Friday’s Tune: King of the Jungle

Tags

faith, family, Friday's Tune, music

Big Guy and I moved to the city in August 1995. He was 5 and my parents’ home was the only one he knew. We both missed my parents…a lot! Consequently, we made the 2.5 hour trip to visit…a lot! And what’s the best thing to do on a road trip? Pop in a great cassette tape and sing along.

Both Big Guy and I liked Steven Curtis Chapman’s album, Heaven in the Real World, which was released in 1994.  There were a few tunes that we would belt out as we sped along the highway. One of our favs was King of the Jungle.

Well, the day has just begun and I’m already running late
With too many irons in the fire and too much on my plate
I’d be pulling out my hair if I could just get one hand free
And I’d stop this world if I could find the key

In 1995, I was a single parent trying to balance college (for the second time) and trying to be an awesome Mom. My brain, and sometimes my body, was on the go all the time. Twenty-plus years, and not that much has changed. I added a husband, a home and another great kid, and I’ve swapped college for other responsibilities. The body is slowing down, but the brain is still always on the go.  Thank goodness one thing has never changed: God is still in control.

Put on your dancing shoes – it’s the weekend!

Lyrics                  Youtube

Steven Curtis Chapman © 1994 Primary Wave Brian (Chapman Sp Acct) (Admin. by BMG Chrysalis US)Spar row Song (Admin. by Capitol CMG Publishing)

 

Dear Quarantine Diary – #5

Tags

covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour

Dear Diary – Today my parents made me laugh. They each have their own chair on either side of the coffee table.  While one is looking at the computer, the other is looking at the tablet, and after awhile, they switch. Frequently, they share Facebook stories, video clips, etc. across the table. Sometimes their timing is off, or there’s glare on the screen, or the clip won’t start…and it irritates the other. This morning, they were each playing away on their own devices, and this weird music started playing. After a few minutes, Mom asked Dad dryly, “is there a reason we’re being subjected to this?” Dad looked at her, slightly confused. She stared back. Tension grew. An eagle whistled, like in an old cowboy movie. Dad broke down first. “It’s not me…it’s you!” We have no idea what she did, but at least it was a catchy tune. They are still speaking to each other.

Dear Diary – We’re doing the Brady Bunch Thing and people can see up my nose…last week I was sent a recording of his vocals and guitar for Sunday’s worship set. It was a bit of a challenge. Do I own a device that will record? Where do I record so Little Guy doesn’t wander through in his pjs? And where is my hairbrush?

The night before I was going to record, I got a text that a second recording was coming. Since it was going to take a couple hours to download, and it doesn’t cost to download in the middle of the night, I got up 2 a.m. to download. I was up again at 5 to turn my laptop off.

After a pot of tea, I spent the morning learning a new song and practicing with the recording. I wrestled down fixed my hair and applied war paint make-up. In order to add my layer of vocals, I balanced my butt on the back of the basement couch, with my laptop beside me.  I stole borrowed a pair of Dad’s earbuds and started recording with my cell phone.

After a few false starts and overcoming my anxiety about everyone listening to me caterwauling singing with no music, I got into a rhythm. Four minutes into a thirteen minute set, my cell phone rang. Then…eight minutes into a thirteen minute set, my earbud fell out, for the fourth time and I hollered in frustration. I could discreetly stick it back in 3 times, but 4 was too much!

Once recorded, it took 2 hours to send back to him for the onerous task of putting it altogether. It airs Sunday. I will be available for autographs.

Dear Diary – I was supposed to return Pastor Ann’s cake pans, and I promised her hubby a piece of birthday cake. The cake is still sitting by the front door. The buttercream icing melted. So I baked him banana bread. It’s sitting by the front door…

Dear Diary – I asked my Mom what we did last weekend to finish my “dear diary” post. We can’t remember and my bottle of wine is still unopened. Neither of us is responsible for this…

Baa…humbug!

Don’t get all weird about getting older. Our age is merely the number of years the world has been enjoying us! – Maxine

I’m a Lumberjack

Tags

baking, birthday, birthday party, cake

I’m not a lumberjack, and I’m not OK.

If stupidity is doing the same mistake over and over again, then I’m not stupid. But mistakes were made. A lot of them. Just not the same ones.

I wanted to bake a “lumberjack” cake for my lumberjack, who turned 30 on Sunday (Now who’s feeling “old”!) Simple, right?

http://www.sugargeekshow.com

Knowing that I wasn’t quite up to this masterpiece, I elected to do a simple checkered cake instead. Baked goods like these sunglasses cookies are the height of my sophistication.

Last Thursday, I purchased a red velvet cupcake mix – pretty standard. Just add water, oil and eggs. I wanted to wait until the middle of the day when hydro is less expensive, so I went on and measured my oil and water, and left it by the mixer. After lunch, I put it all together. I even added red food colouring, but the batter was all wrong! It was thin and soupy. I had no idea what I did wrong, or how to fix it. I popped it in the oven anyway.

It wasn’t until I was cleaning up that I solved the mystery. The box said 3/4 cup of water, but I had used a 2 cup measuring cup and had added 1-3/4 cups.

The cake didn’t rise very much. It was very dense and even though it was dry to the touch, it also felt like I could wring it out like a dish rag.

On Friday, I popped into the grocery store early in the morning to purchase a white and a chocolate cake mix. I baked the chocolate one first, measuring multiple times before adding anything. Success! I then baked the white cake, which was now hot pink after adding a whole jar of red food colouring to the mix. So it’s a little weird – just go with it! I started humming “I’m a lumberjack and I’m okay….”

Saturday morning, I set about making shortbread moose cookies, but I used 2 different brands of butter, and the dough was behaving more like puffed pastry. I finally managed to cut out 4 moose with spindly legs intact. It required 2 people and an odd assortment of kitchen utensils to transfer them from the counter to the baking tray. I watched them like a hawk. Sadly, while 4 made it safely from the oven, only 2 made it to cake decorating day.

Saturday night, I poured a tiny glass of wine and went about cutting the cakes to form the checkerboard pattern. I’d love to blame the wine, but I can’t. I’m responsible for cutting the cake wrong. I cut it into tiny cubes and tried to layer them. After an hour, and mucking up 4 cutting boards, I realized that even though I got the pattern right, it would fall apart the moment we cut into it.

I was also starting to fall apart. I would have to start again.

Sunday morning, I hit the showers early and drove bleary-eyed to the grocery store for a chocolate cake mix and a red velvet cupcake mix. I didn’t have any red food colouring left in the house. I carefully laid everything out and memorized my instructions. I also warned my family that as soon as the church service was over, I was leaving! If they wanted a ride home, they’d best be on my heels. Big Guy was due to arrive in the afternoon and we were only going to have a very short time with him before he went out with his friends. My birthday boy was going to have cake!

I didn’t even take time to change my clothes, but jumped right to my task. I was an athlete running a race and the clock stopped for no one. My family fended for themselves…I ate a half-cooked hot dog over the stove, vigilantly guarding my precious cakes.

While they cooled, I tried to temper chocolate. Tempering chocolate gives it a snap and glossy sheen. It’s accomplished by heating, cooling and reheating to specific temperatures, dependent on the type of chocolate you have. Normally it’s done over a double-boiler. I do not have a double boiler. I have a pot, a bowl and a very thick oven mitt, which made it awkward to hold the candy thermometer…which I later discovered, only starts measuring at 200F, a full 95 degrees higher than I needed. I think I successfully melted and smeared chocolate to make shards in an overly-complicated way, but I got it done and without injury. Just in time for Big Guy to arrive.

He was here 15 minutes. Long enough to open gifts, question the assorted piles of cake littering the counter, and give his mama a big hug.

After he left, slightly discouraged and incredibly weary, I poured a hot cup of tea and sat down to watch a video on how to cut this pointless cake.

They should have been round.

So I watched a video on how to make a minecraft checkered cake. At least it’s square. Defeated, I asked Hubby to help cut it. He was “happy” to help. We didn’t have toothpicks, so we had to use bamboo skewers. We managed to use them only on the cake, not each other. I ended up with something resembling finished product in the video, just fewer layers and wider borders. Who was I to complain? My kitchen was covered in red, pink and brown crumbs, and my kids’ birthday was over. I tossed the cake in the freezer and curled up in the fetal position on the couch.

Monday.

A day late.

I slathered homemade chocolate icing on my frozen brick and did my best to decorate it.

I NEVER want to look at cake again.

 

Reno Diaries: Part 4

Tags

family, home, home renovations, humour

November  18- Dear Diary,  Another gloomy weekend, or maybe that was just in the kitchen. When Handyman was installing the tile, which looks so nice, he had to pull the plug out and accidentally pulled off 2 wires. I don’t know when Dad will be able to get here to fix it. So with no light and no plug, it made cooking and baking a dismal task.

Last Friday morning, I made an emergency call to the pastor to see if he could pop over to help install our microwave. Fortunately, he was available only for the 40 minutes it would take, including driving.  The installation went well but the microwave moves every time you push a button. It’s super annoying and more than a little scary!

Since Handy man took some doors home with him, I got some of the trim painting done, but it required some creativity to reach all the nooks and crannies! Handyman has started installing the new built-in cupboards and counter. So excited to see it finally coming together!

November 19 – Dear Diary,  I sent my pa some snaps of the plug and hanging wires, which required standing on angles. I was not built to be in the circus, and yet I share a house with a number of strange characters. Me included.  Daddy you’re my only hope!

On the plus side, the grout is going in. I haven’t been this excited about mud since Mud Hero.  On the downside, it doubled my clean up at the end of the day just so I could cook dinner. Mud in the sink, all over the counters…even the floor.

We had yet another issue with door knobs & handles. Despite our careful consideration and adding up the numbers, more than once I might add, we ended up with 6 knobs too many…and 6 pulls too few. This required another trip to home depot.  I was in too big a hurry to even change out of my yoga pants. I knew right where to go (after the return counter) – aisle 21! But to my dismay, they only had 4 pulls left. I raced to customer service where 2 ladies stood waiting, to wait on some guy, who had gone looking for something. Apparently this guy was “hotter” than me in yoga pants, and I had to wait for 2 of them to finish waiting on 1 of him! They were less than friendly when they did get to me, and they couldn’t help me any way!

So I had to drive to the other Home Depot farther away. I burst through the doors like a woman on a mission, heading straight to aisle 21. But hardware was not in aisle 21. Fortunately I wasn’t far off, and there were oodles. I skipped to the car with my newfound bounty…this time, only an hour and a half of my life gone forever!

November 19 – Dear Diary, Hallelujah! A new day has done and a bright light shines in the darkness. It is the light over my sink. The broken plug is repaired. The microwave is shimmied. The grout is complete. The doors and knobs and pulls are all installed. Handyman is done! I have cupboards to clean and some painting to touch up. Simple. But the hard part now…is finding “homes” for all. this. stuff.

Old vs. New

PLUS… all new breakfast/baking bar!

Happy Weekend!

Letter from a German Medic: We Remember

Tags

faith, family, love, remembrance, Remembrance Day

We remember.

Not just because it was world history or national history…but because it’s personal history.

In my small hometown, everyone knew someone who had fought in the Great Wars. For my family, it was my great uncle. I have shared this story before, but every time I think about it, I am astonished again and again, that love and compassion never died.

My Great Uncle was killed in action in 1944 – but it is the letters from “the enemy” that make this a remarkable story.

  My Great Uncle was born in 1924 and enlisted in the Canadian Army Dental Corps in December, 1942. He needed his parents’ permission to join because he was only 17. He re-mustered to the Royal Canadian Air Force in 1942 and headed overseas to the United Kingdom in August 1943. He was attached to the Royal Air Force and went missing in action in 1944, at the age of 20.

  It was several months of agonizing waiting before his family found out what had happened. My Great-Uncle had been the rear gunner in an Avro Lancaster went missing during a night operation in France. The rear gunner was in a “bubble” on the underside of the airplane. I was with my Grandfather when he toured the inside of an Avro Lancaster a few years ago, and he kept remarking over and over how tight the space was for the rear gunner. My Great-Uncle had been over 6′ tall.

Most of the crew members, all R.A.F., were also killed. The other crew members were Canadian – one was taken as a Prisoner of War, and one escaped with the assistance of the French underground and returned to England.  The POW’s report stated that the plane was heading to its target and came under heavy fire. They barely missed colliding with another Lancaster that was on fire. Shortly thereafter, a fire broke out inside the plane. The pilot sent others to assist with the fire. When the controls burned out and the plane started into a vertical dive, he forced himself out of the window with a parachute. He woke up on the ground with a broken leg and cracked skull, and was captured by the Germans.

Shortly after the war, the first letter arrived from Germany, from the medic who had attended my Great-Uncle following the plane crash.

Dear family R.,
perhaps you will ask yourself why I wrote to you. I had so many addresses that I had unfortunately to destroy. But I guarded your address like a sanctuary, for a great sympathy united me with your son. In your son I saw a Canadian sportsman, he reminded me of the ice-hockey games Canada Germany in the Berlin sport-palace. And so I am very glad that I can give you any information. It was permitted me to return home after a military-time of long years and an imprisonment of one year, where my young wife awaited me. On the 30th of January my little boy has his first birthday. He is giving us very much pleasure, and so we forget many a trouble and sorrow that oppress us deeply today. I now hope that these lines will give you a small consolation in your grief, and we should be very glad to hear from you again. We should like to send you the pocket-lighter, if you want. We send you the kindest regards, Yours very sincerely, E. P. and family.

My Great-Grandparents wrote back, and received this second letter:

Dear Family R.
By your dear lines I now have the confirmation that you are the parents of Mr. R. I thank you very much for the nice letter, and I am very happy that you call me your friend, and in this friendship I want to report you truly everything what I know of the death of your son. In June 1944 we had our airfield near the village … in northern France. On the 24lb June 1944 at about 23 hours, a heavy air attack ensued on our anti-aircraft position and the neighbouring V-position. At this raid German night-fighters were put in, and in a few minutes a heavy airbattle developed in the nightly sky. In the course of this battle the bombing aircraft of your son must have been heavily damaged. After the air-battle I got the order to search the near environs for the dead and injured persons, and there I found your son. He was lying alone about 300 m from our position, and as I still remarked weak signs of life I called for medical assistance, but it was all in vain, with low words I could not understand, unfortunately, your son died in my arms. My thoughts were in his native country with his relatives. We had became comrades; for tomorrow already I could have had the same fate. So I closed the eyes to your son and said: May God give you the eternal rest. I suppose that your son died by the consequences of the inner injuries he got by the fall. The parachute had taken fire and was not opened, the occiput[sic] had a small injure. The next morning I had to take off all the things of the dead persons and must give them to a German burial-commission that had to send them on to the Red Cross. Therefore I am very much astonished that you did not received the last things of your son. On the 26th June 1944, we brought your son to his last place of rest. He is lying with other comrades on the churchyards “…”. I am going to mark the place for you by an enclosed sketch. I assure you that we buried your son as well as every German comrade. A plain cross of wood with name, day of death and number of recognition adorns his soldier-grave. Herewith I also want to pronounce my sincerest condolence to you.

Some time following this letter, Mr. P. visited my Great-Grandparents and returned a few of my Great-Uncle’s possessions. I find it remarkable, that in a time when tensions still ran high between different nations, that this medic reached out to a small farmer’s family in an attempt to bring them peace.

My Great-Uncle’s fiancée never married. Nearly every year my Grandfather would attend the Remembrance Day Ceremony on November 11th, and the cenotaph in town…to remember. Grandpa would touch his brother’s name on the cenotaph and leave his poppy at its base.

We took him to see a Lancaster bomber in the early 1990s. Grandpa walked around that plane several times before we went inside. Over and over, he’d shake his head and mumble “isn’t that something”. It wasn’t until we moved to the rear gunner’s position that he started to share. “My brother was really skinny and over 6′ tall. How could he possibly fit in there?”, he chuckled. “He would have had his knees in his face”.  Then his smile faded and his eyes welled with tears. He looked at me and tried to say something but he was too emotional, so we just held a quiet memorial there, before he commented “isn’t that something” and turned to go.

My Grandpa is gone now, but his family, we will always remember…

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” -Matthew 5:43-44a

Something…Deadly…?

Tags

birthday, birthday party, family

Something old. Something new. Something deadly? Something blue.

Monday was my birthday, and I discovered something exciting! Math has never been my strong suit, so ahem…imagine my delight when I discovered I was actually turning a year younger than I thought!

My parents drove 4 hours ( or so, round trip) to spend it with me. Big Guy also had the day off. And a friend joined the rest of us ( Hubby and Little Guy too) for dinner. How blessed am I?

We feasted on pizza, because nothing says celebrate getting older like bacon and cheese, and the homemade cake I baked (& will talk about next Monday)!

So what’s old, new, deadly and blue? Some of my birthday presents, of course!

OLD

My aunt gave me this watch and photos, as well as its story.

My Grandmother’s sweetheart (or friend) gave her this watch. He worked in the local bank, but it couldn’t hold on during the depression. The bank closed,  and he moved home to his family’s farm. They kept in touch, but on the night before my Grandmother’s wedding, she sent him a letter telling him that as a married woman, she could no longer correspond. She sometimes wondered what her life might have been like as a banker’s wife?

The time changes, it’s just not the correct time. I still think it’s a really cool piece of history, and I will wear it often.

NEW

Who doesn’t love a new pair of shoes?

Little Guy gave me a new chair for my back porch, and I already have a stack of books for my summer reading.

DEADLY

Big Guy was the most creative this year, and has his Mama’s security and health at heart. When the zombie apocalypse hits, I’m ready!

BLUE

I have to give Hubby credit. He patiently trailed me through the mall for 2 hours on a Friday night, so I could look for “something special” for my birthday. It wasn’t easy, but in the end I chose a blue striped nightshirt from Victoria Secret.

This summer, I’m going to relax on my back porch in my comfortable chair, wearing my oversized nightshirt and my sexy shoes. My watch won’t tell me the time so I legitimately lose track of it…and if anyone messes with me, I can flash them a smile…and my zombie killer blade.

Welcome year 46!

Tea for Two

Tags

family, friends, grief, memories, tea

We use the expression all the time (or some of us do!) – “Good Grief”. But it seems in the midst of it, there’s nothing good. There’s shock and numbness before the searing pain of loss sets in. Then grief hovers at the edges of the soul, and pounces when it’s least expected. Many lovely people have asked me how I’m doing. How can I explain that I have internal bleeding from a gaping hole in my heart? That I’m bone weary, and yet lie awake at night? Instead I say “I’m fine”. Sometimes I am. And I know that one day, I will be.

I’m trying to focus on what’s “good” in the grief, to see beauty in the Opera of the everyday and in the ways we fall apart.

I was there. So often, all I could do when my friend struggled, was to be present. This week, I tried to be present for her family, in whatever small ways I could. They let me see her in the ICU, so I could tell her I love her. They let me share some of my memories in the service. They let me do a few small things, for her.

I got to hug my family. My kids, my husband, my parents. My friend and partner in crime. Even Big Guy’s friend (who I call my adopted kid). Time together is always precious.

I tried to delight in little things, like sassy red shoes, and an indulgent pair of silk stockings. I wore my little black dress, the one that only comes out of the closet for funerals. I ate a sweet butter tart square, even though I gave up all forms of dessert for Lent. I stopped and smelled the roses, especially the pink ones.

I listened to stories about Ruth. I listened as others shared how much they will miss her, how much she meant to them. I connected with strangers, with whom I might have nothing else in common and will never see again, but we could be honest and vulnerable together.

I honoured my friend, my “Mom”, who would have been proud of me. She would haveloved the gathering of family and friends, and relished all the attention.

After the reception, my posse (minus my parents who needed to get home to finish packing for their big trip), met at Tim Horton’s . It seemed an appropriate place to gather, where we had gathered with her a thousand times, to share our laughs and frustrations over a cup of tea. It was so full, we moved the party to the house. We kicked off our shoes and tucked up in the living room. And started to breathe again…

Family is more than blood. Families are made of those who you welcome in, share “silent unspeakable memories” with, express vulnerability with, work to climb the highs and lows of life with, and who you love with all your heart.
– Maya Angelou

It’s quiet today, something I yearned for these past two weeks. The hydro is off, so there are no distractions (kind of chilly though). Even Chloe, our crazy cavy, is quiet. I have flipped through photo images of my friend; there are more journal entries and stories than photos. I have cried, and laughed a little in the sanctuary of my bed, reliving adventures and comments. I have wondered if I could have said something more or different when I spoke at the funeral.

But it’s time to get up, to get dressed, to make a cup of tea…for two.

Ruth was a colourful thread running through the tapestry of our lives. While God has now written her from our stories, her love and spirit have left an indelible mark.

 

TGIF

Tags

humour

It’s been a hell of a week.

I know some people will find that an offensive statement, and I’m sorry. But I am so tired.

I had quite an adventure this week. Not all adventures are planned…or pleasant.

Sometimes they start with a phone call and someone yelling at the other end. They require you to pull up your big girl panties, so you can go places you would never plan to go. Like the ICU of an hospital in the heart of a major city, where you hold vigil for a friend, in stunned silence, for an eternity. Like walking unfamiliar streets late at night, searching for a car in every lot and parking lot near the theater where your friend suffered a massive heart attack. Like sharing the story over and over again to complete strangers. Like stopping at a gas station and boldly knocking on the car window of a stranger (who was high), in a bad neighbourhood at midnight, for directions to the highway… so you could go home and lie awake.

And every morning since, waking up as tired as the night before, with a heaviness in your soul that no amount of chocolate could ever touch.

Oh, what a night! It’s a story worthy of pen and paper. One day. Even now I catch myself smiling when I think about some of the people we met, and just the utter ridiculousness of parts of it, until I remember why we were there in the first place, and my heart breaks again.

It’s been a hell of a week. I certainly hope yours was better.

Thank you to those who know and love my friend, and have been praying for her and her family. Have a blessed weekend.

Flashback Friday: Christmas 2018

Tags

awkward family photos, Christmas, family, humour

People say I’m crazy, but they haven’t met my family! – Anonymous

As hinted at last week, I am posting this year’s annual traditional “4 family on the couch”.

They are hardly perfect pics, but show me a perfect family photo, and I’ll show you a family that lies!

Having one child makes you a parent, having two, you are a referee. – David Frost

In the end, the merriment was too much for me. I woke the next day having finally succumbed to the doses Hubby & Little Guy had had in the weeks leading up to Christmas…and I threw my back out schooching over in bed. I spent the rest of Boxing Day in a chair with the remote, my sewing and a heating pad, watching Friends re-runs!

Looking forward, I have no idea what 2019 might entail, and rather than worrying about it, I’m going to boil the kettle and settle in for a long winter’s nap.

My doctor asked if any members of my family suffered from insanity. I replied ‘no, we seem to enjoy it’. – Anonymous

Happy Weekend!

Flashback Friday: Christmas 1974

Tags

Christmas, family, memories

I’m not sure if this is 1974, although that’s what is marked on the slide. I think I look older than 18 months. Regardless of how old I am, obviously whatever my brother is eating looks good. My guess is milk and cookies, possibly a snack before bed, after we fixed a plate for Santa. Or maybe…he stole this off Santa’s plate.

That spot, right where I’m planted, is pretty much where I was trapped one Christmas night several years later. Dad was working the night shift, and I was sleeping with my Mom. My grandparents were sleeping on the pullout couch on the main floor. The tree was in this room next door. Our stockings were hung in the corner on that same chair.

I had crept down the stairs to poke around, and I might have been more successful if my Grandparents hadn’t decided to turn on the lights and have a conversation, between trips to the bathroom. I crouched, frozen (and freezing) in my pink nightie, terrified I would be discovered by them, or Mom. I had been gone a long time! It was a very long (and very boring) conversation. Neither one could hear the other and they had to repeat everything, making it even longer (and more boring). Fortunately I got away with it, and I didn’t tell a soul for many years.

Did it cure me of snooping? Sadly, note for a few years! Now that I’m older (and can no longer creep down the stairs without making them creak), I’m happy to let Santa do all the sneaking!

Happy Weekend!