Lady of the Flowers

When Mom and Dad, shortly before we lost Dad, moved out of their house and into a beautiful condo, there were too many things they couldn't take with them, especially yard decor.  So we siblings took some of the best things, the ones that said "home" and were difficult to let go of.  We promised Mom they would have a place of honour in our homes or yards.

Here's what I've done with one of the most beautiful pieces that found its way to our country mile.

It seems to me that our Lady deserves the prettiest flowers in the world and I'm pleased that she stands here to bring blessings our way, as we honour her ... and my parents' devotion to the Mother of our Lord.

Berry Picking Lessons

Guess what I found right here on my own country mile?

And look how I had to cover up to survive the hordes of mosquitoes.  Fortunately, it wasn't a very hot day when I discovered that all those shrubs on the east side of the house are saskatoon bushes.  I knew we had some of these shrubs at the corner where the land slopes so sharply that I can't even stand there, thanks to my chronically inflamed tendons.  "The squire" would bring me a few juicy morsels each year to nibble and I would wish that there were more so that I could make a batch of jelly occasionally.  There's nothing more delicious than saskatoon jelly on a bagel or toast.

It happened that as I gazed out of my study window a few days ago, daydreaming when I should have been writing, I noticed little points of reddish purple and deep blue-purple on some of the shrubs only a few feet away from the window.  Curious, I braved the insects to investigate and realized that those points of colour were berries.  Surely, I thought, there would be enough for a few desserts; sweet, ripe saskatoons are wonderful on ice-cream!

The more I picked, the more I found.  I exchanged the small plastic margarine tub I had grabbed for an ice-cream pail... and filled it almost half full.  But the branches with the thickest clusters of berries were at the steeply sloping spot where I couldn't go.  I was so grateful the squire came to my rescue and picked almost another half pail full from those bushes.

Don't they look good?

While I was picking, I was flooded with childhood memories of berry-picking excursions with Dad on warm summer afternoons.  He'd load us all into the huge, old Country Squire station wagon (of course, it was the latest in family transportation then) and we'd drive along country roads, looking for saskatoons or wild raspberries.  Each child had a plastic container fastened to his or her waist with an old belt so that both hands were free to pluck berries from branches we had pulled into our reach or Dad had pulled down for us and showed us how to hold them with one hand, pick into our containers with the other, and then release the branch so that it would spring back unharmed.

And, while I'm definitely older than I was then, most of the berry-picking realities I experienced then were exactly the same now.  The best looking clusters are always just out of reach.  And if you drop one, it's only a waste of time trying to find it.  A few not-so-ripe berries in the pail aren't bad; they will actually continue to ripen for a while after they're picked.

When you decide you'll rely on the breeze to keep the bugs down, the breeze will die as soon as you are committed to picking. The mosquitoes will always find the one spot you missed covering with repellant (nasty stuff but necessary out here).  Bites on your hands and wrists are the itchiest of all.

And I learned some new things as well.  I realized that these bushes had been here all along but hadn't flourished until the wind storm a few years ago thinned out the forest and made it possible for them to benefit from extra sunlight.  I wasn't happy to admit it but the loss of my beloved trees had led to something good.

My cane made a very handy tool for pulling out-of-reach branches toward me.  My beagles were both a help and a hindrance.  Baxter sat faithfully nearby, sniffing the breeze and I had no doubt he would alert me if a bear were to choose my bushes for a mid-afternoon snack. Coco romped around chasing scents, toads, and moths and tried to eat my berries from the pail every time I had to set it down for a minute. 

Then there were so many good memories of Dad patiently admiring what a good bush I'd found, how cleanly I'd picked, and how many I'd picked.  While we were picking, Dad, a life-long nature lover, would tell us all about the birds and the wildflowers we saw; it seemed he knew everything!  On our weary and mosquito-bitten drive home, he'd tell us what a good job we'd done and predict that Mom would be so pleased with how much jam or jelly she could make for us to enjoy in the winter and that we would enjoy it so much more knowing that we had picked the berries ourselves.

And sure enough, she always did and the jam or jelly was always delicious.

2 Beautiful Women, 4 Wonderful Days

I've been blessed, over my lifetime thus far, to have enjoyed many fulfilling and stimulating friendships.  Some have lasted for years and years, some for shorter spans, and some since I was as young as two and three years old.

Recently I got to spend four wonderful days with two beautiful women that I've known and loved since childhood.

They and I spent the four days traveling to Fargo, ND and then on to Minneapolis, MN for a time of rest, bonding, and shopping.  We explored the Nicolette Mall in Minneapolis, toured part of that city in a bicycle cab after a lovely supper at The Brit on their sidewalk patio, and spent part of a day shopping outlet stores in nearby Albertville.

We have similar tastes in food, clothing, ideas of fun, and in our ways of doing things.  These amazing women are patient, intelligent, wise, non-judgmental, and great fun.  And they regularly said things just as complimentary about me.  What more could you ask for in a friend?

"Why," I asked them at one point, "didn't we appreciate each other this much when we were children or very young women?"  

"Because we were too young and too intent on creating our own lives and establishing ourselves as individuals?" suggested one.  That made sense to me; I know from my training that those are among the developmental tasks of young adulthood.
"Because we just didn't have that level of wisdom yet," offered the other, which I thought was a good way to summarize the whole thing.

So, if those are the true reasons, and I suspect they are, I'm so glad that I'm now old enough and wise enough to appreciate and treasure these two wonderful sister-friends.  And I can hardly wait for our next mini-vacation.

A Tale of Two Movies

Last week we watched two movies that could not possibly have been more different from one another in their impact, although both began with the potential to be great entertainment, each in its own way.  Friday evening we saw Hit and Run, starring Dax Shepard, Kristin Bell, and Tom Arnold.  A couple of nights later we watched The Magic of Belle Isle, with Morgan Freeman and Virginia Madsen.

Hit and Run could have worked well as a drama, a typical chase movie, or as a comedy.  It was presented as a comedy and could have been hilarious, especially with the fine acting by Tom Arnold, but it was so crude that it's hard to imagine that anyone needs to use the f-bomb that often.  My children at four years old had a more varied vocabulary than the principle actors of this movie.  In the interests of cultural realism, one could accept a few less-than-desireable words but this was extreme to the point of ridicule.  Language should not detract or distract from the plot or the calibre of the acting in a movie.  Enough said.

The Magic of Belle Isle was an entirely different experience.  It also had the potential to use crude language but chose not to.  Morgan Freeman played a cynical, alcoholic, embittered-about-life writer.  One could well imagine that such a character's language might, in real life, be pretty raw at times.  The rawness was well portrayed without the use of crude language and left me enchanted with elements like the plot, the acting, the cinematography, and the dramatic potential.  

This movie created a space for all the real emotions of life, whereas Hit and Run exaggerated them, making a caricature of human responses to challenge or stress.  I would highly recommend The Magic of Belle Isle, if you're looking for a real story about real people who deal with life and sadness in honest and real ways.  And a happy ending, of course!

Life Lessons From My Garden

One of the things I appreciate most about living here on my own country mile is having a garden.  Our sandy soil (much more sand than soil) made that seem impossible at first until "the Squire" built me raised garden beds which he obligingly filled with rich topsoil.  Now I can grow whatever I want to my heart's content.

Each time I undertake to weed my garden, as I did this past weekend, I find myself thinking of analogies to life.  Some weeds are obviously that: weeds, undesirable, in need of removal for the good of my garden.  Others are questionable: is this a weed or perhaps something I planted, maybe some dill that reseeded itself from last year's garden? or perhaps a tiny tomato plant also reseeded from last year's tomatoes?  Sometimes I'm not sure and I choose to leave it grow for a while until I can see better what it is.

Sometimes weeds are sneaky, growing so close to a desirable plant, that they seem to grow out of the same hole in the soil as the bean, pea, or cucumber plant I'm trying to cultivate.  Then I need to decide if I will risk uprooting my vegetable plant to get rid of the weed.   Other weeds hide under the leaves of my vegetables and I don't see them until they are so big that again, I risk damaging my vegetables to uproot them.  The sneakiest of all are the ones that look very much like my vegetables.  I found a climbing vine-like weed that fit right in with my pole beans; it even had similar leaves in a similar shade of green.

Jesus, when he was on earth, often used agricultural metaphors to describe truths we would need in life.

Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: But while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way.
But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also.
So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares?
He said unto them, An enemy hath done this. The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we go and gather them up?
But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the tares, ye root up also the wheat with them.
Let both grow together until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.

(Matthew 13:24-30)
Sometimes we have the same dilemma in our gardens -or in our lives- we have to let the weeds (evil or sin) exist because we would do harm to goodness by uprooting it.  And sometimes, like the weeds in my garden, we're not sure which is which because the evil might masquerade as good, or hide behind the truth.  That's not to say we should become complacent; as soon as we can we will uproot the evil, just like in my garden where, as soon as I know for sure what's a weed and what's not, and what's safe to pull without harming the vegetables, I will get rid of every single one.

And that's what the Holy Spirit plants in my brain every time I weed my garden.  Who knew weeding could be so spiritually uplifting?

Coming Together

Last weekend my family and I conquered a major hurdle, something we were all a little anxious about, I suspect.  We had our first family reunion without Dad.

I  found the day quite difficult in some ways and inspiring in others.  It was difficult because Dad's absence was so blatant; it could not be ignored.  It was inspiring and affirming because Dad's enduring presence in this family revealed itself in many ways.

I have nephews who look a lot like Dad, so I saw him in them.  Some took the time to talk to me of Dad, what he meant in their lives, and what they had learned from him.  We sighted eagles soaring over my brother's cottage where we had gathered and we all spoke of Dad's love for nature and extensive knowledge of birds.  Someone made a grammar mistake and Mom and I glanced at each other with a little smile as we imagined Dad gently correcting and explaining the rule that had been broken.

One nephew told me that he thought of Dad whenever he had to make a choice and was tempted to choose the less noble option.  "Then I think of Opa and what he would think if I chose this course ... and I make the better choice."  That reminds me of the poem we included at the end of Dad's eulogy:

When through one man

a little more love and goodness,

a little more light and truth

come into the world,

then that man's life has meaning.

(Alfred Delp)

 

The truth is that this man's life continues in his family, a family whose values, knowledge, and closeness grew out of who he was and what he taught us, just by being himself, quietly and modestly, as was his way.

Look Before I Leap

I'm still chuckling tonight at my own foolishness and I'm also proud of a recent accomplishment ... even if I did come off looking a little naive.

I write for a Christian news magazine, submitting a piece on a counselling theme approximately once every couple of months.  As I prepared a few nights ago to send away my article for the July 5th deadline (I like to be a little early with deadlines), I realized that this was the last one I was contracted for.  So I included a message for my editor that expounded on how much I had enjoyed writing the pieces and asking  to be considered for more assignments in the next year's column planning.

Then I hit SEND and the whole thing, article attachment and request to continue writing for the column, whooshed away to my editor.  Next, feeling at loose ends since I had no assignment to begin planning, I decided to check my emails, only to discover one from - you guessed it - my editor.  And - you guessed it again - I was asked to consider writing several more pieces for the magazine's upcoming publication year!

And all of this left me feeling quite proud at the compliments the editor paid my writing and just a little foolish for not having checked emails first.  But definitely more proud and pleased than anything else.

Good Book Review

I just finished reading a great novel.  This multi-generational epic story has something for everyone.  Intrigue, betrayal, faithfulness, romance, family tensions, coming-of-age themes, spirituality, politics, history, and travel: this novel includes them all.

It’s a story I’d read before but this time I noticed a lot of things that I’d never paid much attention to before.  I think I was reading through different eyes: my writer’s eyes.  So I paid attention to how the author held his readers’ attention, how the suspense was built and drawn out to the fullest extent, and how the novel ended with the story’s many themes coming full circle.

By now, I’m sure you’ve guessed that the engrossing story I just finished reading was Genesis, the first book of the Bible.  A couple of weeks ago, I undertook to begin reading it at the beginning and make my way right through to the end, reading for pleasure and enjoyment as much as for faith-building.  And I’m a little surprised just how much I did enjoy the first “installment” of the love story between God and humanity.

I can hardly wait to start reading the sequel (hopefully tonight).  It’s called Exodus.