Life Specs

 The older I get, the sharper the focus on my life specs. 

Life specs? You have them, too. 
It's the way you see the world.
The way you see life.

The way you see YOUR life. 

How do you choose to view the twists and turns of life here--as 

random splashes of blessing mixed with strokes of bad luck? 

Perhaps you believe with me that there is a greater plan. 

Right now, life has become a rougher ride than I enjoy, 

and my specs have been bounced around. 

But I'm holding fast to the good news that God's grand plan 

is always going forward without a hitch. 

Will you hold on with me? 

Find out more here and here. 

A Long Line of Storytellers

Telling stories with words is what I do on a most-days basis. My writer's toolbox 

contains an overheating computer equipped with apps and programs, tattered and 

scattered notepads, and a certain kind of pencil. Words come to me—or I 

hop around on one foot, trying to catch a few out of thin air—and 

I string them together like pearls on a thin thread. It's a sweaty business. 

Some of the women in my line told stories in field-furrowed paragraphs, 

with seed-sown punctuation. Farm wives 

spun tales of glorious seasons of plenty, and grim ones of 

bootstraps and tightened belts. Their story endings depended 

on the crop, the weather, and the goodness of God. 
 
A few spread their tables with another kind of saga, offering

 mashed-potato mountains rising over fried-chicken foothills, neatly

 lapped by a river of gravy. Basket-weave piecrusts and hand-churned ice cream

 spoke welcome, confidence, and a certain sort of love too delicious to decline.

 
Other matriarchs stitched their memoirs with needle and thread. 

Cotton-cloth leftovers and flour-sack scraps pieced together

 and spread over a bed. Its maker read aloud her quilt creation

chapter by chapter, weaving tales prompted by bright-worn shapes:

"I wore this dress to your mother's wedding. 

What a rainy day that was ..."
"See here, your granddad's best church shirt. 

That was an Easter we'd never forget ..."
"Your brother had pajamas in this same pattern. 

I never knew a boy to work so hard at play…" 

One of these needle-and-thread masterpieces blankets my worktable. 

Its stories cushion my elbows as I search for the next word, the sturdiest sentence, 

the perfect turn-of-phrase. 

So you see, I come from a long line of storytellers ... and you do, too.

What sort of tales did your forebearers tell before you began to spin your own?

Summer Snapshots

The pandemic season may have kept me out 

of the garden centers, but my mailbox has done 

a brisk business. Park Seed Company provided 

wonderful seed packets in early spring. 

The entire process of planting and watering provided 

the perfect distraction from virus droplets, 

un-flattened curves, and

the mask/no-mask debate. 

And look at just two of the rewards of that labor: 

cleome

dwarf mix sunflower

This little stripey gourd is from last fall's leftovers.

We're enjoying lots of family gatherings.

Our backyard has never seemed more like a safe haven 

than it does now. 

But we're going out into the wide world soon, 

if we can only remember how to vacation out there.

 I found this reminder from 2015:

My family has changed so drastically since this vacation 

photo was taken. Instead of five, we are nine. 

And now I'm not the only female among men—

I'm joined by three amazing lovelies. 

Together, I think we balance out the group well. 

Grandchildren provide endless entertainment, 

hugs, and giggles—the biggest upgrade of all.

Read the vacation blog post from 2015 here. 

"Worth It" 

Plenty of Space

Sapphire skies host cotton candy clouds while

drowsy river waters float Kentucky kayaks

and carry conversations,

bouncing laughter bank to bank and back. 

Paddles dip, then lift and switch—

providing plenty of space for the 

what-ifs, 

how-abouts, 

and did-you-evers

which stitch our summer together.

Please, Please ...

Recently a dear friend asked me if I've ever eaten fiddleheads. 

Have I ever consumed miniature packets of potential, bundles of soon-to-unfurl beauty?

No way, no how.

Ferns are among the most tenacious of garden ladies. 

While other plants continue to snooze under winter blankets of cold leaves and chilly air, 

ferns stretch their lovely limbs and gather weakly-warm sunbeams. 

And like this intrepid example, they grow anywhere a spore may land—even on

 the face of a brick wall in Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia. 

My vacationing family kept walking while I lagged behind to admire, and be inspired by, this 

persistent plant—untended, unplanned, and possibly only appreciated by me.

And now, you. 

There's much to learn from this unlikely teacher, the humble fern. 

 So please, please—don't eat the fiddleheads. 

***

Other garden ladies I've observed here and here. 

It's Married

Touring an art museum with a little one is an adventure not to be missed. 

Especially at Christmas. 

(whispered conversation, of course)

"Look there—do you see Baby Jesus?"

"Yes!"

"And who's that with him?" 

"Married."

Hummingbird Nectar Recipe

They're curious and eager in early spring.

Brilliant, winged beggars actually peer in my kitchen windows. 

They're looking for me, demanding attention. 

The earliest hummingbirds seem to prompt, "Hey—feed us!"

As spring grows older they grow bolder, sipping sugar no matter who's nearby.

We have deep-summer memories of laying under the hummingbird feeder, 

watching them joust through the heat and into the dusk.

In late August, their feeding becomes frantic, they guard and defend.
 The nectar wars begin ... 

... and this guy always wins.

Some tips for feeding hummingbirds: 

* Hang the feeder in the open where it's easily found. 
Near a flower bed or container garden is ideal.

* I use Miss Helen's simple recipe: 

1 cup water + 1/4 cup sugar. No need to boil, just stir until the 

sugar is completely dissolved. 

* Keep the feeder clean. Before you refill it, empty it and scrub it. 
Make sure to rinse away any soap residue. 

* Make it impossible for ants to ruin your feeder by using an ant moat. 

It's the easiest and cleanest way to keep ants away from the nectar.

Do you feed hummingbirds? 
I'd love to hear your stories and comments. 
Meanwhile, enjoy this and this. 
And you must see this. 

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.

Almost Ready

I'm almost ready for this. 

And this—the Christmas Eve Spoons game.

I know ... it can get a little bit violent. Great-Grandma's pedestal table 

rocks and sways when cookie-drunk players grab the closest spoon. 

If you've never played here are the directions.

And here's a video example, but these people remain seated almost all the time.

Not enough cookies.

If, in the hustle and bustle of the holidays, 

you find your heart unprepared for Christmas, 

here's a link to Advent messages from John Piper.
He applies the most unexpected Bible passages to the Advent season. 

They're short, and you can listen or read them.

Brick-Wall Window

"Hey, Suzy." 

"Yeah, Buddy?"

"What's this window for?"

"Well ... I guess it's sort of a ... decoration."

"Right, because you can't see anything through it."

"Right ..."

The conversation happened at a recent family gathering, but I wasn't bothered.

My capacity for imagination has been with me as long as I can remember. I'm drawn to:

closed doors, latched boxes,

keyholes, pathways, 

abandoned doors, misplaced ladders,

and yes, old windows with a view to nothing.

I've come to realize that my fondness for such things is a Creator-given trait, 

an invaluable gift which empowers me to write. 

And with a little bit of imagination, my friend just might realize that this

brick-wall window does indeed have a view, of sorts. 

Four-Layer Cereal Treats or Lake House Snacks

If you take your clan to a lake house, they're going to want these. 

This weekend I saw someone in a float, munching one of these

and paddling along with the other hand. Sunshine, water, and a good snack—bliss!

These layered cereal treats are easy to make ahead, look special, transport well, and ...

they're so easy!

Prepare: 
Completely line two 9"x13" pans with parchment paper. Coat the parchment lining with cooking spray. 

Gather ingredients: 
1 stick butter, divided 
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 tablespoons cocoa powder
6 1/2 cups plain crispy rice cereal
6 1/2 cups cocoa-flavored crispy cereal
2 10-ounce packages of mini marshmallows

Instructions:
In a large non-stick pan, combine 4 T. butter, vanilla, and one package of marshmallows over low heat. Stir until the marshmallows are completely melted. Remove from heat and add the plain cereal. Stir until the cereal is coated. Divide the cereal mixture in half and spread each half evenly in the bottom of the pans using a buttered spoon back. Press it gently into flat layers. You should have two pans, each containing a flattened layer of vanilla cereal mixture.

In the same non-stick pan, combine remaining butter, cocoa, and one package of marshmallows over low heat. Stir until the marshmallows are completely melted. Remove from heat and add the cocoa cereal. Stir until the cereal is coated. Divide this mixture in half and spoon it over the first layers in each pan. Using the buttered spoon, spread and press it evenly over the first layers, making the second layers. You will have two pans, each with two layers—vanilla and chocolate.

While the layers are still warm, carefully lift one of the parchment linings with its two layers and place it lightly in the other 9x13 pan, on top of its two layers. Gently slide the parchment paper out, creating four layers. Press lightly to join the layers.  

Cool completely, then use a buttered knife to cut.
*Hint: Use a plastic knife to cut these or any kind of sticky dessert. The treat won't stick to a plastic knife and the pieces will be neat and tidy, with the layers intact.

Customize:
Sprinkle mini-chocolate chips before you transfer the topping layers and create a yummy filling. Look for strawberry-flavored crispy rice cereal and create a Neopolitan-style layered treat with three layers of color and flavor. The plain cereal will accept any flavor or food coloring to match the theme of a party or event. 

Letter Treasures

I visited with a dear friend recently, chicken soup in hand. 

She had a health crisis behind her, if only a few days behind.

Miraculously—and I don't use the word lightly—her cancer was found at such an early stage 

that radical surgery was enough to take care of the entire problem. 

The cancer's progress wasn't determined until the operation was underway, so my friend 

went into the operating room not knowing what the news would be when she awoke.

In preparation, she organized her desk, stocked her pantry, and ...

... wrote letters.

She penned letters to her children who, though married adults, found themselves at loose ends 

to witness their healthy-as-a-horse mother in a state of emergency. I imagine those missives

 must have been line upon line of fierce mother-love and faith-filled 

confidence in the grownups her babies had become. 

And a letter for her husband—not one telling him what to do if she died, 

never that. Instead, I'm sure it was filled with fond recollections of a youthful romance, 

assurances of lasting love, and reminders of future dreams yet unrealized.

Ever since I read Letters from Dad, the urging to write a yearly letter to each of my own 

family has been ever-present. I even found the (above) retro envelopes for the letters.

Although writing is my work, these messages have stumped me for several 

years now. But my friend's brave actions have inspired me again. 

Do you have a treasured letter from someone important to you? 

I'd love to hear about that.

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!

Thanksgiving Hopes

A house fire of mold swept the interior of our Tiny House pumpkin-carving contest entry.

Just another sign that Halloween is long gone, friends, and Thanksgiving is upon us.

A turkey is nesting in my refrigerator, taking up way too much room.

My Middle Son asked for his favorite "McDonald's dressing," and I'll make it, 

just because it makes the house smell wonderful. 

What about a Thanksgiving stuffing scented candle instead of vanilla frosting? 

Chicken pot pie in a tall pillar candle instead of peach cobbler? 

Anyone?

I hope conversation this Thanksgiving will be filled with love—the 

kind of love that jumps over high fences of social and political issues 

for a hearty kiss and hug on the welcome mat.

I hope to enjoy simple, catching-up questions like, 

"How is your work?" 

"What do you put in these green beans?" 

"Did your gardens close well?"

and "What are you reading?"

May our conversations be seasoned with remember-when laughter 

and not spoiled by the angry rehash of 2016 headlines.

It may prove too much to hope for, but ... I plan to do my part. 

Will you? 

You will be enriched in every way to be generous in every way, 

which through us will produce thanksgiving to God.

2 Corinthians 9:11

More Thanksgiving thoughts here.

Fall Flowers & Family

The garden is starting to slide downhill in my Kentucky acre,

but it still has lots to offer.

The Coral Drift rose bush is turning cartwheels in a garden plot where everything

else is finished for the season. 

My garden true love, Heavenly Blue morning glory, finally reached the top of 

the tepee and is blooming like crazy. It's one tall, majestic cascade of sky blue.

But they're best appreciated up close. These lucky black bugs think so too.

More on morning glories from a few years ago here.

And as always, the zinnia is the hardy hero that saves the fall garden.

Zinnias bloom and bloom and bloom without any attention. 

Extra watering, deadheading, staking—it's just not going to happen in October. 

This photo was taken a month ago today. It was a Friday night, just before a backyard 

party. My husband arrived home from the vet with bad news—

our family dog only of fourteen years had very little time left 

and there was nothing to be done to help. 

"I want to get a photo of all of us with her."

My Middle Son put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Then we should do it now."

So we did. 

I stopped filling coolers and Steve put away the grilling tools. 

All the guys delayed their work/school/social schedules long enough to get this photo.

It's a keeper.