Not "THE" but "A"

On the second week of home schooling the curriculum gave to me "calendar time."  Calendar time is not as easy as saying the days of the week.  Ohhhhhh noooooooooo!  Suggested activities for calendar time include counting the days we've been in school, skip counting by 10s (in kindy?  really?) Writing all kinds of sentences, singing songs, reviewing months, checking weather etc, etc.  If I did all the things listed on the 3 pages I'D be exhausted before we even began lessons never mind the kids.

So today we got the day of the week down then  T checked weather in both Ohio and Kamloops on my ipad.  Compare and contrast.  Eventually I'll make N a cute little weather wheel.  For now he just looked out the window.  We wrote some sentences that resulted in T having a major meltdown.  I told him that he could be a guest writer here to improve his writing skills. 

Eventually I'd like to add the cute little calendar things like telling them that according to the people who make up silly calendar stuff, yesterday was teddy bear day.  They'll love that Wednesday is chocolate milkshake day as well as being video game day. 

When they're older we'll do "on this day in history."  Obviously no research needed on what tomorrows entry would be in fact the new calendar calls it "Patriot Day."  .  But September 11 in our family has it's own personal history as well.  Something significant happened to our family not on THE September 11th but on A September 11th.

I wasn't here the day the world stopped turning (cue Alan Jackson song).  I mean that I wasn't here in the U.S. but nor was I home.  I was in stuck-in-the-middle-of-nowhere South Korea.  I had spotty Internet, a huge time difference, no foreigners around and lots of chaos because until that moment I didn't know that New York City HAD Twin Towers.  It was a week before I'd make it to the foreign church in a large city an hour away.  The first opportunity I had to talk about the events in English.  When I returned home to Canada 3 weeks later everybody was sick of talking about it.  I will always feel that I missed out on something.  There is something to be said about walking in to the hair salon,  seeing what's on the TV there, and being able to discuss.  There's something about standing in line at a grocery store and reading a headline.  Then having the lady behind you say "isn't that a shame?"  That proves to me that sometimes grief is a collective experience.  I guess that's why we have grief support groups.

On September 11th of the NEXT year I was back in Korea.  This time in the large city with the foreign church.  I went to dinner with friends and we reminisced.  Or more like "clung" to each other.  Foreigners spend a long time clinging to each other no matter what the circumstances.

Ahhhhhhh but on September 11 of the year after that my life changed dramatically.  On September 11, 2003 I got engaged.  To the first man I'd ever talked on the phone to.  To the first man I'd ever kissed.  To a man I'd never met in person before that day.  D and I had met on line only 6 weeks before.  Until then I'd never talked to a boy on the phone, never had a boyfriend.  Not for any religious reasons just because I hadn't found anyone I was interested in.   My mom used to joke that even though the best china  was left on the shelf, it occasionally got down to be dusted.  D flew from St. Louis to Vancouver and my parents and I were there to meet the plane.  He kissed me hello and hours later asked me to marry him.  6 weeks after that we were married.  A year after that we were awaiting the birth of baby T. 

I didn't get to publicly mourn THE September 11th, but I sure got to celebrate on A September 11th. 

We've plunged!

God will sometimes walk a pastor through  a sermon before they preach on it.  This years MOPS theme is "PLUNGE; love as if your life depended on it." from 1 Peter 4:8.  Since the last time I was here my family has plunged in to a lot of new things with many more just beginning.  It's kind of been a tidal wave of stuff, mostly good.  The best part is that no matter how deep the water I'm in, I hear the lifeguard walks on water. 

We have a new church that D is the youth pastor of.  .  This one is in a nice suburb close by. (The last one was rural and therefore stuck in the middle of nowhere.)  This one is on  our way to everywhere and that helps.  It is still the same denomination although more conservative than the last.  Great pastor.  Most importantly we ALL go to it.  Last time we didn't and that didn't work out.  The boys and I still go to the Baptist church on Wednesday nights and that IS still working.

We have a new pet or two.  Mr. Crab came home with us from Florida about a year ago.  Some people go to Florida and come home with nice souvenirs and a tan, we came home with crab(s).  Much to our surprise he's still alive.  We also got a dog.  A Treeing Walker Coon Hound named Rosie.  She looks like an overgrown beagle.  I'm pretty sure she's been good for the kids, except for when they argue about who's turn it is to clean up after her. 

We've travelled some.  D and I went to Branson MO in the spring.  Branson needs to be seen to be believed.  D took his youth group on a missions trip to Warrensburg NY for a week this summer.  Last weekend we finally got to Michigan to visit a couple of extraordinary families.  The big news of the summer was that I FINALLY got home.  D surprised me with a trip for and on my 40th birthday.  3 weeks in beautiful BC with NO kids.  It was heavenly! 

I've added a couple of volunteer positions to my schedule this year.  I'm the coordinator for a MOPS group at our church.  After 15 years of helping in one way or another this is my very last year.   Today I started volunteering with a new hospice.  This time I"ll be going in to nursing homes to visit clients.  This hospice is family friendly so I can bring the boys with me.

We've started  down a couple of new roads I didn't think we'd be on this time a year ago or even this time 3 months ago.  Last December D was diagnosed with Aspergers.  Yes, it's autism.  Yes it's rare in adults.  Doesn't mean that many adults don't have it, just means they're not diagnosed. 

Annnnnnnnnnd we're homeschooling.  That one's a shock to me.  I didn't think I'd ever do it.  I admired those who could but I didn't think it was for me.  In fact I KNEW it wasn't for me because I spent many an hour arguing with H over why I couldn't home school her.  And now here we are.  On line schooling kindergarten and second grade.  People keep asking me how long I plan on doing it for and I keep saying "for about the next 5 minutes and then we will go from there." 

So there you have.  The tidal wave of what we've plunged in to this last year.  Obviously lots of topics to write about so stay tuned! 

When more is more

I want to start with something a friend of mine said yesterday about how hard it is to find ways for teenagers to give and I whole heatedly agree.   We kind of ran into the problem of meaning full volunteer work with the youth group.  They like the idea of a service opportunity at a group home for special needs kids that the church supports.  Problem is that there aren't that many opportunities for them to interact with the residents there.  Lots to be done but but not that much with the people.  It seems that I've ran into the same problem with hospice and teen moms.  Maybe it's because of the specialized level of care that patients/residents need, or maybe it's because of all the rules that I'm sure are put into place for their or our protection but there isn't a lot for unskilled workers to do.  I understand that there are no small parts only small players and that pulling weeds and stuffing envelopes are important jobs but I think that people sign up with these organizations because they're looking for face time, personal contact with a specific group of people. 

But I digress as always.  My kids have a bad case of the "gimmes" or more accurately the "iwantthats."  Typical, normal I'm sure. To them Christmas isn't about what you give it's about what you get. I'd like to change that.  Wouldn't we all?   Like all parents I want my kids to understand the true meaning of Christmas and not just the Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus version either.  These are pastors kids, Sunday school scholars who at age 4 ask "how old is God?"  They've got the story down.  But as with most things in church, I don't think they understand the "so what" of it.  That baby in the manger wants us to love one another.  THAT'S what Christmas is about. Can I tell that to the 5 billion toy commercials they've seen before Halloween alone?  No.  Christmas to my kids is about "MORE".  And therein lies the conflict.   As I try to align my own actions with my values the words "less" and "simplify" become more and more important (says I as I clutch my ipad).  It's not only that we need less stuff because we really DO need less stuff, but we also need to desire less.  Be content with what we have and therefore more peaceful.  My kids are pretty much sure that what will bring them contentment and peace is a new gaming system.  Join me in the next few days as I work through that.  Or should I say join me in the next 10 years..........? 

Now we are playing.  The other night the boys and I went to McDonalds in our pjs then came home and had a picnic on the living room floor.  N spilled chocolate milk on the carpet and that reminded me of why we don't do this more often.  I realized that maybe play is as easy as doing ordinary things in extraordinary ways?  Like spirit week at school or camp.  Is everything more fun if you're doing it backwards?  Maybe the point is that play doesn't have to be some elaborate planned thing.  Maybe the joy is in the spontaneity and simpleness of it.  However I'll also point out that my elf plans are getting more and more elaborate, as of yesterday they included having them arrive on a herd of pink hippos.  But the real thing with the elves is that I want them to challenge my boys to be more kind.  I was inspired by a blog about a family that counted down the days until Christmas by doing random acts of kindness; cool stuff like leaving quarters taped to candy machines and candy canes taped to ATMs.  Kindness instead of the chocolate advent calendar thing or instead of all the very cute looking calendars on Pinterest.  And this brings up what I really want to talk about:  Good works/service opportunities and Christmas.  I want to teach my kids to give and to serve.  Maybe my kids are just the proxy for me.  Not maybe, I "know" they are.  It's my own restlessness, my own wanting to think outside the box, get outside my comfort zone and DO stuff for others.  We are church shopping again.  It seems to be an annual tradition here, some people go Black Friday shopping we go church shopping.  On our list of things we're looking for (yes, I know we're never going to find a perfect church, we're not expecting to and NO we're not leaving our current churches because they're not perfect) is a church that has regular, church based service opportunities.  Not para ministries that operate out of the church but actual ministries of the church.  And yes, I am very, very, very, well aware that I don't need a ministry of the church to do good works.  I know that, and I think I'm finally willing to act on it.  I have stuff lined up on Volunteer Match as we speak.  But I don't just want the easy stuff.  Operation Christmas Child; easy.  I should know we threw a whole party for it a year ago.  Getting my kids to donate their used toys to a charity is easy.  It's easy to give away stuff when you know that you're getting something better.  I think the last time around I told you the story of grandma asking her daughter to give up new toys; that's my harder.  No, we're not going to do that but it brings up the point of sacrificial giving.  What my husband calls the "doctrine of the lesser good."  Donating used toys is an example of doing stuff that makes US feel good but it's an easy out.  I want to challenge my kids and myself to do really good things.  Things that may be uncomfortable for them, may be messy but things that really..........I don't want to say make a difference or matter but........  So I'm praying that God directs us to what he wants us to do    Annnnnnnnd at the same time I want my kids to understand the importance of little things you don't have to do big things to make a difference in peoples lives.  I want to teach them to never underestimate the importance of a kind word.  I want them to see how good manners are a form of kindness, so is sharing.  Can small things be done sacrificially?  Stay tuned! 

Give me away

So like I said, there were these deaths and they shook me on a couple of levels.  I'm not sure what it was about these ones........  Quite obviously not my first dealings with death.  Not on a personal or professional level.  It's not my first time experiencing a bunch of deaths in a short time.   Nor is it the intimacy of the relationships, I've lost a parent and a child so there's nothing unique about that either.  Maybe it's that I'll turn the "F" word next year.  But something has made me consider my own mortality.  Hospice would say that's pretty normal given the circumstances.  The question isn't so much the grief, but how do we respond to it.  A life lesson actually.  It's not what happens to us that matters but what we do with it, how we respond to it.  And honestly, I haven't been so great at responding to the things that have happened to me.  But this new found awareness of my own immortality teaches me that things can change in a minute.  They often do.  But there is time to change things.  And tomorrow I'll talk about what changes I'd like to make and how those pesky elves fit in to the plan.  But for today I want to share a poem about giving love away.  It's from the Second Helping of Chicken Soup of the Soul.  Back in the day when there was only 2 books.  Random piece of trivia is that there are now over 105 different titles.  Anyways, someone gave me the book as my mom was dying.  I used the poem at her funeral.  It comforted me.  Later in a grief support group I would hear the same question "what do you do with the love?"  I forgot all about the poem until Dick died.  I wanted to quote it but the version on line isn't the same.  Do you know how hard it is to track down one specific book of those 105 Chicken Soup books when you're not even sure you're looking for the right one?  I found the right book on my shelf yesterday.  Funny, I thought I'd given most of them away. 

THE LEGACY

When I die, give what is left of me to children.
If you need to cry, cry for your brothers walking beside you.
Put your arms around anyone and give them what you need to give me.
I want to leave you with something, something that is better than words or sounds.
Look for me in the people I have known and loved.
And if you cannot live without me, then let me live on in your eyes, your mind and your acts of kindness.
You can love me most by letting hands touch hands and letting go of children that need to be free.
Love does not die, people do.
So when all that is left of me is love...
Give me away....

That ladies and gentlemen is the poem of the year.  If I designed sympathy cards that's what I would write.  Love does not die, people do.  So when all that is left of me is love, give me away.

In praise of play

Are you tired of me talking about elves yet?  The physical profile of the elf/elves?  I think there's going to be 3 are taking shape.  Sometime in the spring I bought 12 clear glass bottles for crafting use.  Small, classic bottle shape.  Thinking of using them because I like the idea of clear and therefore invisibility.  Also I can put tiny things in them.  The ninja bowling set I made last year used all sorts of cylinder food containers.  From oatmeal to lemonade packaging.  Covered in duck tape.  These ones I think I'm just going to do black felt hats.  Thinking each elf needs a personal Christmas symbol representing their own ninja power.  Gawn Gawn (T's babyhood word for candy) will bring sweetness.  Sometimes just sweets but other times challenge the boys to add sweetness to the lives of others.  Snippy, the scissors guy will cut things out.  Challenge the boys to cut out excess noise or arguing but also cut out the occasional rule.  Shiny and his star will encourage the boys to do something to shine brightly or bring shining moments, special events to the Christmas season.  Working on dossiers for them all.  Found Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle profiles on line that I can build from.  Also saw some great ideas filed under "spy parties."  What appealed to me about the whole elf on a shelf idea is that in some houses the don't just SIT on shelves, they PLAY.  They create all kinds of mischief.  I've seen elves fishing in a box of goldfish crackers, making snow angels from salt, riding in Barbie jeeps etc.  Well if you know me you know how quickly those ideas captured my imagination.  As I think of what my family needs this Christmas (which is very, very little.  In fact the lists of what we DON"T need are longer than what we do) I realized that we need more play!  We need to have more spontaneous fun!  I sit in MOPS classes and hear all about how kids need structure and routine.  Annnnnnnd I hear that.......  But I'm quite sure that what my family needs is more fun.  Maybe you can have fun and structure at the same time and I'm not talking about living in chaos for a whole month (well we always live in chaos but that's different)  but I do want more unstructured imagined magic.   Maybe it's just me realizing I need to let go of  control of stuff  and I'll talk about that tomorrow.  But for now we need fun.  Fortunately I grew up in a very fun house.  One of my dads many great qualities is that he knows how to play.  Growing us an an only child I don't think I was that lonely because I had a built in play mate.  My dad always engaged and encouraged my imagination.  The older I got the more he played.  Maybe it was a grief coping skill I don't know.  But I distinctly remember waking up in my mid 20s to find that every stuffed animal in the house had a poker party the night before.   You never knew where toys were going to pop up in our house and what they'd be doing next.  A stuffed bunny taped to a cutting board with the threat of dinner.  Notes, notes, notes.  Jokes on lunch bags.  Funny cartoons tucked into things.  Missing things showing up in odd places.   I remember photocopying teddy bear bums and titling it "a picture of our bear bums."  My  mom was in on that one (although I think one of her friends balked at it.)  I'm guessing it's my dads love of play that attracted my mom to him.  Honestly I don't think I've done enough of that type of stuff with my kids and I really regret it  It was a big part of my childhood and I had an incredible role model to show me how.   So onward with the elves! 

Presenting: NINJA ELF

So the story goes that you get this elf who flies back to the North Pole every night to report to Santa on your behavior that day.  A little bit of further research shows that in some houses the elf does more than just sit on a shelf and watch you.  I'll get to that part probably tomorrow.  But I got to thinking about elves.  Like I said some of my best friends have been elves.  Elves are traditionally red and green.  I like tradition.  I know how important it is.  But what I REALLY like is non traditional traditions.  In my moms family the traditional Christmas Eve dinner was hot dogs.  Seems that my mom and her sister were hairdressers and didn't close up shop until late on Christmas Eve.  Much too late for a traditional dinner; so the new tradition of hot dogs began.  It also seems to me that the year hot dogs weren't served chaos erupted.  But I'm also a big believer, delighter in fact of all things mixed up.  Twisted fairy tales?  I'm good with that.  In my opinion you can do anything you want to Shakespeare; from DiCaprio's version to gnomes; it's all good to me.  When I was a teenager I told my mom that someone should do a modern retelling of the nativity story.  Have Joseph and Mary arrive at a Motel 6 in a broken down Volkswagen bus.  My mom thought that it was blasphemous.  Last year when a  pastor tried to shorten advent by a week my husband almost revolted.  But other than that I'm good with switching around characters, settings and time lines.  So yes, elves are cute.  Elves go with Christmas.  But my boys REALLY like ninjas (or "injas" as N calls them.)  My friend Staci's daughters also love ninjas (and the fact that they do makes them the coolest girls on earth.)  So I found a picture of a Darth Vader fairy princess on line.  She had a pink tutu, pink chest shield, black Darth Vader helmet, pink tiara and pink light sabre.  And that REALLY got me to thinking..........  If Darth Vader can go pink, can elves go high tech?  Could there be special op ninja elves at the North Pole who are Santa's secret spies?  Sent TO  only the most special of kids to hand out secret missions?  Ooooooooooh you bet there could be!  Like I said, I'll tell you later exactly what the ninja elves are going to do.  For now though I'm working on a ninja elf profile.  Trying to figure out how to blend the two myths (or are they myths?)  Need to think a bit more.  Also think how to craft one.  Right now I've got my eye on a bottle of Country Time Lemonade that nobody is going to use anyways.  Do ninja elves wear red fuzzy sweaters?  Stay tuned.

So about the elf............

So about the elf...........  Google "elf on the shelf."  What you'll find is a new tradition.  Based on a 2005 book by Carol Aeberold and Chanda Bell  that answers the question of how does Santa know if you've been bad or good?  We know from songs that he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake...  But HOW does he know?   I dunno what I thought when I was a kid.  Not knowing was part of the magic.  And being threatened that Santa was watching and that I'd better be good for goodness sake was a very real, very effective threat.   In my house it's only a few days after Halloween and I'm already wondering if it's too early to start that threats.   It turns out that Santa knows how you're behaving because his elves tell him.  Some elves are his secret spies (that's where my ninja idea comes from and I'll get to that in a few days.)   Your elf on a shelf who you adopt and get to name  comes to live in your house right after American Thanksgiving (which to Canadians would seem like some random day.  Otherwise known as "the day after the parade day."  Or "the day the Americans get the good shopping deals and we have to wait until Boxing Day for them and that doesn't seem fair."  If you're an American reading this go Google Boxing Day)   to see if you've been bad or good.  Then he flies  back to the North Pole each night and reports to Santa.  I haven't read the $25.00 book myself, (now available as a girl and with a video)  but from the 86,000,000 entries on the internet that's what I gather.  I like elfs.  I used to be their boss.  Some of you may remember that back in the day I worked as the set supervisor for the Santa set at the local mall.  I was Mrs. Claus and I used to be in charge of hiring elves.  It turns out that good elves are hard to find.  Much bettter to audition them than to interview them.  So I guess I'm into elves.  Or if not "into" then at least I have an appreciation for elves.  How many right minded moms can say that??????????

I'm baaaaaaaaaack! Did you miss me? Yeah probably not and that's ok. So I have this idea. I would like to rush right in and tell you it's about a ninja elf that I sort of saw on Pinterest who challenges the boys to do good works at Christmas time. Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuttttttttttttttt............. Honestly it starts with grief (as a lot of stories do.) A few months ago I lost 6 loved ones in the space of about 8 weeks. Earlier this spring my husband lost his uncle and grandpa within 1 week of each other. But about MY loss (because MY loss is always more important than your loss right? Oooooh how many times I've thought or heard that.) Maybe I'll come back and tell you stories about the people I've lost this fall. There was a favorite first aid mentor who taught me a lot about life and first aid. A beloved uncle who I still can't believe is gone. There's the sister of my may-as-well-be-grandma who once gave me a fabulous tour of Victoria. My husbands grandma who I never met but wished I did. There was the 15 year old son of a friend. That death freaked me out! And then there was a friend who as much as I would have loved to have gone to her funeral I didn't because I'm still at war with her family. So I cried. And cried. Cried out of frustration that I couldn't get home to go to the funerals. Cried out of fear that if a friends son could die in his sleep could mine? Cried out of frustration. I began to realize that life is too short for stuff and not just the physical stuff. Maybe I know that anyways but......... The morning that I sat down to facebook and tried to peice together exactly what had happened to my friends family, and then realized in horror what had; my shock was interupted by news of D's grandma passing. You know what the headline story on facebook that day was? Facebook had changed their format and most of you reading this (present company excluded Staci) were outraged. I remember thinking "have a little perspective here people, you are inconvienced not troubled. It is only facebook. And so it began. I don't think I'm looking for meaning, I think I'm trying to simplify, trying to get back to what really matters. When Dick died I shared a very old country music video by Billy Dean called "Only here for a little while. That's what matters. I guess this doesn't tell you anything about my plans for a ninja elf but I'll tell you more in my next instalment of...........

When is a pot not so lucky?

I went to the PTA pot luck last week. I had wanted to take meatballs. Not just any meatballs but the super yummy scrumptious ones that I had had last Christmas at the old church. I emailed the lady for the recipe and of course she didn't respond. That made me mad and sad and frustrated. Mad enough to the point that I said "the heck with it! I'm tired of the usual stuff at pot lucks anyways, lets eat something good!" So I made Asian lettuce wraps and they were super, yummy, scrumptious!

I don't really know pot lucks from my childhood. My memory is that we didn't really have people over for dinner. We had company from out of town that would come and stay for a few days usually on their way to or from another destination. My Mom would labour for days over the feasts to serve them and I'll write more about that some time later. Instead of pot lucks we went "visiting." I would like to write more about "visiting" however I'm having a heck of a time finding stuff on the Internet about it. I'm just not using the right magical combination of words for the search engine. Then I tried searching for "calling". Which was even worse and then to complicate those matters I looked for "calling cards" and you can't even begin to imagine the chaos I found.

I guess that pot lucks entered my life when I joined a church. In the young adult glory days is was often my pots and everyone else was in luck! But I do remember going to a few full fledged adult ones at some grandparentish friends and discovering grandpa Jack's chicken wings. I also remember being at one the Christmas I came back from Korea having one of grandma Jean's homemade peanut butter chocolate cups in each hand just in case there wasn't any more and because I had been deprived of them for so long.

Ahhhhhhhhhh pot lucks I have known. Or, as some people call them "pot blessings" because in some churches the word "luck" just isn't done. In his super yummy, scrumptious blog "Stuff Christians Like" (that I just can't get enough of!) Jonathan Acuff says this: "Luck is a more accurate description of the food you'll find at church events, where everyone brings their own dish. They're not all blessings some of them are gross. Upon tasting them your mouth does not think to itself, 'I have just been blessed.' It might think, 'Wow! I have just been cursed.' And now you've got a "pot cursing" on your hands, which seems like something a drunk crock pot would start doing if you bumped into it and spilled it's drink at a nightclub." //stuffchristianslike.net/2009/04/515-taking-a-sympathy-scoop-from-the-dish-no-one-eats-at-the-pot-luck/

I remember my first pot luck somewhere in Illinois, I felt like I was back in Korea with a whole array of unfamiliar dishes that I needed Huggyband to interpret for me. That was also the first time I'd encountered Red Velvet cake AKA "stuck pig cake." In Indiana I was pregnant and craving comfort food but after the first spread of covered and smothered goo that made me feel sick I learned to bring a green salad with dressing on the side so I'd at least have something I wanted to eat. In his "Rules for Pot luck" (more like a survival guide), Jeffry P. Barnes writes 4) If you are lucky enough to see a relish tray with uncooked veggies, take them. Do not worry about others having enough. Your survival is important and you must be ruthless. http://recipes.stsams.org/recipes/rulesforpotlucks.html


Totally off topic here but I just discovered some of the very old Saturday morning PSA's on youtube. You know the ones that you're STILL singing the songs to? Here's "Don't drown your food." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfEG15CLTqo My Nana insisted that the only reason cooks put gravy on their food was to cover up the bad taste of their cooking. All I can say is that if I were going to cover up bad food, white gravy would not be what I would pick to do it with! Brown gravy on the other hand only goes to enhance the flavor of already yummy things like poutine.

Anyways.......... Pot lucks in the south were very adventuresome and required A LOT of interpretation. The good stuff was very, very good. Little Miss Teen used to look forward so much to Miss Shelby's broccoli, cheese cornbread that we affectionately began to call church pot lucks "feast days." Except for the bad the bad stuff........... I once heard a man scold his daughter for not eating anything and when I glanced over at her plate and saw all those boiled greens I honestly couldn't blame her! Our favorite, "not our favorite" dish was white bread and watermelon or pineapple sandwiches. They were just as they sound, white bread, a slice of pineapple or watermelon and a lot of mayo. As Barnes writes, 2) Avoid potato salad, or anything else with mayo in it unless you have seen it come out of the refrigerator. Avoid it totally during hot weather.


Honestly I've probably been the bringer of more pot curses as I have the recipient. I'm a great cook but sometimes accidents do happen. Like the time I dusted a cake with cornstarch instead of icing sugar. There was also the time I made a great spinach salad. I thought it was great, everyone else thought it was great, except for my best friend, who, not knowing that I had brought it, took a bite and pronounced "WHAT IS WITH THIS SPINACH SALAD IT'S HORRIBLE!" And sometimes I've brought the dish that nobody eats. Some friends of mine recently talked about what foods "go" at a pot luck and what foods don't. We agreed that elaborately decorated cakes don't. This I learned at Christmas after spending a lot of time on a cake that I took to a pot luck and then brought back untouched. Good for my family; bad for my ego. I've been told that very gracious kitchen ladies will do the kind if not Christian thing when they see this happen and very discreetly throw half of the dish in the trash so it looks like it's been eaten to preserve face. I've also been told that pies "go." This is probably because homemade pies are rare these days so people tend to snap them up when they can. I've seen great pies be snatched up even before they hit the bake sale table. I've also learned the hard way that the people of Ohio are gingersnap haters. Go figure! Go back to Stuff Christians Like to see what you should do if you are in fact the bringer of a pot curse.

One of the ways to take the "luck" out of potlucks is to have each dish designated. One of my friends got a note from the lady's guild at church telling her to bring cherries jubilee to the chicken dinner. Not only did she not know what chicken dinner they were talking about but she had NO clue what cherries jubilee was or how to make it! I'm also not a fan of the alphabetical divide. You know last names starting with A - G brings side dishes, H - R brings main course and the rest bring desserts. Well, I'm a W and like I said some days I'm in the mood to bring a salad. Or spicy Asian lettuce wraps that went over real well. It was a lucky pot luck day for sure.

And in case you're ever in need of something very yummy to take to a pot luck, here's the link http://www.grouprecipes.com/110886/asian-lettuce-wraps.html

Mother's Day

I had a beautiful and classic Mother's Day. Sunday school teachers helped the little boys make hand print crafts, I coerced Little Miss Teen into making a craft for me and I gave my Huggyband a list of ideas of things to shop (the fact that he left the list on the front seat of my van with the stuff he had bought crossed off is besides the point.) We dropped off a #1 Grandma mug at Grandmas (note to self; I think over 7 years of marriage I've given her 5 of these it must be my "go to" gift and I must remember to be more creative next year.) We took a road trip to get me my beloved Tim Horton's donuts and I didn't have to change any diapers. It was a happy Mother's Day indeed. I am blessed with 3 incredible children. Children I honestly didn't think I'd have. Since I'm an only child I thought for sure that I'd inherit my Mom's fertility problems; I didn't. I was afraid that I wouldn't know how to parent more than one child; somehow, I manage. They are the light of my life. They are what keep me going and I'll always be grateful for them.

Mother's Day is one of those fragile days; for some people it's good, for some people it's awful. Sometimes its both. Mixed emotions are common; tread lightly. It's like a flow chart; if YOUR mother is living (preferably close enough to celebrate with) and you have a great relationship or great memories of her then you're good. On this chart you get a free pass to the side that looks at YOU as a mother. But what if your mother isn't alive? What if the track you're going down is that of a loss daughter? I spent time on line yesterday with an old friend who lost her Mom in March. She was a great lady. Wise and talented.... She is missed. I spent time thinking about the family of the patient I lost last week as they met up with their first Mother's Day without her. I also spent time thinking about a few of my current patients families as they faced the reality that this would be their last Mother's Day with their Moms. My heart went out to them.

Obviously I identify with the daughters who have lost Moms. When Hope Edelman writes in her book "Motherless Daughters" that when her Mom died she "wanted to destroy every Hallmark Mother's Day card display" she saw; I say a big Amen. I've been there. Wishing I could just stay in bed and make the whole day go away. Wishing there was some way to teleport myself through certain months. I also remember purposely picking a fight with a young man on Mother's Day because he had in effect ran away from home. Cut his mother out of his life....... That was the first Mother's Day 2 little girls in my life had without their Mom and they didn't have a choice in it. I was angry, I was grieving and I let this young man know it in a very ungracious way.

The second side of the fictional flow chart is if you yourself are a Mom. I have been blessed with fertility and for that I am thankful. But we have friends who haven't. We have friends who are childless by choice and we have friends who feel that God simply hasn't called them to have children. Those friends are in the minority, because we have a lot of friends who want children but can't have them. Today there are 6.1 million woman in America with infertility problems. I can't begin to imagine how awful that must be. My husband can though. It took him and his late wife 12 years to conceive our Little Miss Teen. Yes, she was worth the wait, but it's not a wait he'd wish on anybody.

And then there is road number 3; loss Moms. It doesn't matter how old your child is when he or she passes the fact is that you're still a Mom and that child was still your child. 25% of American woman experience a miscarriage (a person's a person no matter how small) and 1 pregnancy in 80 results in a stillbirth. No; the euphemism "born sleeping" does not help me on that one. We lost baby Jonathan the week before Mother's Day 5 years ago. Talk about months you wish you could fast forward through.... I have a friend who lost a baby that was conceived in violence. She's still a Mom; she would have been a great, great Mom. I honor her. I wonder what Mother's Day feels like for her? I have a friend who's adopted daughter died within a week of her birth; yesterday was painful to her as well. She should have been receiving her first hand print card not grieving. And yesterday was my second Mom's (I have yet to find a way to distinguish my 2 mothers in writing so bear with me; she knows who she is!) without her son. I cried for her. I cried for him. Oh heck I cried for us all. Loss is unfair. Not being able to have kids is unfair. Loss is unfair... Children are fun. Motherhood is hard work.

How a cup of cold water helped me do the right thing and prove others wrong.

"And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward."
(Mat 10:42)

I did this the other day. I reached through a group of people to a grieving woman and offered her a bottle of water. I had the honour and privilege of sitting with her and her family as we waited for her mom to pass. And Mrs. D did pass. Gently, surrounded by her family, pastors, a hospice nurse and me the hospice volunteer. It was the first time I was at hospice working with a family while their loved one died. The loss of my first patient this time around. 14 years ago, 2000 miles and what seems like 5 zillion years ago I lost my first first aid patient on a highway. For a lot of obvious reasons this one was different. It was sad of course, but there was a sense of calmness and peace not anguish and great despair as I was expecting. Heaviness but no fear. I was ok with it. I know that because of my depression there's been a lot of question of if hospice; which everyone seems to think is a sad, sad place, is really the best choice for me? Won't it make me sadder? No, sadness isn't a part of my depression. As the rest of this article will show; doing good does ME good. I get more out of it than I put into it. Helping heals me.

So when I handed Mrs. D's daughter that bottle of water our eyes met and volumes of compassion, sympathy, empathy and grief passed between us. I knew that in that simple act I had made a difference to her; I had shown her Christ and we had both healed just a tiny bit.

I also knew that the pastors across town were wrong about me. Part of the "we're kicking you out of our church" conversation included a few lines about how I would never be allowed to minister in that church again. I've since learned that fear of the depressed person contaminating the flock is a common pastoral response to depression. The problem with that is that it works on the presumption that depression is some sort of chosen sin. And as someone said to me "if depression is sin then so are allergies." No go. Doesn't fly. As they say in the south "that dog don't hunt." As my friends and I were discussing today; sometimes proving people wrong is the best revenge. Or if not revenge then at least proving them wrong feels very, very satisfying.

On the way home from that conversation with the pastors I thought "waaaaaaaaaait a minute, they're saying God can't use me? but God used all sorts of broken people. Heck he even used a prostitute!" Yeah he did use a prostitute; her name was Rahab and her story is told in Joshua 2:1-21. This sermon http://www.mmcc.citymax.com/f/W3Healing_Rahab_ProstituteGodUsed.pdf by Pastor John Rayford of Mount Moriah Christian Church in Bloomington IL says that "your past does not determine your future and that God wants to use your brokenness to let others know that he is not through with you."

Some of this is more than knowing that even in my brokenness God can use me but also wanting to be used. It would be so easy not to. To say "why should I do nice things for people when people have been horrible to me?" The answer is simply: because it's good for you. As my grandmother would say: "when you feel bad do something good for someone else it will help you feel better."

In the 13th Century Francis Asisi wrote:
Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

I would add that it is in healing that we heal. In helping we are helped.

Oh Pastor F, who are you to deny me that healing? If you had truly wanted me to get better then you would have pushed me towards ministry not kept me away from it.
Proverbs 4:23 says "above all else guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life." Normally I think of that verse as meaning that you're supposed to guard your heart from the dark stuff that could take root and take over. I've come to understand that it also means not letting your heart shrink. Like the Grinch, whose heart was 2 sizes too small seeing the good of others made his heart grow. Good works, volunteering, loving others as Christ loves them is sort of the armature that I stretch my heart over ensuring that it doesn't shrink. I've quoted the line in the Garth Brooks song before "I do this so the world will know that it will not change me."

Honestly, 8 months ago I didn't care if the world changed me; I didn't care about the size of my heart; I just didn't care what happened. And I've healed enough now that is does matter. For those of you familiar with spiritual warfare you'll see that for all we talk about the big spooky stuff; it comes down to offering a cup of water to a grieving daughter. Doing good when you're at your worst. Shining the light and confounding the darkness (my paraphrase of John1:5)

Rock, paper, scissors: wheel of wow!

Hip Hip Hooray today is Webkinz Day! Ok, I know what you're going to say. "Cass is this another one of your strange little holidays like Mother Goose Day (May 1) and Frog Jumping Jubilee Day (May 19th). What are you going to blog about next My Bucket's Got a Hole in it Day. No silly! this in an important holiday! Besides, Hole in the bucket day isn't until May 30th. (Strange little piece of family trivia here; when my daughter was a toddler she called her bottom her bucket. So having a hole in your bucket has a WHOLE different meaning to us!) Anyways......... Webkinz Day marks the anniversary (this year it's the 5th) of the day Ganz (a Canadian company) first released Webkinz. Now according to my thing only 11 of you are reading this and I'm guessing that Lisa L is probably the only one who has no earthly idea what a webkinz is. In short think of it as a Beanie Baby with an on line component.

I used to mock one of my friends who collected Beanie Baby's (One year for her birthday I glued a doll to a can of beans and added a lable that said "B"s Beanie Baby! She didn't laugh). A few years ago when my 10 year old daughter wanted a Webkinz I refused on the basis that she was much too old for a stuffed toy and computer game. Now here we are 3 years later, she has 7 of them and I have ummmmmmmmmmmmm? 12! But hopefully by Mother's Day (yeah a real, real holiday!) I'll have 15 so I can get my second super bed! So what happened? Peer pressure first of all. I "oh so helpful" ladies on my favorite parenting boards convinced me that not only did all of their kids have a few but they themselves played with them. So I caved. And then I thought it was kind of fun and started "babysitting" H's while she was at school. That was fine until we disagreed about what on line clothes to buy the little critter; custodial disputes if you will. Then I started giving her into trouble for not doing her daily Webkinz chores; I have a hard enough time getting her to do chores in real life never mind in Webkinz land but hey. So by then it was pretty obvious that I needed my own; dozen.

What's the appeal? Sometimes it's the thrill of the hunt. You need to find 36? gems to get your "legendary crown of wonder." It took me a looooong time of searching 6 virtual mines to find them all. Now I've got 2 crowns and am working on my 3rd. There's also virtual trading for stuff that's pretty cool. Right now I"m in it for the shopping experience. Every time I play my hippo/beaver/lamb/caterpillar/pink flamingo/dog/goat/dragon/turtle/elephant and frog earn money. Money that I spend furnishing my 23 room, 9 garden mansion. And like the front of my current notebook says "shopping (even the fake kind) is cheaper than a psychiatrist. I'll say! This being America even in real life I could either spend $20 at my favorite thrift shop and get a lot of therapy or I could spend $20 at the counsellors office and get 1 minute of therapy. My husband of course prefers that I get my thrills by clicking the "wheel of wow" that earns me $20 kinzcash that I put towards a navigation control center for my space room.

Before anyone mocks me I'd like to say 1 word: FARMVILLE: 80,085,797 monthly users!

And speaking of games that we mock I'll take "rock, paper, scissors" for 500 please Alex. Rock, paper, scissors is a kids game right? Silly North American of course it isn't. Turns out that RPS or rochambeau or kauwi-bauwi-bo as it's called has been around in Japan since the late 19th century. The first time I encountered it outside of my elementary school playground was on my first night in China. After an exhausting flight from Vancouver, being met at the airport by a big bird puppet (don't ask) and 40 degree C heat and 100% humidity, then being told that I was to live with 2 strange guys, I was taken to a street bar to meet some of the other teachers from my company. Sitting in a plastic lawn chair, drinking ice cold pineapple beer and practicing picking up peanuts with chop sticks I noticed something familiar about what the men at the next table were doing. "Are they...............?" "Yep" I was told by another teacher, "it's a drinking game here; actually it's an everything game here and it's huge." In my 2 years in Asia I would come to appreciate rock, paper, scissors as a great decision making tool. Have 2 students arguing over who's going to go first? Make them rock, paper scissor for it. It worked 100% of the time and was a binding agreement. It worked so well that foreigners would sometimes suggest amongst ourselves that the whole North/South Korea debate could be settled by one long rock, paper, scissors match. Winner takes the whole peninsula. WE ARE JOKING OF COURSE! Someone very close to me does a very dangerous job in that region. I'm all too aware of the political climate and cultural differences.

Turns out that rock, paper, scissors isn't only an Asian game or a kids game either. Turns out there is an actual United States Rock, Paper, Scissors league (no I"m not making this stuff up!). Check it out at http://www.usarps.com/ or http://roshamblog.wordpress.com/ Laugh all you want but they're competing for $25,000 college tuition. Yes, I do see that they are competing in bikinis and it has as much chance of being a credible sport as beach volleyball (which I don't mind, we used to play it not on the beach but in the actual river). But hey as one girl put it "I could make $25,000 just by putting my fist in the air." Hmmmmmm, where is my daughter who's going to college in 4 years? I bet if she started practising now......... As for me? I'm about to go see if it's time to spin the "wheel of yum!"

Picture of mortality

Flipping through countless Easter pictures of my friends kids on Facebook. Most of the pictures alike; kids searching for eggs, kids with Easter baskets, kids in new Easter outfits. Easter in North America. A random click on a cousin's profile and new pictures. More kids; his nieces along with their parents and grandparents in the traditional "group pose" on vacation in Hawaii. I don't flip through this picture though. I pause on it giving it both my attention and emotions. A mixture of shock, nostalgia and happiness. Maybe it's because I miss the people in the photo. Maybe it's because I'm caught off guard about how much the girls have grown. Maybe it catches my attention because I'm jealous. I would LOVE to vacation with 3 generations of family in Hawaii. Port Clinton in July of this year will just have to do eh Dad? But I'm sure that the photo catches my eye because I have a similar picture downstairs.

Later this summer I'm planning on doing some photojournaling. Preserving the stories behind some family photos. I have a how to book that encourages picking out the photos and spending some time with them. Putting them in a visible spot and really examining the details. So I've started with a random one taken 36 years ago at our summer cabin. It's my uncle, my mom, 2 older cousins and myself. Mom and Uncle T sit in those old aluminum framed lawn chairs with the webbing; the boys and I are in various states of play in front of them. The sun shines in their eyes. My mom is wearing a chenille bathing suit because it is after all 1974. A random picture of every day life, or at least life on vacation. Life on vacation tends to move itself in suspended animation yet go by all too fast. To the little girls in the Hawaii picture it's their Dad and his first Daddy when Daddy was about their age.

Of all the pictures I have to work with I think I chose this one to start photo journaling with because I see just a glimpse of my cousins and myself as we are now in our parents. Like a reflection in shard of mirror. Not in how we physically look like them, but how we are becoming them. Or are they becoming us? Whatever it is for a fleeting second I'm reminded of their humanness. Maybe it's just because they're dead that I usually only think of them as parents. But in this hot summer day picture I'm reminded that they were real people. Parenting was one of their many roles. But in addition to that they were real people. My Mom was a woman who had sex, who missed her Mom and may or may not have loved shopping. (Part of the "deal" of losing a parent at a young age is that you don't get to learn any of these things about them.) As John McCrae said in "Flanders Fields" We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved... Soldiers, my parents, my hospice patients, my homeless brother; all human; all loved and were loved. Easy to forget, good reminder.

The other reason I chose this picture is because my mom and my uncle are dead. They have been for 15 and 28 years. Cancer took them both. But of course they didn't know that back in 1974 and that's what scares and fascinates me. They had no idea what the future would hold. Susan Sontag said “To take a photograph is to participate in another person's mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time's relentless melt.”

Their vulnerability scares me because I can relate to it. How many random pictures do I have that some day my kids will look back on and say "that was before............" "If only we had known then what we know now........." Yes I know that all of this should make me vow to live every day to the fullest. All the great country music song stuff like "Live like you were dying." And some day it will. But for now it freaks me out a bit. Honestly I'm afraid of dying young and leaving my kids behind. I know they'll be ok if that should happen. I'm proof of that; I have cousins who are proof of it, I have a step daughter and I'm still in contact with the children of 2 precious friends who died waaaaaaay too young. Knowing that death at a young age can and does happen makes me confront my own mortality. If it could happen to them it could happen to me. “Parents, however old they and we may grow to be, serve among other things to shield us from a sense of our doom. As long as they are around, we can avoid the fact of our mortality; we can still be innocent children.” Jane Howard.

And what if I don't die young? What if I DON'T share the same fate as my mom and uncle? What if I get old? Without a picture of my own mom at 70 then I'll be honest and admit that getting older without her as a road map kind of scares me. As the class of 1990 approaches our "cough" 20th reunion there's a new question on the horizon for the first time; aging. There's a line in another song that says "I still remember when 30 was old." Heck I do too! And honestly I think that 40 is old. But it's gaining on me. I looked up an ailment the other day on line that basically said "well, that's what happens as you approach middle age." MIDDLE AGE? MIDDLE AGE?! Maybe it's my work with hospice that's making me think "when I get old, when I prepare to die I'll do....." How did that question get in my head? It's sort of like 10 years ago going to an endless string of friends weddings and thinking "when I get married I'll............" Or making a birth plan for having babies; this is what I want this is what I don't want.

I've mentioned before "The American Book of Living and Dying" by Groves and Klauser who maintains that the dying are teachers. I'm not at the point with my hospice work or patients where I can say that I've really learned cues on how to live and die well. Yeah obviously I've picked up the belief that hospice is the only way to go, that I want a Do Not Resuscitate order, I want to take my own quilts in and a moving picture frame. But other than that not much yet. Maybe I've been too busy learning the ropes to take the time to be observant but it will come I'm sure. For now the knowledge that I'm mortal and that everyone is human is a start. Loved and were loved..........

Things that go bump and "choo choo" in the night

Every job has it benefits. No not that type of benefits, I mean the perks; the cool stuff. Having a husband who works for an auto repair place we save a lot of money on vehicle maintenance. When I was a child my mom worked for a movie theatre and I got into all movies for free. There's an old family story about how during the war in Scotland my grandma was able to trade away her candy rations for other things because she had a relative who managed a Cadbury plant (By the way, Cadbury's European branch is waaaaaay better than their North American one. But it's recently been sold to Kraft so it doesn't matter. I've read a complaint that said "the same people who make maccaroni and cheese are going to take over cream eggs and flake bars? Are you serious?). My parents volunteer for a thrift shop. The benefit to this is that they get first pick of a lot of "good" stuff. Good in this case refers to Archie comics (yes they still make them), funny hats for our dress up trunk and "the clock."

My Mom picked up a train clock for my boys. Not just any train clock but one that makes LOUD train noises every hour on the hour. It's fun, it's whimsical, I like it. Except for when I'm trying to sleep or hear something. We're having a family dispute about where to put it.

The train reminds me of other odd sound effects I've known. Ok, so I have little boys; I hear A LOT of odd sound effects. But some are more odd or interesting than others.
Everyone has storys of dying toy battery noises. The ones that seem to self activate in the middle of the night. In our house a frantic search to "shut that thing up" usually leads us to a pile of unpacked boxes and random guessing about what one the toy is in. New houses bring their own random noises that you need to find the source of. We traced the last round of flap, thud to the dryer vent being slammed closed in the wind. One time the offender was the neighbors cat that sounded like a crying infant.

Cars make strange noises. My husband the mechanic can diagnose a problem within a few seconds of hearing a sound. Even on cars that we pass on the street. Not all noises are that easy though. Like the time the "seatbelt is not hooked up" alarm went off in our car during a veeeeeery long road trip. It was a blizzard, we were all tense and tired and nothing we could do would shut it up. At least it could have had the decency to be in tune with the Christmas music.

Some sounds need explanations. Like the time my Mom sent a talking doll to a cousin in Australia. Every time you turned the box over the doll cried "Mama!" We had to explain this to the postman.

The postman had to explain something to us once. We lived in a rural area where the local post office was on the main floor of a neighbors house. We got a call one Saturday morning not long before Christmas saying that we needed to come and pick up the mail NOW! I tried to remind them that they weren't open on Saturdays but they told me that in this case they'd open! When I got there the post man made his way to a heavy peice of furnitiure; like a bookcase with a counter, ladden with packages, I had no idea what was going on. What type of package could we be getting? I was very excited as I scanned the piles trying to guess. Our mail wasn't ON the counter, our mail was UNDER that counter. The postman heaved up on one corner and pulled out an envelope that filled the room with noise. It was a musical Christmas card that had become stuck in the on position. The only way to silence it was to put it under something very heavy. I put it in the trunk of my car and laughed all the way home. My Mom was the nostalgic type who never threw out cards not even malfunctioning ones. I'm pretty sure that it came to rest in a desk drawer and for years afterwards we always knew when someone had been in that drawer by the sound of the card.

Korea was full of strange noises. They would probably have been less strange if I had spoken the language but I didn't so until I got used to them I spent most of my time in a state of alarm. The problem is that somehow Koreans have figured out that using a microphone and an amplifier are a great way to market stuff. In the middle of a grocery store you'll find a man with a mic encouraging you to buy produce. (Apparently that's an idea that has caught on here because there's a local grocery store that has sound effects throughout. There's a recording of seagull sounds in the fish department and you can hear chickens as you pick out eggs. Without prewarning this is very stressfull for people with anxiety disorders!) Anyways I hated it........ And if that wasn't bad enough they took the show to the road. Trucks would roll through my neighborhood in the evening with a man and his microphone encouraging me to buy tofu, or socks or whatever. Think of it as the icecream man on steroids selling tofu. There were common noises too that were far too loud. Grandmas chopping vegetables at 6:00 AM. Some combination of their knives and cutting boards made the noise echo throughout the building. Kids with squeakers in their plastic sandles, thumping down the stairs.

Not all the noises were unpleasant though. Walking home in the middle of the afternoon I passed a ground floor appartment and heard music. The tune was familiar but the words weren't. I stood outside the window and hummed along until I found the words. Ahhhhhh a hymm. And the other words were probably prayers. I had stumbled across a ladies bible study. Some noises, like the clock are joyfull (just not at 3:00 AM!)

Marshmallows I have known

I'm not a huge fan of Rachel Ray's. I find her kind of fluffy and I don't happen to have on hand any ingredients for her so called "quick" meals. Besides, she's not a fan of slow cookers because they're too slow. Anybody whos isn't a friend of slow cookers is not a friend of mine! And what's with the "Yum -Oh!" stuff? But I did pick up one her her magazines in the world's best thrift shop for a quarter just for grins. It had the most incredible recipe for toasted marshmallow milkshakes. Probably one of the best milkshakes I've ever had. Little Miss Teen loved it and begged to make another batch right then and there (because 13 year olds live by the creed of "if one is good more is better.") The boys didn't dislike them they just didn't appreciate them as much as we did. What's the scripture about "don't cast your pearls before swine?" http://www.rachaelraymag.com/search/marshmallow%20milkshake?searchSource=hdrbox-Recipes

I love good milkshakes. Thick and preferably fruit flavored. The ones of my childhood were made from fresh raspberries from our own bushes and honey. Toffs is a local dairy that makes great ones. I really like ice cream and should probably give it it's own blog entry sometime.

I'm sort of neutral about marshmallows. I like them well enough, not well enough to eat raw and plain as a snack like my family does. My Huggyband loves them and also used to love to play a game called "chubby bunny" (seeing who can stuff the most marshmallows in their mouth at once) with his youth group. I can't stand Peeps and I don't like marshmallow filled chocolate stuff. But the kids sure do. I guess I'd say that I prefer them in baked goods. If I can find my moms recipe for marshmallow chocolate/marshmallow butterscotch cookies I'll post them. I don't know that I've ever eaten marshmallow cream. Americans seem to be hung up on something called "Fluff." http://www.marshmallowfluff.com/pages/homepage.html. Apparently it's like marshmallow cream only better? I think I've seen it in grocery stores here. Fluffernutter sandwiches fluff + peanut butter seem to be some sort of American icon/staple/delicacy. You can make it at home but it sounds complicated and involves raw egg whites in case you're squeamish about that sort of thing. http://www.grouprecipes.com/58165/home-made-marshmallow-fluff.html There's also something called "Amish peanut butter" that involves peanut butter, marshmallow cream and corn syrup. I love that stuff but it's really sweet so a little bit goes a long way. http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Amish-Peanut-Butter/Detail.aspx

My best marshmallow story is of planting them on bushes in Korea so my friends 4 year old daughter could pick them. We had the day off for some obscure Korean holiday (perhaps election day? On election day there everybody gets the day off. And they have city, province and national elections all in the same year, all 1 month apart from each other) and we were bored and broke. I must have just read this story by Nancy Sweetland http://www.janice142.com/JoyPage/Marshmallows.htm about planting marshmallows on bushes for her kids to pick (well where do you think they come from???) and was inspired to try it myself. STOP NOW, FOLLOW THE LINK AND READ THAT STORY! So I did. I grabbed a bag of marshmallows and staked out a corner of a local park. Of course the Koreans thought I was crazy but what else is new? Young M probably thought that everything else was odd in Korea, why not this? So at the appointed time young M and her Mom came along and picked a bucket full of marshmallows that we then took back to my apartment and put in hot chocolate. I also seem to remember listening to an impromptu saxophone concert in the park that day. Very cool.

But as far as I'm concerned the best way to eat marshmallows is roasted! Roasting involves fire and fire stresses me out. I'm all for candle light church services as long as I don't have to hold the candle. I'd prefer to light birthday candles at the table rather than to walk into a room with them. I'm thrilled that they now make battery operated tea lights. I don't like fire, (I'm surprisingly ok with fireplace fires. And yes I do watch the fireplace channel on TV, in fact I bought a DVD of it! I have great memories of watching it with some friends, all curled up under blankets on a cold winters night. Now my kids request that I put it in) And I DO love campfires.

My first campfires were at our family cabin. The cabin is a sacred place to me. In my head it becomes so magical and mystical that some days I forget that it actually exists. It's been 10 years since I've been back but occasionally I'll catch glimpses of it in the photos of family members still enjoying it and I remember that it's real. It's still there the problem is that I'm not and that kind of makes me sad. That's what memories are for. An oh the memories we made! Canoeing the lake, catching turtles, growing up. Campfires....

My second best memory of campfires is of camping as a young adult. And oh how we did camp! I was blessed to be a part of an amazing young adults group. We spent a lot of our summers camping. Memories of those camping trips probably need there own blog entry. Just like my friendships, memories of those trips have gotten sweeter and more precious over time. There was the time we went camping in the rain and it turned out to be one of the very best trips. I was baptized on that trip. You will never convince me that a church baptism is anywhere near as fun as one outside. But at least church baptisms are warmer. The problem with summers in BC is that there is just a short time when the water in lakes and rivers warms up to an enjoyable temperature. The first weekend in July up at Wells Gray is NOT one of those times! I remember the total chaos and disorganization of just getting there. Figuring out when and where we were going (5 zillion lakes in BC and my youth pastor always picked the ones farthest from Kamloops.) packing (it was my job to pack the duct tape, lawn chair and the food that most of the others didn't plan), getting lost.......... We'd get there and there would be a scramble to build an elaborate tarp system over the camp. For some reason this always involved someone climbing a tree.......... And then we'd hike. Hiking with my young adults group is another story for another day (a horror story that is!). After that there would be the mandatory burned dinner and finally (probably after another forced 10 km march) we would settle down to a campfire and some of the best worship music I've ever heard. Just as I'm convinced that indoor baptisms aren't as fun as ones outdoors (because I was baptized on one of those trips, in a freezing cold lake in early July. Brrrrr!) I'm secretly convinced that worship music sounds better outdoors as well. Besides, with indoor worship you can't really have s'mores, and roasted marshmallows, s'mores, great worship and even better friends all kind of go together. Thanks for the memories gang! Oh and here's what we discovered: s'mores are much easier to make if you make them with Nutella!

Marshmallows and memories; pretty sweet!

Jesus woud make a milkshake

I started volunteering for a local hospice last week. As far as picking an organization to volunteer with goes, it was a pretty obvious choice because like I said my family has been involved with them for the last 15 years. In terms of "why now?" it was also pretty obvious. At the turn of the year I realized that I was becoming increasingly frustrated with the lack or complication of serving at my church. I am all about practical ministry. I believe 100% in the power of prayer but I also believe in the old adage of "preach the gospel at all times; use words when necessary." The church we were at made that hard. There were few opportunities to love on people in a practical manner and what there was required training and long term time commitments. Mind you hospice does too. I went through a 6 week course and will do another 5 week one as soon as it's offered. I also had a criminal record check. But that was it, no committees, no selection process; just go and care for people.

So last Saturday I had my first volunteer shift at the hospice wing of a local hospital. As it was my first shift I got to shadow a couple of experienced volunteers. The first lady was an about to retire kindergarten teacher. I gave her my Easter Bunny purse. I had picked it up the day before at my favorite thrift shop for $1.79 knowing that hospice people would love it and also knowing that if anybody admired it I would give it to them (not the first time I've done that.) Sure enough the teacher admired it and I gave it to her, shuffling the stuff that was in it to a zip lock bag. She laughed and told me about the time when a fellow teacher admired her Valentine's Day skirt and asked to borrow it. The teacher took it off and gave it to her at the end of the day. She wore her under slip and raincoat home.

The second volunteer I shadowed was probably one of the kindest people I've met in a long time. She just loved on the patients. Love oozed from her. One of the patients was a grandpa and at some point in our shift one of his daughters and granddaughters, and family dog came for a visit. Yes pets of all sorts are welcome in hospice. The workers even find loving homes for them once their owners pass. The grand daughter was about 12 maybe? Too old for the toy room down the hall. She was bored, as I'm sure most people visiting hospice, or even hospital patients are. After you've given the latest news there really isn't much to say or do. Now I'm reading "The American Book of Living and Dying" which I'm sure will argue that there's lots to do with the dying; they are teachers after all. But for the most part.......... Basically you're waiting. In hospitals you're waiting for the patient to get better and get out of there. In hospices you're waiting for the end of life to come. Waiting is exhausting. Mentally and physically taxing.

The volunteer I was with offered to make the girl a milkshake. A small well stocked kitchen with ice cream and a blender would make it possible. The little girl shyly refused but it's a gesture that I don't think I'll ever forget. Love is making a child a milkshake while she sits by her grandfather's bedside. There are no rules, no policy's and procedures, no permission needed. Just love on a child who's probably feeling out of place and scared. Just love.

It reminded me of "the" Tony Campolo story. You know the one where he threw a birthday party for a hooker? Don't know it? You're amongst the few then. Seems back in the day I had a pastor that must have been especially fond of Compolo because twice over the course of a few years he told the birthday party for a hooker story. After hearing him tell it the second time I left for a youth conference where Tony Campolo just happened to be speaking. And what story do you suppose he told? Yep, the birthday party for a hooker story.

So the story goes like this. Tony, who's a well known (especially to pastors from Saskatchewan) Christian speaker found himself at a divey restaurant in Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning one day. In walks a bunch of hookers and he here's one named Agnes (I'll pause while some of you smile at that because I AM NOT making that up) say that it's her birthday the next day. Well Tony decided right then and there to throw her a birthday party the next day. Sure enough he shows up with cake and streamers the whole bit. The hooker is of course moved and Tony of course prays for her.

When he's finished, Harry (the restaurant owner) leans over, and with a trace of hostility in his voice, he says, "Hey, you never told me you was a preacher. What kind of church do you belong to anyway?"

In one of those moments when just the right words came, Tony answers him quietly, "I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for prostitutes at 3:30 in the morning."

Harry thinks for a moment, and in a mocking way says, "No you don't. There ain't no church like that. If there was, I'd join it. Yep, I'd join a church like that."
http://www.swapmeetdave.com/Bible/Agnes.htm

I've been through a lot lately. Stuff that makes me question God, his wisdom, his character. But one thing I do know is that if Jesus were here he'd throw a birthday party for a hooker and make a 12 year old a chocolate milk shake.

Keeping your boots on

I read an interesting article in January's Popular Mechanics. Yes I read Popular Mechanics, my Dad sends that McClain's and Chatelaine in and I read all 3 of them cover to cover. You know you're getting old when you read McClain's.

Anyways the article was titled "The Deadly Season" by Michael Finkel and was about ski patrolers setting off preventative avalanches. Ski patrolers......... smile.......... Even though I lived at the base of Sun Peaks (Todd Mountain back in the day) for years and years I've never actually skied. But I'm smiling because I've known a lot of ski patrolers. And mine rescuers and firefighters, and ambulance attendants and industrial first aiders. All incredible people doing an incredibly hard job. Hard and sometimes dangerous. All industries have workplace loss;."In 2008, 1036 workplace deaths were recorded in Canada down from 1055 the previous year. This represents more than 2 deaths every single day. Another 942, 478 were injured or became ill." http://www.ccohs.ca/events/mourning/ America lost 5, 071 the same year. http://www.bls.gov/iif/ Sad, sad, sad. The CCOHS site has a great article about International Day of mourning.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh but the rescuers. The ones who put their life on the line to save others. I had the privileged of walking amongst them for many years. I taught first aid, I did first aid and was involved in competitions. Rescue training is an on going thing. It's a lot of long hard hours, sacrifice and self discipline. Check out this article for what I'm sure will tell a story many of my friends can relate to. http://thetyee.ca/News/2009/06/05/BeAParamedic/index.html?commentsfilter=0 The average career span for a paramedic in Los Angeles is 8 years. http://www.allbusiness.com/north-america/united-states-california-metro-areas/341705-1.html That's life for the professionals, I've probably met more volunteer rescuers than I have professionals. And it's risky. The first thing we're taught is to ensure no danger to others or ourselves. I ran many a drill where there was a hidden hazard and I was cautioned not to enter the scene until it was secure. "Nothing like becoming a victim yourself and needing to be rescued" I was always told. But it happens. Statistics were surprisingly hard to come up with but here's what I found: Between 1992 and 1997, the study finds 114 EMTs and paramedics were killed on the job, more than half of them in ambulance crashes. That's an estimated 12.7 fatalities per 100,000 EMS workers, making it close to the death rates for police (14.2) and firefighters (16.5) in the same time period, the study says. And it's more than twice the national average for all workers (5.0). http://www.emsedsem.org/Prior%20Articles/EMS_Fatalities%20from%20JEMS.pdf

And that's just the day to day rescues never mind the catastrophes. We lost 343 firefighters and paramedics plus 23 police officers on 9/11. Someday I'll tell you about where I was on that horrible day. But because I was soooooo far removed from the crisis it took me days, possibly weeks to realize that being part of the family of emergency responders I had lost brothers and sisters.

The funny thing is that I was a terrible first aider, I lacked maturity, thoroughness and competitiveness but I learned a lot. I've always said that one of the reasons I flourished in Asia was because of my first aid training. No it wasn't the actual skills of how to strap someone to a spine board that I used but the problem solving skills were invaluable. Living overseas is a constant stream of problems to be solved and I used everything I knew about thinking on my feet. And I had great, great teachers. Like any job I might have struggled with some of the personalities of my co-workers but never their integrity. My memory is filled with great colorful characters who knew how to lift a car off a patient and soothe a child's scraped knee. All in a days work. I learned sportsmanship and compassion but most of all I learned team work. I haven't done first aid in probably 10 years. I'm guessing that my first competition was in 1996 but I am still close friends with every person on that team and all the teams after it. They are my go to people. The ones I feel safe with. On the other hand I've lived in 3 states other than this one in the last 7 years and I'm only friends with a few people in all of those moves. Heck I've been in 2 churches in the last 3 years and I'm not still friends with ANY of the of the people there! Maybe that has to do with the amount of trust you put in people. Or the trust you HAVE to put in your co-workers when your working together under less than ideal circumstances. Maybe it has to do with the type of people the industry attracts. I don't know, but I know that I miss it.

The Popular Mechanics article attests to the closeness of ski patrolers. It talks about the atmosphere in the patrol locker room in Big Sky resort in Montana at the end of the day: "Beers are distributed as the afternoon wanes, but no one pops the top, or starts to change out of uniform, until the last of the on-duty patrolers enter the locker room. That's a strict patroler tradition, I'm told. They won't even take their boots off until everyone is safely home."

Dang I envy that! In my craving for a society or a group of friends that looks out for each other, not relaxing until everyone is safe and accounted for means a lot to me. Actually a metaphor for the church reaching the lost as well. To care about each other enough to want everyone to be safe and not to relax until they are. If your boots are on it means that you're prepared to go back out if needed. Here's to the rescuers. And here's to keeping your boots on.
　
　

Panties for Passover

Memories of Easter.

First there were Easter baskets hidden in the dishwasher. The Easter Bunny a.k.a worlds best dad used to come up with great hiding places and the dishwasher was one of the most memorable. Unlike my kids I only got candy in my basket, although I do remember a large, inflatable pink bunny. Now, what goes in baskets and how big to make them is a surprisingly controversial topic amongst my friends. The "no candy" camp prefers mainly toys, the "it's not a big deal" camp prefers mainly candy no toys. I've been stashing bits and pieces of things since Boxing Day sales, not that I mind candy, we have plenty of that too, it's just that I'm creative and like gift giving occasions. And I'm a great shopper as well so I really enjoy it.

Speaking of gift giving occasions, I've had to create my own. I have no idea if Passover is a gift giving occasion or not but come next Tuesday in my house it's going to be "Panties for Passover." See, my Huggyband's birthday is in December and somehow as a child he was traumatized by combined birthday/Christmas presents and worse yet underwear and socks as presents. So he's pretty adamant that underclothes of any variety don't count as gifts. I'm not. I'm practical. And since I can't give them as Christmas or birthday presents I've had to come up with creative reasons to give them, hence "Socks for Hanukkah" and "Panties for Passover." What that means is that last Hanukkah everyone in my family got a new package of socks lovingly wrapped in blue tissue paper. Fortunately they all laughed. Now here we are at Easter and since I can't stuff underwear in baskets I'm just borrowing Passover as an excuse to give it to them.

But meanwhile back to the past. Easters as a kid where pretty routine, baskets, frilly dresses, church and a ham dinner. No family nearby meant that it was usually just the 3 of us and that was fine. Everything is fine when there are chocolate eggs and trifle involved. When I was 7 I think we billeted hockey players for an annual international tournament. Billeting is a Canadian thing. Americans, at least my husband, have never heard of the word or the concept. Anyways, it means to put someone up for a night or so. What the kids would call "couch surfing" now. Good excuse to show some hospitality.

That hockey tournament would wind it's way back in to my life in the mid 90s. St. John's was responsible for providing first aid coverage at every single one of those hockey games throughout the entire tournament. Hockey in Kamloops in the spring; freezing cold arenas, early mornings, lots of coffee, lots of injuries, great people. One year in particular stands out. The nephew of a beloved "may as well be" uncle was coming from Saskatchewan to play in the tourney. The uncle and his family were coming in to town for it as well so it only made sense that I offer to do coverage for that particular team so that I could be of service and hang out with the family. The problem was that I had never met this hockey playing "may as well be"cousin or his dad. My plan for the very first morning was to scan the crowd for the man who looked the most like my uncle, introduce myself to him and we'd be all set. Well, as an only child there's some things I'll never be able to figure out, such as how siblings can look and act so different from each other. None of the parents of the Saskatchewan team looked anything like my uncle. My Uncle is a small guy and all of these men were big. My second choice was to talk to the friendliest looking parent and get them to point me in the right direction. Well the second choice turned out to be the right choice because when I told the friendly looking man who I was and why I was looking for Mr. G he laughed and said "Cass I AM Mr. G! You're uncle is my brother!' Laughter all around, soon my uncle and his family joined us and we were on our way to the next game. Turns out that the hockey playing cousin was playing with a broken arm and really shouldn't have been playing but it was a good opportunity for scouts to see him. It was also a good opportunity for the other teams to take advantage of his injury. We all watched him be cross checked into the boards and watched as a ref DIDN'T watch. My Uncle's family is French Canadian; they're all fluent in it including a young cousin in French immersion. When A was cross checked both his Dad and Uncle let forth a stream of curses in French and started yelling at the ref in French. My youngest cousin was standing in front of me and I clamped my hands over her ears to protect them. Good times, good times.

Easter would get even better when I discovered God and the amazing play that helped me find him. Tell you what? Let me work privately at the memories of Alive Again for a while and then I'll share them. Stay tuned!

3rd floor please

The 37 1/2 year old version of me got on an elevator and pressed the button for the third floor today. It was only my second time on in In Patient Unit at the hospice; but it for sure won't be my last time. Today I sat down with a volunteer co-ordinator to discuss my areas of interest in volunteering with hospice and as soon as the paper work comes back I can start. In the mirror of the elevator I caught a glimpse of the 22 year old me, who all those years ago also punched an upward number and headed to a hospice office.

At the time I was on my way to what I know would call an anticipatory grief counsellor. My mom had just been diagnosed with cancer and she was dying fast. It has been said that you don't find hospice, hospice finds you. You could say the same thing about death; nobody goes looking for it, it finds you. Death had made it's customary appearances in my childhood. Lurking in the corners as it often does not really affecting you but just letting you know that it's there. There was the death of a distant grandma, then 2 uncles in the same year none of who's funerals I went to. When I was 16 a favorite friend committed suicide; death rode up boldly to center stage of my life. It was a collective experience, I can't remember the death of M without talking about it in terms of "we." We standing for all my classmates. We lost a friend. And like the rabbits in Watership Down we clung to each other in fear of death personified like they did in fear of The Black Rabbit of Inle. Then as quickly as he had come death slipped away again. His shadow wouldn't sneak up on me until late college.

It was the equivalent of the literary device called foreshadowing; something happened that would give clues about what was to happen. We were doing group presentations for a geography class I think. It was the morning of the presentation and one of my friends in my group didn't show up. It was looooooong before the age of texting and we had no idea where she was. I was frustrated and disappointed. A week later she returned and told us that her Mom had died rather unexpectedly. "Mom's die?" how sad. It was so sad that I went home that night and discussed with my Mom how sad it would be for her to die. A few months later my Mom WAS dead. A few years later my Dad would marry that same friend from college's aunt and we would become step cousins. Foreshadowing........

In my head there's a line or memory of demarcation. A memory that stands as the last normal, stable thing before the world crashed around me. I wonder if every crisis has that? Has the "one moment we were doing X and then the phone rang" moment. One moment I was trying to shut the morning news off and then........... One moment I was arguing with my husband and then.............. One moment we were laughing in the rain and then................ Yeah, the major stuff comes with those moments. So one moment I was registering for summer school at college. Listening to Garth Brook's "Ain't Goin' Down "Til The Sun Comes Up" on a yellow Sony walkman and the next moment my Mom was being diagnosed with cancer and told that she only had 2 months to live.

I was an only child, and while we didn't have a diagnosis then it's clear to me now that I had depression back then. In a move that would change the course of all of our lives my Dad got me an appointment counsellor. Death had found my family. He had us in his cross hairs. Hospice also found us. One of those organizations that you have no idea even exist until you need them and then you're sure glad they're there. 5 years ago my oldest son was medi-vaced to a hospital in another state upon his birth. Ronald McDonald House stepped in and gave us a place to stay. That's another organization that you don't know anything about until you need to.
I don't remember the counsellors name and only some of what we talked about but I remember feeling very relieved when I left one of our sessions. You know how in the movies families gather at the deathbed of a loved one and everyone is happy and close? Here's something you don't see in the movies; sometimes families argue all through a death. Arguments so big doors are slammed. Sometimes old sins are dragged out. Sometimes scape goats are created. Sometimes families fall apart and people leave. My family was one of those. I was the grieving person who wanted to talk about it. Who wanted to know exactly how long my mom had and how the death would happen. I dared to imagine that my life would continue without my Mom and that thought scared me. Yes I was self centered, yes some nights I was more concerned about what I was going to wear to a party than my moms health but that was ok. Hospice told me so. Hospice told me that it was ok to grieve the way I was grieving and that talking about death didn't make it happen. When my Mom died 9 weeks after diagnosis a hospice volunteer met me at the house and she was the only person I let into my room that night. Hospice pulled me through.

Shortly after that my Dad joined the board of directors at hospice. They went on to build a 12 bed free standing hospice house. Both my parents volunteer there regularly as well as for their thrift shop and in other areas. A year ago a childhood friend of mine came to live out his last days in "the house" as we call it. Honestly, that caught me a little off guard. While I know that Vancouver has a children's hospice called Canuck Place, I still equate hospice, or maybe just long term dying with the old. C wasn't old. He couldn't be, his birthday is the day before mine. In my head the house was built so that people like my mom wouldn't have to die in a hospital nor a living room. It wasn't built for extraordinary young men. But I'm sure glad it was there. Last week a friends mom died. She was an amazing lady and although I'm sad that she died I'm thrilled that she died in hospice. It seemed a fitting and dignified end to a life well lead. I miss you Jaquie.........

And so all these years and all these states later my work with hospice begins. I hope that one day years from now someone will say of my bereavement counselling that "she got me through." Comforting from where you have been comforted right? Giving back.......... It's going to be hard I'm sure; but worth it. My current work with doing began today by getting back into an elevator.