Way back in August - or was it the end of July? - Krysta and I walked into Wal Mart
and saw aisles of
SCHOOL SUPPLIES!
I wanted to run away from that store, but we bravely went on and shopped for other things.
All the while I kept telling Krysta, "Don't look! It isn't really time for school stuff yet."
And Krysta was saying, "But I want to go look at those folders!
They have some really neat ones this year."
That same day I read a comment on facebook, written by my daughter-in-law,
all about how much she loves the "back to school" things that are showing up everywhere.
Maybe it's the feeling of time rushing by at the speed of light that gets me every year.
Because if it's time for school then before we know it MEA week will be here.
And the fall craft sale . . .
And then it will be Thanksgiving.
And Christmas . . .
and just like that it will be the New Year!
Kind of like that story when the lady of the house calls up the stairs
to her maid on a Monday morning.
"Eliza Jane! It's half past five!
We don't have the wash started.
It's time to hang the clothes on the line.
If we don't hurry up soon it will be Tuesday
and the next day is Wednesday.
Half the week is gone
and we haven't done a thing!"
Now that school is started and we have one month done I am kind of enjoying it.
This year I am trying to see the colors all around me.
Yellow school buses
Red plaid skirt on a little girl . . .
She was walking backwards
reading a book out loud
to her little brother
who was dragging his back pack behind him.
Red and yellow leaves on the trees
Beautiful flowers everywhere
. . . still blooming like crazy
Orange and cream colored kitties
A full moon and a lunar eclipse
Stars in the night sky
Puffy white clouds in a Blue sky
Green grass that keeps growing and growing
Goldfinches at the bird feeders
Old fashioned blue-green canning jars
Red tomatoes
Jars of salsa and red beet pickles
Pink applesauce
The list goes on and on . . .
and now it is time to say "Good night!"
Friday, October 2, 2015
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Thyme to Visit the Peace Gardens
International Peace Gardens
My family has visited the Peace Gardens a few times through the years.
Here is Dad and Mom and my little sister, Maria.
This picture was taken in the early 70's.
One highlight of each visit is the Flower Clock. The hands really move and tell correct time.
This summer Krysta and I drove to Lake Metigoshe State Park for Bible Camp. On the way
Krysta mentioned that she has never been to the Peace Gardens or if she has she was too little
to remember. I called Ellis with a list of things we had forgotten. At the top of the list was our
passports. Ellis had to work Friday and had to be home Monday morning. He started out Friday afternoon and drove part way. Slept in Grand Forks and finished the trip on Saturday. He was able to be with us for 24 hours before he started home. The rest of our family started for home early Monday morning. Krysta and I ate breakfast, took down the tents, packed the little, white Ford Focus and started on our way for a mother/daughter outing.
The Clock 2015
On the last evening of Bible Camp everyone gathers in the dining room to snack and chat. I had just been talking to an old friend about Chicago Street meetings. A little later another friend asked what we're doing the next day. I said, "Krysta and I are going to Pacific Garden Missions."
As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I had been thinking one thing and said something totally different.
I am so glad this happens to other people too. I am not the only one. Maybe it was the extreme heat that caused fuzzy thinking. Monday morning another friend mentioned that she had drawn a complete blank in an earlier conversation and couldn't remember the country where her adopted children were from. None of this is caused by aging, right?
Most definitely not!
If you are ever looking for a family outing let me recommend the North Dakota Bible Camp in the Turtle Mountains at Lake Metigoshe State Park. Monday morning is the perfect time to drive to the Peace Gardens and wander along the paths of the gardens bordering Canada and North Dakota. Visit the Peace Chapel, listen to the bells in the Bell Tower, bring a picnic lunch to enjoy in the shade after walking in the sun.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Logging with Dad
Can you hear that chain saw?
Smell the spruce trees?
Sometimes we packed a picnic lunch
Sometimes we packed a picnic lunch
and spent the whole day in the woods
helping Dad.
Mom must be the photographer
on this outing because there is not
one picture of her.
(this was long before the days of selfies)
There's a small scale model of this on
a shelf above Dad's desk.
In December 2013 I wrote about visiting the book mobile and checking out a book named
~ The Taste of Spruce Gum
by Jacqueline Jackson
When I look at these pictures I think about that story. A day to remember . . .
What an unwieldy beast this computer is! I attempted to move some pictures and edit some words and add a line or two. Then things went all askew and refused to cooperate. That's why there are large empty spaces with no words. This is an experiment to see if I can fill in the blanks.
Dad and his four daughters....
It didn't work. =/
Thursday, July 9, 2015
We Saw a Bear on Highway 65
It sounds like I've been reading too many Sugar Creek Gang books.
Maybe I can ramble on for a few pages in Paul Hutchens style.
Mom, Krysta and I were driving south on hwy 65 on a bright Monday morning.
Lupines and Indian Paintbrush were growing at the edge of the road. Cattails in the
ditches looked like lightly roasted marshmallows on a stick. The flower beds in the yards
we passed were breathtaking. Our road wound around through forests of pine trees.
Now and then fields opened up on either side. We had just come to more trees when we
saw a black bear sprint out of the woods and bound across the road ahead of us. By the time
we got to the spot there was no sign of the bear, not even a bush swishing back into place.
We had just been to Janine's house for coffee and muffins and warm conversation
with Ladina and Trenda and Mandy joining us. Stories of days gone by came up when
Ladina, Trenda, Maria and I were little girls. Hans, our younger brother, wasn't here yet
to share our escapades.
We talked about the trip by boat to the Angle. The boat was a ferry and had a
gigantic steering wheel. I remember the pilot let us steer. Summer vacations
at the Angle reminded me of stories of bears at the dump. We were told that bears
came to the dump. If you sat very quietly in your car at dusk you could watch them
digging for food.
It never worked for us.
Summer after summer went by and we never saw any bears.
After the road to the Angle was finished we drove in our car.
There was always the excitement of crossing the Canadian border
and listening to Dad answer the questions the border patrol asked.
"Where are you going?"
"How long were you at the Angle?"
One evening the man leaned in the window
and looked in the back seat
at all of us girls sitting in a row.
"Did you see any bears?" he asked in a gruff voice.
We shook our heads, too petrified to say a word.
As Dad drove away we breathed sighs of relief and asked him,
"What would've he done to us if we had seen some bears?"
Dad chuckled and told us not to worry. The man at the border
was just brightening up a boring, mundane day at his job.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Today, July 9th, 2015 would have been my Dad's 76th birthday.
Mom is visiting Dad's siblings in Idaho. I'm sure they are sitting around the table
drinking coffee and sharing lots of memories.
Krysta and I tried to come up with something different for Father's Day this year.
We ordered flowers out of a catalog for our shade gardens.
I found some new flowers - Bear's Breeches. We ordered them for Mom to plant
in her garden close to the Dutchman's Britches that come up each spring.
We chose thornless blackberry plants for Ellis.
They will need a spot in the sun and one of these days we'll be baking blackberry pies.
Each day is filled to the brim with new adventures.
Those adventures turn into stories to one day be shared around a kitchen table
with family and friends.
Maybe I can ramble on for a few pages in Paul Hutchens style.
Mom, Krysta and I were driving south on hwy 65 on a bright Monday morning.
Lupines and Indian Paintbrush were growing at the edge of the road. Cattails in the
ditches looked like lightly roasted marshmallows on a stick. The flower beds in the yards
we passed were breathtaking. Our road wound around through forests of pine trees.
Now and then fields opened up on either side. We had just come to more trees when we
saw a black bear sprint out of the woods and bound across the road ahead of us. By the time
we got to the spot there was no sign of the bear, not even a bush swishing back into place.
We had just been to Janine's house for coffee and muffins and warm conversation
with Ladina and Trenda and Mandy joining us. Stories of days gone by came up when
Ladina, Trenda, Maria and I were little girls. Hans, our younger brother, wasn't here yet
to share our escapades.
We talked about the trip by boat to the Angle. The boat was a ferry and had a
gigantic steering wheel. I remember the pilot let us steer. Summer vacations
at the Angle reminded me of stories of bears at the dump. We were told that bears
came to the dump. If you sat very quietly in your car at dusk you could watch them
digging for food.
It never worked for us.
Summer after summer went by and we never saw any bears.
After the road to the Angle was finished we drove in our car.
There was always the excitement of crossing the Canadian border
and listening to Dad answer the questions the border patrol asked.
"Where are you going?"
"How long were you at the Angle?"
One evening the man leaned in the window
and looked in the back seat
at all of us girls sitting in a row.
"Did you see any bears?" he asked in a gruff voice.
We shook our heads, too petrified to say a word.
As Dad drove away we breathed sighs of relief and asked him,
"What would've he done to us if we had seen some bears?"
Dad chuckled and told us not to worry. The man at the border
was just brightening up a boring, mundane day at his job.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Today, July 9th, 2015 would have been my Dad's 76th birthday.
Mom is visiting Dad's siblings in Idaho. I'm sure they are sitting around the table
drinking coffee and sharing lots of memories.
Krysta and I tried to come up with something different for Father's Day this year.
We ordered flowers out of a catalog for our shade gardens.
I found some new flowers - Bear's Breeches. We ordered them for Mom to plant
in her garden close to the Dutchman's Britches that come up each spring.
We chose thornless blackberry plants for Ellis.
They will need a spot in the sun and one of these days we'll be baking blackberry pies.
Each day is filled to the brim with new adventures.
Those adventures turn into stories to one day be shared around a kitchen table
with family and friends.
Monday, July 6, 2015
Curious George and The Man in the Yellow Hat
Friends of the Library getting ready for the 4th of July Parade
After the parade Curious George is tired!
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
The Five Little Peppers
Deanne is interviewing Ellis and me and asking each of us questions about our
"growing up years."
One ? she threw at me is: What is your earliest memory of your mom?
When I go back back back back to earliest memories sometimes it's hard to know if this is
my memory? or is it my memory of stories told to me when I was little?
One thing that is my memory without a doubt is this:
Mom read to us.
She probably ended up reading until she was blue in the face
and completely sick of the books.
We knew those stories by heart
(and still quote some of them.)
When we were old enough to read Mom let us read.
She let us read in our spare time.
When we had chores to do she let us think of innovative ways to keep on reading.
-- like the days we mowed lawn
Four girls in the family
two push mowers
Two girls outlined the patches of lawn to be mowed.
The other two could amuse themselves while waiting their turn to mow.
read
play on the swing set
play with dolls
fix a cold pitcher of Kool-Aid for everyone.
We decided how many rounds we would take per person.
If it was extremely warm we took two rounds pushing the mower.
Then we'd drop in the shade and read like crazy until it was time to start
around the square again. As the patch got smaller and smaller we
could go around more times before we stopped to rest.
When it was time to do dishes we had some sort of schedule taking turns.
When it was my turn to dry dishes I propped my book up and read at the same time
as I dried dishes.
(It didn't work to read and wash dishes at the same time I found out.)
Mom took us to the Book Mobile in the summer.
We shared our books with her from the school library during the school year.
This is a long circular motion to get around to my earliest memory of Mom
and a little church library and two or three little girls begging every chance we got for
another visit there after church so we could check out our favorite books
- especially one beautifully illustrated edition of -
The Five Little Peppers.
"growing up years."
One ? she threw at me is: What is your earliest memory of your mom?
When I go back back back back to earliest memories sometimes it's hard to know if this is
my memory? or is it my memory of stories told to me when I was little?
One thing that is my memory without a doubt is this:
Mom read to us.
She probably ended up reading until she was blue in the face
and completely sick of the books.
We knew those stories by heart
(and still quote some of them.)
When we were old enough to read Mom let us read.
She let us read in our spare time.
When we had chores to do she let us think of innovative ways to keep on reading.
-- like the days we mowed lawn
Four girls in the family
two push mowers
Two girls outlined the patches of lawn to be mowed.
The other two could amuse themselves while waiting their turn to mow.
read
play on the swing set
play with dolls
fix a cold pitcher of Kool-Aid for everyone.
We decided how many rounds we would take per person.
If it was extremely warm we took two rounds pushing the mower.
Then we'd drop in the shade and read like crazy until it was time to start
around the square again. As the patch got smaller and smaller we
could go around more times before we stopped to rest.
When it was time to do dishes we had some sort of schedule taking turns.
When it was my turn to dry dishes I propped my book up and read at the same time
as I dried dishes.
(It didn't work to read and wash dishes at the same time I found out.)
Mom took us to the Book Mobile in the summer.
We shared our books with her from the school library during the school year.
This is a long circular motion to get around to my earliest memory of Mom
and a little church library and two or three little girls begging every chance we got for
another visit there after church so we could check out our favorite books
- especially one beautifully illustrated edition of -
The Five Little Peppers.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Hard Shell Tacos
Don't shop for groceries when you're hungry. How often I've heard this little piece of advice.
Sometimes shopping and hunger happens at the same time in spite of good intentions.
One day I dashed into Aldi for supplies -- hungry as a bear. Near the door boxes of hard shell
tacos were stacked. The picture on the box showed grated cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, browned hamburger, tacos and the words *Taco Bell*. Everything I needed to start some memories rolling.
The first time I ever tasted tacos was January 1974. Our family traveled from British Columbia, Canada south through Washington to Portland, Oregon to visit friends. I remember the novelty of the middle of winter and no snow! Weather that was damp and chilly with clouds and rain . . .
This weather was unheard of for Minnesota girls from a small town west of International Falls, MN, the coldest spot in the lower forty-eight. It didn't seem like January to us -- no winter coats or boots, scarves or mittens. We traipsed about with light spring jackets over our shoulders and high top tennis shoes on our feet.
Our friends took us to sea world and a wax museum and to the coast where water stretched toward the edge of the sky. There were lots of rocky cliffs and waves splashed into the rocks spraying salt water all over the place.
One of the delicious meals we were served was tacos. I can still remember watching the process of spooning the meat into the taco then loading it with lettuce and cheese. Maybe there were tomatoes and onions to sprinkle on top. I don't remember for sure. And then trying to eat all of that crunchy goodness without everything falling to pieces . . .
Like they say in How to Talk Minnesotan, by Howard Mohr
"This taco is really good but it's dripping down my arm!"
That evening while I browned hamburger and grated cheese I told Krysta stories of my first visit to Oregon and my first taste of tacos.
*Add salsa to the mix and make tacos even more scrumptious and messy.
Sometimes shopping and hunger happens at the same time in spite of good intentions.
One day I dashed into Aldi for supplies -- hungry as a bear. Near the door boxes of hard shell
tacos were stacked. The picture on the box showed grated cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, browned hamburger, tacos and the words *Taco Bell*. Everything I needed to start some memories rolling.
The first time I ever tasted tacos was January 1974. Our family traveled from British Columbia, Canada south through Washington to Portland, Oregon to visit friends. I remember the novelty of the middle of winter and no snow! Weather that was damp and chilly with clouds and rain . . .
This weather was unheard of for Minnesota girls from a small town west of International Falls, MN, the coldest spot in the lower forty-eight. It didn't seem like January to us -- no winter coats or boots, scarves or mittens. We traipsed about with light spring jackets over our shoulders and high top tennis shoes on our feet.
Our friends took us to sea world and a wax museum and to the coast where water stretched toward the edge of the sky. There were lots of rocky cliffs and waves splashed into the rocks spraying salt water all over the place.
One of the delicious meals we were served was tacos. I can still remember watching the process of spooning the meat into the taco then loading it with lettuce and cheese. Maybe there were tomatoes and onions to sprinkle on top. I don't remember for sure. And then trying to eat all of that crunchy goodness without everything falling to pieces . . .
Like they say in How to Talk Minnesotan, by Howard Mohr
"This taco is really good but it's dripping down my arm!"
That evening while I browned hamburger and grated cheese I told Krysta stories of my first visit to Oregon and my first taste of tacos.
*Add salsa to the mix and make tacos even more scrumptious and messy.
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