Friday’s Tune: Perfect Union

Tags

faith, Friday's Tune, memories, music, weddings

This week, while resting with a cup of tea between jobs, I perused Instagram. I don’t normally check out the “suggested for you” page, but I did and there were wedding photos. I’m a sucker for ball gowns. Actress, Busy Philips, celebrated her 13th anniversary this week and she posted pics from her nuptials, including her dress, her invitations, and her “mix tape”, a gift to  was given to her guests. My guests received homemade chocolate truffles. I think I’d prefer the truffles.

Anyway, it got me thinking, since this Monday is my 24th wedding anniversary! I’ve lived more years with Hubby than without.

There were certain things about my special day that were extra important, the groom and my family aside. The dress (as Princess Diana as I could afford). The flowers (red roses like my grandmother). And the music. I selected every piece, from the processional (Praise My Soul the King of Heaven) and recessional (Trumpet Voluntary), to the hymn and 2 solos. I also selected the first 3 songs for our small dance. I danced with my father to Matthew Ward’s, My Little Ones. It made us both cry. Our wedding party danced to All the Way My Saviour Leads Me by Rich Mullins. But it was our first dance that is today’s tune: Perfect Union by Matthew Ward.

My sister-in-law introduced me to this song when she had it sung at her wedding. I loved the imagery that despite the “storms of life”, if we chose to seek God first in our marriage, we would be strengthened and love would endure. We would be joined in “three part harmony”.

During some very difficult years, I would look at our wedding photos and I was encouraged by the light reflecting on the cross on the altar in front of us. I took that as a special message from God that He was still part of this relationship and if we looked to Him, we would endure.

Hand and hand we’ll seek the Father.

Happy Friday!

Lyrics
copyright: © Matthew Ward / John Andrew Schreiner Music, Megins College Fund Music

Friday’s Tune: Until the Whole World Hears

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faith, Friday's Tune, memories, music

It had been an awesome night of worship. I sat with Hubby on one side and Big Guy on the other in a massive church auditorium on a Saturday evening in 2009. Even though we were attending a concert, large screens on either side of the platform had displayed the words to every song so all could sing along, a massive choir from different denominations, different backgrounds.

The lights dimmed as lead singer, Mark Hall, closed the evening in prayer. But before the crowd started to bid the band farewell, he lifted his hands and started to sing “oh– oh– sing until the whole world hears”. We all joined in. I closed my eyes and just let the sound  of a thousand voices surround me. It was an emotional experience, and I’ve never forgotten it.

Keep singing…

Lyrics        Youtube Video
Copyright: Bernie Herms / Jason Mcarthur / Mark Hall / Roger Glidewell © Warner Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, Capitol Christian Music Group

 

Flashback Friday: Grade 8 Grad

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flashback friday, graduation, humour, memories

A friend posted yesterday, that her kid wouldn’t allow her to post any grad photos. I admire her respect for her kid’s wishes.

Gr. 7 – The aftermath of creating a self-portrait mosaic from magazines

I, on the other, never asked. I assumed that since I paid for the clothes and the dinner tickets, I could post a photo.  Then there’s also the taxi services, field trips, late nights, last minute assignments, and scrambles to find missing stuff. I’ve tried to decipher teacher instructions, handle messes, deal with bullies, cope with tears and fears, all with grace. I will never forget that one time Little Guy didn’t come home and I called the cops after madly driving/running everywhere trying to find him. Then I was full-on crazy but it’s understandable.

It all comes with the title – Mom!

But he has a title too – Son!

He’s mine. I’m proud of him. I waited a long time for him. Gushing ridiculously would be embarrassing, but a photo? There are worse things I could do to him, and he knows it.

Still…not asking might be considered an infraction by some, so I decided to even up the score by posting my Grade 8 grad photo. And I picked the worst one!

This is what happens when I’m concentrating on not poking my eye out with an eyelash wand and someone yells, “Hey Jenn? Jenn!” and snaps your picture as soon as you look at them.

It was 1980-something. Peach was the “in” colour. Big bows and poofy perms were also all the rage. My Mom made my dress, but ran out of time to add the ruffle to the hem. I wore low, white heels, which my Dad took me to K-Mart to buy. I was allowed to wear eye shadow, mascara and lip gloss only!

My room was wall-papered with Garfield (I still love fat cats!) clawing his way down the wall, with pastel stripes. Those medals are from winters spent figure skating. There’s also a 3rd place ribbon from Track & Field. It was the only one I ever won. Had I figured out I was better at long-distance running than sprints before Grade 8,  I might have earned more.

My Mom and Grandmother came to the ceremony. My Dad was a firefighter and had to work. We had a dance too, but it ended at 9, not 10. None of the boys would dance with me or my friends because we were “square” so we took turns dancing with my “boyfriend”. He and I had been friends since Kindergarten, and I think we were “dating” because we felt pressured to have someone. It seemed so important at the time.

Looking back, it wasn’t a magical night, but it was a lot of fun! We felt like we had accomplished so much and we were ready to go out and change the world. Maybe some of us did!

So to Little Guy, and my friend’s baby…and all the other graduates out there. Congratulations! And happy Friday!

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.

 

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!

Friday Flashback: Santa’s Village, 1978

Tags

Christmas, family, memories

In the Summer of 1978, we visited Santa’s Village in Vermont. I was 5. I vaguely remember a few rides, a large climber, and feeding the deer. Lunch was a picnic. The highlight, of course, was talking to Santa.

Mom and Dad let my brother and I each pick out a Christmas ornament from the Souvenir shop. My brother chose a straw mouse soldier. I chose a cardboard angel with a lace dress, a sparkly halo, and gauzy wings. She’s a little battered, but I still have her!

It was a magical Christmas in July!

We took Little Guy to a Santa’s Village near us a few summers ago. Instead of camping, we stayed in a hotel. He wasn’t overly impressed and refused to visit Santa. It was a scorching day, and I can’t imagine what the temperature would be inside the Workshop.  He’s also way more mature than his mother!

Have a Magical Weekend!

Still, Still, Still

Tags

#whatsinmycup, memories, tea

“The proper, wise balancing of one’s whole life may depend upon the feasibility of a cup of tea at an unusual hour.” – Arnold Bennett, How to Live on 24 Hours a Day

On November 26, 2005, around 2 a.m., my Mom and I sat down to share a pot of tea. She had just braved the 2 ½ hour drive on icy roads because her little girl needed her. It was the second late-night trip that month, but this time…Little Guy was on his way for sure!

Night enveloped us like a warm blanket as the sleet pinged off the windows. Big Guy and Hubby were asleep, as we curled up on the couch together in the stillness of the night.

Still, still, still
One can hear the falling snow
For all is hushed
The world is sleeping – G. Götsch, Still Still Still

Eventually, the pot was empty and our silences grew longer. Mom crawled into bed in the spare room, while I prowled quietly around the house.  She got up again to see us off at 5 with reassuring hugs, and was there to greet Big Guy in the morning, who had no idea she had arrived and we had left.

This wasn’t her first pot of early morning tea while anxiously awaiting the birth of a grandchild. She was with me with Big Guy was born, and had slipped out to share a pot of tea with one of the night nurses while I rested.

My Mom is awesome, and I love her very much. I will always treasure that precious hour we shared together in the still of the night.

It’s never too early or too late for a cup of tea. Now is always the perfect time.
– jennsmidlifecrisis

 

R is for Rome

Tags

#atozchallenge, humour, memories, travel

If money and time, and all the other reasons I don’t travel magically disappeared, I know where I’d go. It surprises me a little bit every time I think about it! Take me to the Eternal City – Rome!

I started saving for a trip to Europe when I was 8! I opened my first bank account and faithfully deposited my birthday money, my allowance, and my first paychecks. Nothing was going to keep me from seeing the Scottish moors, the English castles and the gorgeous green of Ireland. By high school, I had added France, Germany and Austria.

But it wasn’t until 1999, 18 years after I started saving my pennies, that I finally boarded a plane with my Mom for the trip of a lifetime…except that it didn’t include Scotland, Ireland, Austria or Germany. We would wend our way from Italy (Rome, Florence & Venice), Switzerland (Lucerne), France (Paris) and England (London), on a flying bus trip! The mornings were early, the pace grueling, and the temperatures scorching.

In all the cities we passed through, none captured my heart like Rome. Everything was covered in history. In North America, our history is so “young”. We don’t begin to treasure what little history we have, so we tear down and rebuild, losing character and history for “ticky-tack” houses and large box stores.

Being able to do this with my Mom made it extra special! We both  love history and so we soaked it all up. There was so much we missed, so much we were herded by with no time to ponder or reflect. We furiously wrote in journals, comparing our notes so that someday, as we sat graying in our chairs, a pot of tea between us, we could relive these moments.

If I could choose to go anywhere in the world, I would choose Rome. I would meander down quiet streets, and take time to sit in the piazzas to people-watch. I would wander leisurely through the ruins, worship quietly in the churches, and pause in the catacombs.

I may never get to visit the Eternal City again, but just in case….I’m learning Italian!

Forse un giorno!

July 1999

She had always been fond of history, and here [in Rome] was history in the stones of the street and the atoms of the sunshine.”- Henry James

Throwback Thursday: March Break, 1992

Tags

humour, March Break, memories

Woo hoo! It’s March Break! And I have spent the first half of it sleeping all day and lying on the couch…sick! The only beach I am spending time on is in Minecraft. I can hardly contain my excitement.

 * * *

March Break 1992.

I was a full time college student, and an unemployed single parent. I also didn’t have a student loan to foolishly waste on vacations. So while my fellow students were jetting off to exotic places to participate in “Girls with Low Self-Esteem” videos  over March Break, I was stuck at home listening to Bryan Adams croon his undying devotion to his lady love. I longed for love and adventure…or just something exciting to do besides go out for shamrock shakes at McDonald’s. I dreaded returning to crazy stories and beach photos after class.

So I posed for my own “beach” photo!

“high-tech” polaroid!

Instead of silky sand and balmy breezes, I braved frigid temperatures and frosty snowbanks in my strapless suit. [NB: I believe there are less than 5 bathing suit shots in existence].

The neighbours thought I was nuts!

But after graduation, while my colleagues struggled to replay their loans, I was starting the next phase in my own adventures  – debt-free!

WPC: Nostalgia

Tags

DP Challenge, memories, Photo Challenge, photography, Weekly Photo Challenge

A dark blue lake with shores of flat, gray rock and thin pine trees that touched the sky. Thick, sandy roads to pad around on, barefoot, to the hand pump, to fill the metal bucket with drinking water. Days spent swimming, chasing frogs, and climbing trees. Evenings spent canoeing, listening to the loons and whipporwills, before it got dark enough for the campfire. Golden marshmallows. Sticky, cheesy pie-iron sandwiches. Poking in the fire. Finally, the nightly trip “over the hill” to the outhouse with our flashlights, before curling up in our sleeping bags. Drifting off to sleep to the sound of my parents and grandparents murmuring late into the night…These are my summer memories, my souvenirs.

“The fire is the main comfort of the camp, whether in summer or in winter”
– Henry David Thoreau

To see more Nostalgic photos, click here.