasses and his recovery is short of a miracle. He has a strong heart now and is pretty much doing what he pleases. 
God promises there are always blessings that come after the trials.
Romans 12:12 says "Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer." 

On a recent afternoon, from our screen porch I hear giggles of grandchildren playing in the house, Don is snoring on the couch. There's a light breeze on this warm spring day and I get a whiff of Mock Orange from the front yard. The smell as sweet as the memories of her. Mama brought that little Mock Orange from her huge shrub growing outside my childhood bedroom, it may have been ten inches tall. We chose a place to plant it together. Right here in the front where you smell it every time you come and go, she said. Done. 

As a child, early on spring mornings as the mock orange bloomed, my mother would quietly crank open the windows while I slept. It was the first thing I smelled when I woke. Those mornings she would likely have been up for hours before me, washing and putting clothes on the clothesline. (you know, the days before every home had a clothes dryer) Mama was very no nonsense and said, "I don't need a dryer, I have sunshine and fresh air." She loved the fluffy, fresh towels off the clothesline. My mothers self-sufficiency and low maintenance style must have been a relief to daddy. 
She wanted for little and needed only her family around her. She loved her flowers though. She didn't play when it came to flowers. Once daddy backed the lawn mower over something she had planted as the three children scattered to far corners of the yard. She walked out to view the damage and cried like a baby. Then she wiped her tears and gave daddy a look I can't even describe. Later she would say "we will plant them again, they will not bloom as long but they will bloom." My mother, the forever optimist. Blessings again. 

This photo taken early in their marriage, before children. Location unknown, likely the duplex they lived in when first married. 

Her last days were not as optimistic. Dementia had destroyed her reasoning ability and robbed her of most memories, lest a few. She knew her children (Small blessings) even though she could not always call us by name. Thankfully, my brothers and I were able to care for her at our homes until the last three months of her life. As I walked down the hall toward her, she would say "There's my baby girl." Later, maybe an hour or more, she would say "Leisa?" 

Yes mama, I'm right here. 

She had hostile days too, dementia does that. Irritability sometime, as do most all dementia patients. Most days anything could be solved with a piece of dark chocolate and an old episode of Perry Mason. 

One of my favorite things she would say while sick, "Donald, you are my favorite son-in-law" to which he would reply, "granny, I'm your only son-in-law" and she would laugh wildly. She certainly retained some semblance of a sense of humor. 

Her irises bloomed this year in my front yard, as did the forsythia the month before. The daylilies are readying for bloom now, the plum trees are looking fine and the sweet william have come back out. Wow, I thought they were gone. I never was able to retrieve any flocks from her house, I ordered some in her memory. I'll plant them right outside my screen porch in the backyard.
One of the last things she helped me choose when shopping, this sign.

Those last few years watching her suffer, often robbed me of my joy and hope until I could slip away and fall on my face before Him. It was very hard, definitely a trial but God's Holy Word promises nothing suffered is in vain for His children. 

Mama was delivered on the first day in May 2012. She no longer struggles with this earthly world as we do. Her hope is found, her Father beside her, her eyes resting on Jesus.
My Joy has returned too. I no longer dwell on the five plus years of the ravages of dementia. Instead I hear her laughter, I prepare her recipes, I view her inquisitive nature in some of the grandchildren, her tenacity for a job well done in my son, her smile shared on my daughters face and I tend her flowers. 

I rest these days in this passage from Hebrews 11:1. 

        Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not yet seen.  

She always told us "you have a choice every day. You can choose to dwell on your trials or live in the abundant grace, freely given." She truly faced her life that way. I am very grateful I had her and thankful I will see her again. 

Embrace life, live joyfully. Happy Mothers Day. 

He says I could tear up a steel ball.

My husband often says I could tear up a steel ball. Well, I simply like to know how things work. What makes them tick. I have trouble turning something loose if I haven't figured it out. 

I had my Roomba floor vacuum only a few days when my husband came  home to find it in pieces on the table. "What are you doing? Have you torn it up already?"

 
I have not! This is a planned tear down. It needed a little TLC. 
We bought it used and it needed a little cleaning.  I noticed it wasn't rolling smoothly across the floors. I removed the roller ball on the front, sanded with fine grit sandpaper and it's smooth as a baby's behind.

"You better know where all those screws go," he said. Again, I'm an old hand at removing things and I'm too OCD to do it all willy-nilly.. please, I know what I'm doing. 

I actually tear things apart quite often and sometime not deliberately. 

I will admit it seems like I break things more than most. I don't know what it is? I just have something in my hand and bam! It's broken. Don says that I'm not careful, I think I'm careful.

I think things are not made to last as they should be. 

There was the RV refrigerator door handle. Broke it. We were camping, I was opening the refrigerator while getting dinner ready and the handle snapped off in my hand. That RV was almost ten years old and of course they no longer made that model of handle. It only took four months to find the correct replacement. We had ordered two different handles thinking each was the correct replacement, only to end up sending them back. Don decided to go to the store, 300 miles to our south, to assure he had the correct handle. 

Ever try to pull an RV 300 miles without a working handle on the refrigerator? It gets complicated. 
My gray-haired "MacGyver" rigged that door with a piece of cord, a short board and a bungee tie to the surrounding cabinets. I was amazed! Although he kind of developed a little "attitude" while doing it. We drove down to the beach for a few days, ran by and picked up the handle. When he got it on the refrigerator, he dared me to touch it. Seriously, he didn't let me touch the refrigerator door until I followed his little tutorial. He has issues. 

There was the emergency brake on his truck. Yep, broke that. Wait.. that would be two trucks. Both of his last two Dodge trucks. I pulled the emergency brake to release and broke the handle on both. He used a nylon string on the old truck for the last year he drove it. Just pull the string and the brake released. Apparently, those things are very flimsy made. Seriously, nothing is made to last anymore.   

I replaced three coffee carafes on my coffee maker before I decided maybe glass was not for me. Now I have a nice stainless steel one.
What I can't figure out is why "breaking" is almost always on my husbands things. It is not like I do it on purpose. It just happens- like the hand brake on his bicycle. He rode the bike for two days while camping. I get on his bike for five minutes and you know it! I snapped that bad boy right off. I figure I saved him from sure injury on a ride down a hillside somewhere. I believe he needed a new cable before I rode his stupid bike. I may very well have been set up. 

Then, I was cutting grass and this happened. Yeah, that would explain the gaps and high spots in the yard. 

He came home and saw the blade on the front porch and said, "you did what? Who does that? What did you hit?"
I hit nothing, okay. 

I seem to have a gift, that's all. He put the bottom blade back on the mower after buying another nut and fitting because they were apparently somewhere in the yard. I am guessing the nut may have been loose, who knows?  He may or may not have been muttering under his breath the entire time he repaired it. 

I seem to recall my precious mother having the same "penchant" for accidents. Unlike myself, mama was not physically strong. She would think she was going to lift something and then get herself in a bind. Once she lifted the boat trailer (with the boat on it) she wanted to cut grass under it. She lifted, took a few steps and could not hold it. She dropped that hitch and it slide all the way down her leg. It left a nasty ten inch long gouge. I cleaned the wound and bandaged her up. I made her promise she would call me before any boats were moved.    

In her last few years on earth, mama's body was riddled with osteoporosis and dementia. Her body was small now, fragile and broken.  I could easily lift and move her wherever I needed. She would say, "you are so strong. I just can't believe it." 

There's a lesson in there you know? In this world when something breaks we throw it out. Discarding whatever we deem useless. We see "broken" as the end. 
God approaches brokenness differently. He allows great mercy and grace when we are broken, He binds us up. Then other times, things in us need to be broken for us to fulfil our purpose- pride, selfishness, sinful habits, hard hearts. 

But for Jesus, this would not be possible.

When breaking bread Jesus said, "this is my body, which is broken for you" 

God longs for us to come to Him where he can restore us. He gives new life from brokenness, every time. I pray we all surrender to God what is broken in us. His grace is sufficient.