I Need Grandma!

 I remember a time when I had children fast approaching their twenties, there were no prospects in their horizons, and I was really losing faith in ever becoming a grandmother. I was anxious to be a grandmother, I really thought I would make a good one!

 Then one morning quite a few years later, it seems, I woke up and I was a grandmother. I began to wonder.. Am I really ready to be a grandma?  What is my responsibility to them? Have I taught them anything?, besides the fact that there is always gum in my pocketbook!

 One Sunday morning as we were sitting in church, I was oblivious to the noise coming from the back. My husband leaned over and whispered, "Your grandchildren are really cutting capers this morning." I started listening and yes it was my grandchildren, after a little while, our son made his way to the back of the church carrying our two year old granddaughter. As he went out through the double doors, she wailed, "I NEED GRANDMA!" It was my moment of fame!... but it only lasted a moment. It started me thinking, Did she really think I would come to her rescue? and if she did, what did I do to make her think that?

  My experience with grandmothers is pretty limited. My paternal grandparents were separated, so grandma worked night and day to keep her family together and support herself. After my uncle took over the family farm, grandma lived wherever she worked, in nursing homes, and later, as a housekeeper. Once when she came to visit us, one of my sisters asked mom who that lady was. I was afraid of her when I was little, but it wasn't until after I was married, and she came to live with my parents, that I really learned to know and appreciate her. When she told me the stories of her life, the tragedies, and disappointments she had faced, and how her faith kept her going, I was proud to call her "grandma"!

 My maternal grandmother died when I was six. In those six years she showed me what a grandmother could be. I can still remember the way she smelled, like lavender and candy all wrapped up in one. When she came to visit she always brought us candy...the orange circus peanuts were my favorite.  I remember her sitting on the "davenport", ( I never heard anybody else call our sofa a davenport) cuddling with me until I fell asleep. She was my ally against my older siblings. When she died I knew I had lost something valuable.

 I realize how blessed I was to have two exceptional grandmothers. One taught me to treasure every moment you can with your grandchildren, and the other one taught me that even though life is hard, God will give us strength to face our struggles. I remember a reunion we had several years before grandma died, she looked around at all her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren and she said in a voice filled with awe, "I am responsible for all these people!" With God at her side, she was able to live to see her family grow together, even though there were times she couldn't be there for them. And now, as I grow older and see the grandchildren multiply and grow, I can say "I am responsible for all these little people." And oh, how...I NEED GRANDMA!

She's Baack...but Gone a Little Wild!

After whining about winter a few posts ago, I am going to have to back down a little...but only a little. I do find pleasure in watching someone else enjoy the fluffy, cold, white stuff that God has blessed our farm with. When Amanda asked me if I was going to need the picnic table for anything, I was a little concerned. It's winter! It snowed! Who would have a picnic now! A little later I looked out the window and saw her hard at work   ...a new guard dog? ...no...

 

A tiger!! Even the dog was a little skeptical of the big beast lying on the picnic table.

 

 

Over the years we have had a menagerie of animals grace our yard.  She has wanted a horse ever since she was small, but her dad was adamant that there was no room for a horse on a dairy farm.

So she showed him!!

 

Sadly the horse only lasted several hours. One of the nieces tried to ride him and knocked his head off. She tried to put it back on before Amanda saw it but the horse was greatly deformed after that!
Amanda then decided to make some creatures in the woods away from the hands of little people but the woodland creatures found them fascinating too.
                                   
                                                                         

 

Pooh Bear took up residence in the flower garden the longest. He was at the corner of the house that nobody notices. One day he disappeared, I guess he went back to the Hundred Acre Wood.

 

 

 

When there is no snow to sculpt, she is in my kitchen wrecking havoc with a sharpie.

It is pretty uncanny to be making breakfast at 5am and open the egg carton to find a dozen screaming eggs!...

 

 

Or looking at oranges that are half scared to death....

 

 

  So I will endure the snow, as long as she takes her artistic talent out of my kitchen and keeps it in the yard!!

 

Tears are a language!

We were in California recently for a church conference. One of the activities that was planned for the ladies was a day of shopping. I am not your typical shopper, I go to the store, get what I want and go home! I happen to be shopping with several ladies that were the epitome of the shopping experience.

There were four of us in our vehicle. Beth, Bonnie, Clarice, and I. It really worked out well. Clarice and I watched as Beth and Bonnie put the phrase, "shop till you drop" into practice!!  At the fourth store I opted to sit in the car. It was a small thrift store and I wasn't finding any bargains that were small enough to fit in a suitcase anyway.

Beth had opened the car windows so it was real pleasant sitting there watching the crazy California traffic. After a few minutes Clarice came out of the store and tried to get in the car. We tried everything to unlock the doors. There was no way we could get them open. I don't think I ever felt so helpless, I had never been locked in before and the feelings that started to well up inside could have lead to a full blown panic attack. I suggested to Clarice that she crawl through the window but she wasn't that desperate to get in even if I did need the extra company.

As we stood/sat there talking and laughing through the opened window trying to devise a way for her to get in the car, a man came walking up the street. He was carrying a battered suitcase. He had long straggly gray hair, very unkempt looking. On closer inspection his clothes were clean, and there were no visible holes. At some point in time someone had written on his T-shirt with a marking pen but it was pretty faded. All we could read was, "Jesus forgive me for..." As he got closer to us he started to call out to us, "Help me.." at least that is what we thought he said. We couldn't understand everything he was saying but we did catch the word "hungry". 

Clarice and I looked at each other and said, "What do we do?" I looked around to see if there was any type of fast food places but there weren't any restaurants at all. We talked about the possibility of taking him for food then we remembered I was locked in and had no keys! Clarice said she sure wasn't taking him by herself! As we continued to debate what to do, he continued to mumble, "I'm hungry!" We finally decided to give him some money, still not sure it was the right thing to do. I looked up at him and saw him wiping tears. I don't know the difference between alligator tears or the real thing, but they looked real to my melting heart. Tears are a language, even if the person shedding them is an expert at producing them. "Tears are words the mouth can't say nor can the heart bare."
We handed him the money as he wiped his tears. He held out his fist , he was trying to say "Thank you"As he continued to mumble, we picked out the words motel and shower.  We said, "No, that's  all we can give you!" He turned and walked away.

Now several months later, I still wonder about him. I still think about his tears. We had one opportunity to touch his life. He touched mine with tears. Tears are a language that God understands!

The Rest of the Story

I heard them long before I saw them. At two and three years old, they already have their favorite chairs picked out. Somebody was sitting in his chair, and he was protesting loud and long. I am the last one to get to my class, I first have to round up all the stragglers. By the time I got there, he was standing on a chair, pointing to the offender, yelling, "NO THAT"S MY SEAT". He hasn't learned yet that standing on these chairs can be disastrous. Then it happened, he tried to stomp his foot. The chair tipped and he was under the table. With six little girls looking wide eyed, I drag him out and set him back on the chair...that wasn't his. Thus started my half hour of trying to teach the nursery class.
   I immediately changed the order of the class. Singing usually brightens the day, but this particular morning, three of them wanted to sing something different, so they did. I quickly glance across the basement to see if the noise from my class was disrupting any other classes. Another quick glance at the steps to see if any Dads were making their appearance. Maybe singing isn't a good idea after all. So, I get out the crayons. A Bible story should help get everyone focused. As I tell the story of the Good Samaritan, some are listening and some are not. When I get to the part about the man laying in the ditch, covered with bumps and bruises, it reminds one little girl about the boo-boo above her eye and how it got there. All of a sudden she has everyone's attention, even mine! The man in the ditch lay forgotten as I listened to a two year olds account of falling off the bed. As I continued to listen, I realized I had lost my class's attention and I wouldn't get to finish the story for this Sunday morning. The half hour flies by as we sing everyone's favorite song, eat a snack and pass out stickers. Then it is time for candy... every parent's favorite part! Everybody gets one piece! Unless.. you need one for your Daddy, Mommy, baby brother, etc... They learn quick that this teacher is an old softy when it comes to giving out candy!!
  As six little girls and one little boy run across the basement eager to show their parents what they got in Sunday School, I am left with a let-down feeling.  Why does my throat feel like I have been yelling for half an hour and nobody heard me? Why do I feel like the bruised man is still laying in the ditch. Daniel is still with the lions? We never seem to finish the story...
  In a way, we really do, its just isn't the way my adult mind thinks we should. Another morning as the children were coloring a picture of Saul on the Damascus road, I was telling how the light from heaven came down and blinded him. A little voice piped up that Jonah got swallowed by a whale. We quickly left Saul on the Damascus road and went over to Joppa to find Jonah. With each of them helping me, we found Jonah in the belly of the whale and followed him all the way to Nineveh. I still haven't figured out what the blinding light from heaven had to do with Jonah in the whale but it didn't really matter, I got to finish a story!
   Saul is still kneeling on the Damascus road waiting for somebody to remember him, we will, it will just have to be another Sunday. So, if your child comes out of my class carrying a picture of Noah's Ark, and tells you about God calling Samuel in the middle of the night, it isn't because this teacher is confused...its because we just finished another story!

Winter

 Winter brings the thought of freezing temperatures and lots of snow. I have reached the age where snow is not a welcome sight! I guess if the truth be told I am not a big fan of winter at all. If I could sit in front of my woodstove with a cup of coffee, and a book; and alternate between watching the fire lick at the logs and look out the window at the blowing snow; and know that I was snug as a bug in a rug, I just might enjoy winter a little more. But that just isn't the way it works for me.

Gone are the warm sunshiny days of wearing flip flops to feed the calves. By the time I finally get enough layers of clothing on so I won't freeze, I am sweating! As I step out the door, the wind takes my breath away. As I breathe in the icy air, I can tell it is in the single digits again. As I walk out through the snow it is so cold my footsteps sound like I am walking on eggshells. The calves water buckets are completely frozen. Thawing calf buckets morning and evening usually produces a pile of ice big enough to make a small igloo. As I work in my heated wash room to mix up the calves milk, I hear them bawling, calling for me to hurry up. They all have their heads out through the bars stretching to reach the milk before I can get it into their holders..all except one! Trying to teach a two day old calf to drink from a bucket while Jack Frost nibbles at my nose calls for a level of patience I have not yet obtained. As I spend an hour or two making 22 calves happy, I become more and more anxious to get back to my warm house. Winter, even the name sounds cold, has a way of making one forget about the hot humid days of summer. I'm so thankful we live in an area that has four seasons. Winter won't last forever!

Reflections in the Middle of the Night

August 2006-  
   As a teenager I always considered 2am as the middle of the night. No sane person would ever think of starting their day at such an atrocious hour.

  That was before I met and married my dairy farmer husband, who likes to be done milking before the sun peeks up over the horizon. Now almost 27 yrs later, I view 2am just a little differently.

  I step out of the house and the heavy darkness feels like a blanket as it wraps itself around me. The stillness of the night is only broken by the late summer sounds. There are no vehicles, or big semis roaring through the night. There are no clouds in the sky, I can see a million stars.  The birds start rustling in the trees, as my footsteps disturb their sleep and they change their positions. The barn owl, that lives in the old silo, is out on his perch watching me with distain. With a hoot, he takes flight and circles the barn, wondering what is wrong with these humans. They disturb him all day and half the night. I enter the barn as the first cows slowly make their way into the milking parlor. They too seem loathe to shatter the stillness, their feet keep time with their jaws as they find a stall. They are glad the heat and humidity are past, they are ready for cooler temperatures.

   As my daughter and I turn on the fans and start the milker pump, the spell is broken. The cows start to push and shove as they look for their favorite stall. The cow that was fresh the day before sounds like a fog horn as she searches for her calf. The quiet of the early morning helps to take the sting out of life's little grievances, like the mean spirited cow that kicks the milker into many little pieces and it takes 15 minutes to find all the parts and put it all back together.

   There is only one other thing that can compare to the peace and serenity I feel as I step out of the house at 2am.

  It happens on the mornings that I don't milk, I waken to the sounds of our little granddaughters' voice coming over the baby monitor. As I slowly make me way downstairs, she hears me coming and stretches her little arms out to be picked up. We snuggle down into the rocking chair, she burrows her head into the crook of my arm and gazes up at me. She doesn't want to play, she knows it is the middle of the night and she is supposed to be sleeping. She doesn't want a bottle, she just needs someone with skin on. I can feel her eyes looking into mine in the darkness. We exchange secret thoughts, thoughts she will never remember and I will never forget. I watch her as she slowly lets sleep overtake her. She sighs as she falls into a deep sleep. I continue to hold her, I don't want to put her back in her crib. I want to hold her forever.

2am is still the middle of the night, but it is also one of my favorite times of the day.

When We Are Old Ladies

I changed the words to the poem, "When I'm an Old Lady",  to fit our daughter Debbie and her fiancé Pete. Then his mother and I read this at their wedding in 2006.

When We Are Old Ladies

When we are old ladies, we'll live with Pete and Deb,
And bring so much happiness, just like they did.
We want to pay back all the joy they've provided,
Returning each deed, Oh they'll be so excited.

We'll take off our socks, lay them all over the house.
Then we'll try to tame a wee little mouse.
Oh how we'll cry when they feed it to the cat,
Then we'll play in the mud, and track it onto the mat.
When we are old ladies and live with Pete and Deb.

We'll take a nail, scratch our names on the table,
And when they get angry...we'll run...if we're able.
We'll get their little girl, cut off all her hair,
Then we'll hide out....behind the chair.
When we are old ladies and live with Pete and Deb.

We'll get in Pete's truck and never look back,
Until we backed into the green metal hay rack!
When they cook dinner and call us to eat,
We gag on the dried beef gravy, chicken and beets.
When we are old ladies and live with Pete and Deb.

We'll drink from the cartons, and then leave them out,
Then we'll stick pins in the outlets... just to hear them shout.
We'll cross both our eyes, to see if they stick,
Then we'll play in the candles and ruin the wicks.
When we are old ladies and live with Pete and Deb.

And later in bed we'll lay back with a sigh,
We'll thank God in prayer and then close our eyes.
Pete and Deb will look down with a smile slowly creeping,
And say with a groan, "They're so cute when they're sleeping!"