Backyard Days and a Story Snapshot

It was my last year as a homeschool mom.

The sweetgum showered red-gold leaves, the bees buzzed lazy tunes,

 and my youngest teenager read aloud from Tolkien.

It was a memory moment—the kind meant for savoring.

Today was the same kind of day, but I didn't get to read in the backyard. 

I hope you did, though.

 

I took this photo of a pair of glasses I found at a sale. 

Purchased for a few quarters, they sold again for much more. 

My writing fund appreciated the small contribution. 

So, here's a bit of flash fiction inspired by these seen-better-days specs. 

     Missing

     "Where are my glasses?" Craig ran his hand up his forehead then back down, mashing his nose flat. "Every time I lay them down, they go missing." He flopped into his armchair and a slight veil of dust puffed into the afternoon sun and floated toward thick window panes. 

     Janice handed him the newspaper. "You had them in the church this morning, didn't you? Then you stopped at the Danaher's on the way home ..." She glanced up at him from her own reading, hoping for a clue. Craig had gone still at the mention of the Danaher home, the crazed epicenter of the once-quiet village. "Did you have a chance to talk with—" 

     "No." Craig shot up from his chair and the newspaper fell to the floor, unnoticed. "I remember now. They are at the church." At the door, he grabbed his hat from the hook and pulled it low on his forehead. "You're right, Janice," he said. "You're always right." 

     

Play the Long Game

My sons are grown. 

I can no longer say "mostly men" when I talk about them. As a younger mom, I envisioned this part of parenting according to the saying "Grown and Flown" ... as in they're gone, I'm finished, finito. If you imagine some tears, you'd be right. Various parenting organizations urged me to make the most of every moment, to maximize every season, before my children finally came of age. And it's true. Time flies by. Adorable tots really do turn into capable adults. Mine certainly did.

But you know what I discovered? 
Parenting does NOT end between cake and gifts at the eighteenth birthday party. 

When that young adult comes asking for advice, "What you think about ..."

help with a project, "Do you have time to work on ..."

or a boost of confidence, "What if I can't do it?"

That's when we know—they still need us. 

No friends, parenting isn't a short-term occupation. There's no retiring from this. Grown and Flown—who thought of that, anyway? We're playing the long game, and we connect with our grown children no matter where they've flown.

But of course, it is different. Briefly, here are a few strategies I'd like to suggest:

                        - Help communication flow by asking open-ended questions.

                        - Don't let old hurts get in the way.

                        - Be flexible and ready for new ideas and activities.

                        - If they live nearby, use food to incite gathering. If you feed them ... 

                          (check out my Football Food Pinterest board)

How do you parent your grown children? I'd love to hear about that.


*** For further reading check out Focus on the Family's resource page for parenting adult children.

Ink Trails

As I thumbed through my old address book today, I realized 
I have new information to add.

 Two of my sons now have their own mailboxes, the perfect accessory for their new lives.

It's too bad that Millenials keep their personal information on digital devices, so easily edited and updated. 

The history inside the cover of an "old-school" address book is, to me, priceless. 

There's something magical about the decades-long ink trails of life scrawled 

across its lined and lettered pages—

the house numbers and street names ignite destination-tethered memories:

3905 Gilbert Avenue, where the train track was only a block away. 

2305 Memorial Parkway, where we honeymooned to the blast of the Friday-night football cannon. 

208 Eastern Avenue, where my brother started his family and first cousins learned to play.

285 Collins Road, where my grandparents' farm was the heaven-on-earth we longed to visit. 

514 Hallam Avenue, where I found friendship around a table of open Bibles.

I'm thankful to have these touchstones of smeared ink that remind me to remember; 

grateful the street names and house numbers weren't simply deleted and forgotten. 

The perfect housewarming gift for my sons might be ... address books. 

The Rest of the Story

When your kids are little, you hold a (somewhat) omniscient position. 

You know their lives down to the smallest detail —

This one loves trips to the zoo to see the elephant,

 and that one sobs like the heartbroken inside a drive-through car wash. 

You know who squeezed all the toothpaste into the garbage can, 

and you know who will tattle at the first opportunity.

You plan where to go, what to wear, and what time to arrive. 

Whatever happens within the family, you're usually able to answer the 

basic questions—who did what, when, where, and how.

Until they grow up, and you learn you were all wrong about the omniscient thing. 

All wrong ... is that really any surprise? 

It is the overarching theme of parenthood ...

My husband and I have recently been introduced to "The Rest Of The Story." 

It's a little like being handed the extended version of a movie you've seen a thousand times. 

Those moments when your grown children reveal extra bits of information, 

adding vibrant, and often hilarious, texture to stale, familiar scenes. 

With any chance of consequences long, long gone, "The Rest Of The Story" 

conversations have been rolling around my dinner table lately.

We usually end up saying something like:

Aha! THAT'S what happened to my brand-new hammer. 

Oh! Now I know why the neighbor always seemed so angry. 

I wondered how the dog got up there!

Building and Crushing

We used to build these, only to crush them a few weeks later.

I think this one's from 2010—so long since I huddled 

with my school-age sons around this edible architecture project.

The traditional house smashing on New Year's Eve was always hard for me, 

although the guys could hardly wait for that part. 

Children have less trouble letting go than adults, I think.

What will we build in 2017? 

How much of our work will be crushed and swept into the garbage?

What will survive to nourish and bring good pleasure to those around us? 

Please join me to prayerfully consider what will be built in 2017, 

in our lives and in the lives of those we love.

To ponder - Psalm 127:1

Unless the LORD builds a house, the work of the builders is wasted.

Quite a Trick

The Christmas tree is up and trimmed. 

It's our tradition to slug all the holiday containers down from the attic, order 

Chinese food, and decorate the tree and house in one evening

with It's a Wonderful Life playing in the background.

My family's favorite part of this might be the egg rolls.

But this year, I sensed an undertone that surprised me. 

Turns out I wasn't the only one to figure out that this is our last holiday like all those 

that came before. I knew it, of course—our Oldest is on the brink of buying a home of 

his own, our Second is getting married in the spring, and our Youngest is off to college 

next fall. Yes, for sure, next Christmas will be very different. 

And it seemed that each of us paused for just a moment and nodded to that fact.

One of the tricks of parenting adults and almost-adults, I think, must be 

to spend more time anticipating what's to come than clinging to what's passed by. 

Not an easy trick, my friends, especially with a bellyful of shrimp lo mein.

Can We Talk?

Come now, 

and let us reason together, saith the Lord: 

though your sins be as scarlet, 

they shall be as white as snow..." Isaiah 1:18

more here 

And a story snapshot:

     Janine dusted the snow from the iron patio chair and took a seat on the very edge to peer upward into her son's face. Something was wrong. She knew it, just as she knew how the house keys had been misplaced. The weekday rush caught her out this morning. Her keys perched inside, on the hook by the back door, and she was locked outside with her almost-a-man son. His brother would be home soon, with keys, and they would all troop inside—the opportunity for conversation lost. Focusing her gaze on his face, the set of his brow, and the cast of his mouth, Janine determined to do her best to invite his confidence. "I think something's bothering you. Would you like to talk about it...?"

Best-Ever Christmas Gift

When my boys were little, I asked them for one gift - a Christmas song.

Not just any old, raggedy holiday song, but a real Christmas carol - a hymn.

No shopping or cash required; no wrapping paper, scissors, or tape to worry about.

Perfect!

My request generated hushed practices behind closed bedroom doors, and stray 

sheets of music threatened to ruin the surprise. Occasionally a musical instrument 

made it into the mix, and my favorite song ever, "We Three Kings", included props. 

I love that they were committing sacred, and sometimes ancient, phrases to memory:

"Come, desire of nations, come; Fix in us thy humble home."

"... to save us all from satan's power when we have gone astray ..."

"Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:'God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;'"

Many years later, I'm still asking for my Christmas hymn. 

Every year, it's the last gift given, sometimes almost forgotten in all the December 25th excitement. 

My men and almost-men line up amid discarded paper wrapping and empty boxes to sing. 

It's my favorite gift, by far the best three minutes of Christmas Day.

And just imagine how this might work out in the years to come. Lord willing, 

daughters-in-law will join in giving me this cheap and easy-to-wrap gift, and maybe ... 

even the grandkids will sing along someday.

What a gift that would be!

What About the Innkeeper?

Here's a re-made version of an old photo of our "play creche"
with words from one of my favorite Christmas carols.

Click on over to Jeanne Doyon's blog, Pausing to See God Clearly, to see the 
back story behind the photo.  
and find out why the innkeeper never got out to play.
Here's a link to her blog. Make sure to check back in the new year - 
Jeanne always has great content on her blog. 

Summer Dinner - Upscale BLTs

I could eat BLT sandwiches every night. 

Ask my family - EVERY night.

I tried it, but quickly ran out of tomatoes. 

There's plenty of green and very little red out there. 

Is this what summer in Canada is like?

This is my first time growing basil. 

Aside from pesto, I wasn't exactly sure what to do with it, and there's so much of it!

A dear pal noticed my abundant basil bush and promised to share 

her  superspecial  basil mayo recipe. 

The one from her Tried and True, Lifelong Cookbook.

The one especially for BLTs.

This is my modified version - less basil, more hot sauce, extra mayo. 

Put these in the blender, and you'll wind up with a glorious, basil-green mayo. 

1 c fresh basil, loosely packed

1 c mayo

2 tsp lemon juice

1 garlic clove, minced

1/2 to 1 tsp hot sauce

Go all out and make specialty bacons for your sandwiches. 

I arrange my pound of bacon on a heavy cooking sheet and let it 

bake in the oven instead of frying it, which eliminates the stove-top mess. 

Before baking, sprinkle with ground pepper to make peppered bacon. 

Sprinkle brown sugar across your pan of uncooked bacon and you'll end up with 

sugared bacon that will make your family happyhappyhappy. 

Prepare to be bacon hero of the day. You might be carried around the backyard 

on the shoulders of delirious, bacon-eating admirers - who knows? 

I can almost hear the cheering crowd...

* Caution - add too much brown sugar and you'll have a scorched mess. 

And, do I have to say it?  Sourdough, people!

The meal theme for the last family gathering here was ... 

"BLT Blowout."

It was easy to knock out almost all the preparations ahead of time;

only the bacon required last minute attention.

Great articles with all the details of throwing a BLT party here.

Worth It

Look - there they go! 

My family. 

I love to lag behind and watch them walk ahead of me.

When my boys were little, love for them overwhelmed me sometimes.

Can you identify?

As they've turned into adults, my mostly-grown men have put us through 

some wear and tear. It's the way of transformation - 

bystanders often sustain injuries. 

Can you identify?

But family vacations have magical, healing properties.

The air of  other places  threads between and around each person, 

and silken bonds of shared memories twine among us.

Vacation jokes, navigation mishaps, food indulgences, music choices - 

things we'll talk over, and laugh about, for years to come.

We would certainly have more dollars in the bank if we bypassed these trips.

Every year, we consider this fact.

Right before we begin to make plans to go again. 

* * *

Check out these vacation websites - you can take a vacation 

and keep some dollars in your pocket, too. 

Here and here. 

Fishing

Fishing has been a part of our warm-weather seasons around here ... forever.

In our dating years, my wonderful husband and I spent hours sitting lakeside, watching bobbers float on rippled, glass-like surfaces. Good conversations had a chance to bloom out there, and our friendship grew. 

The mini powdered donuts just enhanced the romance. 

As soon as our little boys were able to cast a line, they joined the fishing crew, the differing levels of their 

patience dictating the success and/or failure of a fishing trip. For quite a while, My Youngest thought he was really fishing with just a long stick resting in the shallow water's edge. He would take his stick-pole out of the water to examine the wet tip and wonder aloud:  WHY are the fish not biting??? 

Eventually, he became the most avid fisherman of the group, except for his dad, of course.

When our boys were learning the art of angling, I watched my husband give up his fishing opportunities 

to detangle lines from branches, re-bait hooks, remove and celebrate every hooked fish. 

And isn't that what parenting is so often about? 

That high-demand season of life passed, not so quickly, but still, it did pass, 

and now my husband again fishes uninterrupted. His boys can all fish on their own. 

Now their camraderie is what I admire, on display as they share lures and bait, advice and taunts.

 And, of course - powdered donuts.

no romance included

Home Again

A week is  along time to be on vacation. 

It can get a little big jiggy at the end.

Three adult-sized males 

crammed in the rear of even a generously sized (rented) SUV can be 

unenthusiastic travel companions when facing an eight hour drive home.

 It makes coming home all the sweeter, doesn't it?

Vacation photos of the fun part - - - soon to follow.

***

My speedwell was going strong a couple of weeks ago. Bees love the purple-blue spikes which are upright and colorful all the way to the end of their bloom time. When they're finished though, they're like  old ladies who've been too long at the ball - they lay all over gasping and taking up too much room. I trim mine back to about three inches. They look awful for a couple of weeks, while the other plants fill in and disguise their rough mornings. But soon speedwell will green back up and make nice foliage plants with a stray bloom here and there for the rest of the summer. They love the sun but will also bloom in pretty deep shade.

 

Man Wrap

Inventive tagging by one of My Sons.

He wouldn't mind - go ahead and 'PIN' this to your  Clever Gift-Wrap board.

Or maybe your Man Wrap board?

Warm Blossoms

Today I saw this as I was sending another one of my men out the front door and into their world.

Brand new sunbeams on apple blossoms - what!

I pointed it out, and the dear man nodded and made appreciative sounds, 

but his mind was already racing away and ahead to all that he would begin as he stepped outside.

 Having the great privilege of remaining in pajama pants for at least another ...

for as long as I want, I went to find the camera. 

Husband says that these trees are quite old, and that they won't last but another 

couple of years - that this might be, in fact, their last bloom. When we moved here, there

was a small grove of six, and now only two remain, and those with hollow spots and

(gasp!)  recent tomahawk wounds. 

The sun was just coming up over the tree line to meet the creamy pink blooms.

There was a frost here last night, so the rest of the yard is in frosty grey, while

these are transformed with buttery warmth. 

Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; righteousness and peace kiss each other.

Faithfulness springs up from the ground, and righteousness  looks down from the sky.

Yes, the Lord will give what is good, and our land will yield its increase.

Psalm 85:10-12

Holiday Sounds

In the Christmas season, every opening of our front door is accompanied by the jingle of bells.

A leather strap of bells, I don't remember where it came from, is dug from the boxes of Holiday This and That and hung on the door handle, as soon as it gets all Christmasy around here. 
They fall to the floor often, which aggravates the Men and the Almost-Men 
of the house. I heard one of them grumble last week, 
"Why do we have these on the door anyway???"
Because I like them! 
The sound can be heard almost anywhere you might be in the house,
announcing someone's coming or going, which seem like holiday sounds, to me. 
I didn't try to explain that, though; I just pretended not to hear.
 I find it best to use words somewhat sparingly around here. 
Now if they had really wanted to know ... I would've explained. 

Sometime in the (far) future, as the boys establish their own households, 
we'd like to gift them each with a set of Christmas bells for their own entry doors.

I wonder if they'll still grumble?

***Miscellany Monday***

The Blow Gun Market

Have I mentioned the Smokey Mountain Knife Works 

or how much of my life I've spent wandering around there, 

trying to make sense of what all those stuffed and mounted animals are trying to say?

Yes, well - if I haven't, then never mind ... except I must say that 

they sell blow (dart) guns there.

 I'll bet you've never considered that someone CAN purchase 

a blow gun ... anywhere, right?

I mean WHO would WANT to?

A thirteen year old boy, that's who.

("Take a picture of this mom! It's soooo cool!")

Carving Contest

BEFORE

"You keep going on that ... I'll just take a couple of photos real quick ..."

We used to have alot of pudgy little boy hands 'helping' with the carving. Now our Almost-Men were either on their way to the party (if we're lucky), or carving their own entry with a sweet girl   friend (not necessarily a girlfriend, no space), or abstaining (which is similar to disdaining).

So My Man and I were on our own this year. He might say he was on his own this year, judging from the photo below. 

(more) beauty and design in the goop

AFTER

What a nice crowd of pumpkins we had at the family pumpkin carving contest! Lots of effort and thought went into these, especially MWH's and mine (far left), but we still didn't win.  Dang! And the prize was a bag of real-looking plastic cockroaches, too! 

Or tooth-black ... that went to the chili-cook off winner.

Nice!

 Check out that bottom left one - we all mocked it in the daylight. The carver spent time trying to explain how the face was supposed to look. Said he thought he must've botched it, somehow. But when the candles were lit --- AMAZING! 

Makes me think of the man in the moon!

Can you guess which one was the winner?