MORE SOUP PLEASE

 Well, it's another blistery day on the coast and I am looking for a way to cool off.

Hmmmmm!.......Aha!! Soup!....that will do it. 

Huh? Soup you say? Oh, did I forget to mention I meant chilled soup? Yep, that's right....tis the season. Right now I have some lovely, sweet local strawberries just dying to sacrifice themselves for my pleasure. (But if you have last year's lonely ones languishing in your freezer you can put them out of their misery as well). Chilled soup may not have ever been in your repetoire, but you must be brave and trust me on this one. (say you do)

Starting dinner with cold soup is like having dessert before dinner. (I have you now, don't  I?)You do know that this was the biggest single regret of the ladies who went down with the Titanic.......not having dessert first, don't you?

I have been making strawberry soup for about 40 years (not continuously) and the recipe had me cooking the berries with orange juice and arrowroot and sugar then mixing in buttermilk and chilling overnight.

These days however I've learned to simply puree my halved fresh or slightly thawed berries with a bit of honey or sugar, some orange or lemon juice, a bit of mint or cinnamon or even basil, and yogurt or sour cream and then chill for a couple of hours or pop in the freezer for a bit if I'm late making dinner.

There are a  lot of recipes on the web you can follow, but essentially you need an equal amount of berries and yogurt or sour cream, and then add the rest at your whim. (I know you hate me for not being exact but I have broad shoulders.....slightly pudgy.) Throw in what you like or have on hand (tasting as you throw)

To give you an example, I made soup for 2  today using what was in my fridge: 1 and 1/2 cups strawberries, the juice of a lime, some lemon zest, a bit of cinnamon, 1 and 1/2 cups of key lime yogurt and 1 Tbs. honey.It turned out way delish. I garnished with a bit of yogurt, some zest and a mint leaf and served it in these sweet flower bowls

You might also serve it in a crystal sherbet glass, or perhaps a thrift store margarita glass like this one.(you could dip the rim in lemon juice and then sugar for a pretty presentation....use your imagination!)

This soup would be lovely as a starter at your dinner party, or served in teacups at a ladies' luncheon.

If you have leftovers and haven't gotten out of bed in the middle of the night to lick the bowl, put the rest into popsicle molds for another treat tomorrow. If you are feeling generous you may share these with the children or grandchildren.(or not, depending)

Please experiment with other fruits, like blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, plums, peaches. Just change up the extras; for example, use a bit of almond extract or nutmeg with peaches.

 You can do this!!! Happy chillin!

I AM THE PRIZE

 Recently I drove by a high school and quickly glanced at a big lighted sign announcing the date of….   wait for it............

PATHETIC AWARDS

It took me a few seconds to realize that the sign actually said:

 ATHLETIC AWARDS

I laughed out loud and almost drove off the road. Then I began to ponder all the ways in which I am pathetic and wonder if I might be eligible for the award.

I used to be pathetic (still am) at things that didn’t matter to me…like singing bass, or sword swallowing or bull-fighting. None of my friends could do those things either so that was okay.

I would have liked to have been a better swimmer though, like my sister Judy. She tried in vain to teach me the techniques but I was pretty hopeless. I did look good in a bikini for a short while which assuaged my flagging ego somewhat but that turned pathetic sooner than I would have hoped. 

(sadly, no pics available)

I liked to participate in sports and pretend I was a contributing member of the team but inside I knew I was less than stellar (make than completely less). I was okay with that because there were other important things I could do like recite Latin poetry and re-arrange our attic bedroom 50 different ways.

I felt beyond pathetic when as a young mom I was discarded for an even younger model. I lost focus and confidence and hope. I feared the mornings when it all became true again. Pathetic was written all over my face.

Years later, after one of my 13 surgeries (yikes) I remember feeling particularly pathetic as my teenage daughter tucked me into bed and administered my medication that she bought with her babysitting money. I was the parent and she shouldn’t have had to do that. I struggled with my inability to leap tall buildings and be the super-single-mom I needed to be while pathetically my body refused to co-operate. Over the years, I mourned the fact that my children were unable to buy the team jacket, sport the trendy fashion, eat out with their friends, feel secure that they would have what they needed.

Yet, interestingly enough, they have the most amazing memories of growing up. They recount the story of our 3-day holiday in the Okanagan in a leaky tent with a propane stove that didn’t work, and the pile of mush that accumulated outside our tent after the rain had its way with our presto logs. (I proffered them as cream of wheat for breakfast but received no takers.)

They love how we ate dinner in the dining room with 3-course meals served on the good china on Sunday nights. The main attraction however was that we got to take turns leaving the table and coming back as a character that the other two had to guess. I was acclaimed ‘awesome’ when I returned one evening in my allotted one minute with a cardboard guitar and singing ‘Born in the USA.’ How cool was I??  

           

We cried together and we laughed together and now years later we seek one another out to share our lives. They have turned out to be successful people with beautiful hearts. When I look at them, I don’t feel pathetic at all.

Now being pathetic in my body is another story. Which day this week will I wake up unable to walk because of arthritis in my feet? Which weeks will fibromyalgia suck more and more life from me? My head and heart are full of a trillion things I want and feel I must do. I refuse to live out my days taking up space. The time left is shrinking (unlike my body) and I must stuff as much as I can into the days I am given. What if I live my whole life and never accomplish my unique purpose?

 It’s too tragic to think about!

And so I press on and I do things I shouldn’t and pour out too much of myself and insist on doing things myself and cram another thing into my week. I do pace myself much better than before but sometimes someone needs me, or my brownies, or my loud cheers from the sidelines and just what is a body to do?

 I have come to peace with the fact that I am not loved by God for my performance; that he would adore me sitting motionless and uncommunicative in a wheelchair. But the very fact that I have breath and can see needs and hurts and have that deep desire to bring help and healing and show love propels me beyond the easy and into the hard where everything hurts and where I long to escape this pathetic state and really go out there and slay the world with kindness.

Knowing that God knows my heart makes all the difference. When I am too feeble, he doesn’t berate. He offers rest and restoration for body and soul. He bathes me in loving kindness. I am renewed.

Seeing myself through God’s eyes gives me new perspective. I am his adored child. I am perfection.

I am ineligible for the pathetic award.

And so are you.

TREASURE HUNTING

Some of you may know that I have parlayed my nostalgia for the 30’s- 50’s and my thrill of the hunt into a small venture…..selling vintage wares at an antique mall in Fort Langley.

Hunting for treasures can be dangerous business. Sometimes the find won’t go willingly to its assigned place on the shelf at my booth but rather jumps out of my hand and onto my mantle or bedside table and declares itself ‘home’. I try to insist otherwise, but sometimes those delicious turquoise or red or ‘grandma’-green pretties just hypnotize me and I must relent and let them have their way. They are clever…….whispering ancient words and conjuring up remembrances of simpler, more delicately beautiful days. I am in love and they know it. No profit today…..just another whimsical, unique pretty salvaged from neglect and reincarnated as an honoured guest in my home.

 Price…..paltry/ experience….priceless!

I do manage to corral some treasures and ferry them to the mall………..Some of my favourites stay there awhile and my heart aches for the injustice of their remaining unsold and uncherished. Other times I manage to create a brilliant display only to have someone purchase the star performer in my clever vignette before the world has had a chance to savour and admire it.  Such is the life of a reluctant passer-on of the oldies but goodies.

Some of you must wonder at my love for the cast-off relics of another time. I can’t explain it; I only know it is so. Part of it may have to do with their uniqueness…..there are not 20 identical items lined up for sale waiting to be displayed in 20 cookie-cutter homes. Yes, perhaps it all comes down to that……. a desire to express myself apart from the masses. And of course it’s the colours. And sometimes it’s just my rescuing heart, loathe to see that tiny jug relegated to a thrift-store jumble when lovingly washed and placed just so on a window sill or filled with tiny garden blossoms and perched on the table above your luncheon salad plate will not only give it new life but also give me a chance to spoil you with its delicate charms.

My best hint for thrift store- garage sale- flea market-craigslist- dumpster-diving-shopping is to go with no pre-conceived notions. If you go looking for something specific, your eye will skip over another treasure.

I like certain colours, so I don’t allow my eyes to rest on something different like brown or orange perhaps. That way I can scan a shelf or table more quickly and get on with the hunt

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If you love it and the price is right (cheap), you will find a place for it.

Train yourself to see possibility. Imagine that little brown, bruised table painted in fetching colours.

Or how about that dresser with new glass knobs? Or the old enamel bucket filled with snapdragons?

Or that lonely quilt square, framed?

 It’s so fun to score something for next to nothing and find a clever new use for it.

An old cookie tin turned flower pot

 

a honey tin to house pencils

 a tin to hold matches, an old frame transformed into a chalkboard, a napkin turned into a pillow

 a picnic basket to store recipes, a suitcase to fill with fabric. Don’t get me started.

I suddenly just  had a brilliance. Maybe someday when you get to know me better, you could come over and see what I mean. And then maybe we could go on a hunt. Oh and then we could have afternoon tea in the garden (hat and gloves of course), and then maybe a little cooking lesson and we could chat and giggle and share our hearts. Oh this is sounding delicious!

Would you come?

`

I’M IN HEAVEN

Life (actually my husband) has just dealt me the most amazing hand. A trip to Europe you ask? Or exquisite jewels perhaps?

Au contraire, mes amies. It is a project, a sweet 47 year-old, 13- foot honey of a tiny trailer just waiting impatiently to be transformed into a little sleeping spot for extra guests at our cabin. Little does he know that I will also host fetching afternoon teas and after-dinner dessert parties and have the dreamiest naps inside its tiny confines. I will write the best blogs ever in there.

It all started a few years ago when I read about women who fix up these little beauties and take them on the road with organizations like “Sisters on the Fly” or set them up as little guest cottages or studios in their yards. I fell in love with their teeny shapes, and the aqua and pink appliances and the vintage fixings that made them tres adorable.

Two years ago I put two books on my Christmas list….Glamping by Mary Jane Butters and Sisters on the Fly by Irene Rawlings. I received both of them and have covered their pages with hungry drool.(now isn’t that a pretty picture?) 

I have secretly scoured Craigslist hunting for the perfect little specimen, while knowing it was just a fantasy, one that was unlikely to be shared by the guy with the money. A couple of weeks ago, as fate would have it, there was a vintage show in Lynden WA. just across the border from where I Iive. I read the info and discovered that there were going to be some of the little trailers making an appearance there. I coyly suggested an outing with his majesty, offering Edaleen Dairy’s ice cream and the honor of my accompaniment as a bribe. There were 8 little themed trailers and he loved them. Who knew? He thought they were way more expensive than they actually were so when I told him what I had seen online, he said we should get one. What? It was that easy?

We came down to the cabin last week and looked at 2 little gems and bought the second one. Here it is in all its unglory. It’s not beautiful yet but it has lovely bones and it’s going to be so cute, you are going to die!

Pinch me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stay tuned.

....A Bit Nutty....

Wouldn’t it be great to live in a town with a Mark Twainish, New England sort of name like Walnut Grove? Well I do! Honest. It suits me because:

  a) it is charming

  b) I’m a bit nutty

  c) I can make WALNUT PASTA SAUCE from all the walnuts which I’ve never actually seen but am sure must be around here somewhere.

Walnut sauce you say? That sounds weird. But no, my pretties, it’s delish. Trust me, and I don’t even like nuts much at all!!! Wilma, don’t try this without your Epipen in hand!

RECIPE

Soak a piece of brown bread in 2/3 cup milk

Toast 1 cup walnuts (whole or pieces) and a few extra for garnishing, in oven or in frying pan

Puree walnuts, bread, milk, 1 clove garlic minced, ¼ cup parmesan cheese and a splash of olive oil

Toss with pasta and at bit of hot cooking water.

Sprinkle with reserved walnuts and chopped fresh parsley.

Of course this will be even tastier atop your homemade pasta. If you’ve never tried making it from scratch you really must! It’s really easy and great fun for kids or guests to help roll it out and cut.

The basic dough is made with:   3 cups flour (use some whole wheat if you must)

                                                                 4 eggs

                                                                 1 TBS. olive oil

                                                                 1 TBS. salt

                                                                 1-2 TBS. water

It is easiest made in a stand mixer as the dough is quite stiff. Mix all till it comes together and knead in your machine or by hand till it is smooth. Then put it in a plastic bag or cover it with a bowl (upside-down silly) for 30 minutes or till later in the day when you get around to it.

Cut the dough in 6 pieces and flatten each of them slightly before dipping them in flour and putting through the rollers of your pasta machine. If you don’t have one, it looks like this. I see them all the time in thrift stores. Keep a lookout.

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You can also roll by hand but you need serious muscle. With the machine, you put it through successively tighter rollers (from 1-5) until the dough is quite thin and long. I lay it out to dry for a bit on the counter or you can also dust it with a bit of flour and then put it through the cutters. Mine has cutters for spaghetti and for fettuccini. You can also leave the dough in long pieces and cut it to size for lasagna, or make ravioli with it.

Another cleverness is to put flavouring/nutrition in the dough; e.g. cooked spinach (yep, it’s green), or tomato paste (red) or lemon zest (great with fish) or orange zest (try with chicken). You may need to use less liquid in your dough if adding vegetables or paste.

The great thing about homemade pasta is that it cooks up really fast….in 2-3 minutes. This recipe makes a pound which will feed 6-8 people generously. If you don’t need it all, just let your cut noodles dry and stick them in the freezer. You can break off bits for your homemade turkey soup!!

Also, you must consider candying your walnuts for salads.

 Just melt a bit of butter in a frying pan, add some brown sugar and your walnuts and stir to coat and sauté until browned and caramelly. Let cool and toss into your lettuce/spinach with some goat cheese and blueberries/strawberries/raspberries. Yummers!!

Oh! I just now had another brilliance. Ice cream with maple syrup topped with your candied walnuts. Or how about waffles with caramelized bananas and walnuts?

Would love to stay and chat, but a walnut tree just called my name……..

*

RED IS BEST

I love stuff…..vintage/new, chipped/pristine, quirky/traditional…..but especially all things red. Well except for blood…and red ants and of course sunburn. But pretty much everything else.

The thing about red is, it doesn’t just sit there…it punctuates! I love its clarity and boldness and warmth. It says, Come over and touch me.” It’s just plain folk, not showy like aubergine or magenta. It evokes plump Okanagan cherries, juicy beefsteak tomatoes, little red wagons, First Grade readers, 50’s canister sets,

cabooses, workman’s plaid shirts and window-box geraniums

My back-yard potting station

 Are you with me? Feeling the love?

Red never seems to be the ‘in’ colour, but for some reason it is with me. Even when I intentionally exclude it from a room it sneaks its way in. It is adorable paired with turquoise, absolutely fetching juxtaposed with white, alluringly fresh alongside mint green….well you get the picture.

Breaky a la Lucille's

A section of my summer-time mantle (til I change it!)

When I was 3 or 4, I had a red plaid dress with ruffles at the shoulders and a tie that cinched in a great big bow in back. I loved that dress so much that I would sit on the back step and wait for it to dry on the line because for me there was no other. I was more me in that dress than anything else.

I still like to wear red and I like to think it becomes me. I wear it not to draw attention, but to express joy, wholeness, old-fashioned individuality. For a lot of years in between I couldn’t wear red. It was too happy and confident….not for the wounded soul.

Did I mention I love stuff? Well I do, but just to be clear, stuff doesn’t own me. Almost everything I have is thrift-store, bargain-hunted, refurbished. I love that because it creates a fun, eclectic look that is uniquely me and allows me to spend my money on the important things in life. I must admit I get a thrill from rescuing poor lonely cast-offs and giving them a new home and pride of place.

 Honestly though, if I lost everything tomorrow, I would shed no tears. Stuff can make my heart skip a beat, or make me smile or feel cosy but it can never satisfy my soul.  Only Jesus does that. His unfailing goodness, steadfast love and open-ended grace allow me to walk this earth secure, hopeful, at peace and delighted to be me.

                                                                                             

Try red. You might like it!

* Marianne Lucille Mace Loades Dunbar

AT THE CABIN

Just sitting on the porch swing, typing you a little taste of heaven.

(Note big cushions made from $2.99 thrift store, unused fabric shower curtain and rolled pillows from Target for @2.00 each.....SCORE!)

I’m hearing lots of tweets but they are coming from mourning doves, blue-jays, red-winged blackbirds and a host of other birds, not my phone.

I am surrounded by greenery, dozens of different species of trees and plants, some hundreds of years old and some new this week. They exist side by side, each one knowing its place and seemingly content to be there. Giant cedars and hemlocks raise their arms heavenward, pointing to the never-ending sky dressed for the prom in a blue chiffon dress.

I picked wildflowers for the table outside.

At home, I would have relegated them to the compost but here they take on a charm I find irresistible. It makes me ponder (Oh no, another deep thought) about how I treat people. Do I choose to love the beautiful, the popular, the showy, or can I see through to the unique worth of everyone I meet and celebrate each one for their own special significance and purpose? Can I let them shine too or do I take the spotlight for myself? I pray God births in me increasing tolerance, love, acceptance to see beyond my narrow tri-focals to embrace all of his handiwork.

Life is simpler here….no need to impress or produce….just rest and enjoy nature, the absence of timetables and e-mails, the fellowship of people, the blessings of grandchildren.

Perhaps a cabin in the woods is not even on your radar….it certainly was never remotely on mine, and yet here I am. But there are places of quiet rest you can take yourself…….a Starbucks----- just you and your journal, a bubble bath, a morning walk, a quiet corner while everyone still sleeps. Refresh your focus and spirit. Remember what is important, not simply what is urgent and in your face demanding attention. Little people need you, husbands need you. Your family and friends look to you. Draw your strength to be all you need to be from above…you won’t get it running around in circles trying to please everyone nor by burning yourself out proving your worth.

Remember who made you. Remember how precious, valuable, cherished, wanted, you are to Him. Remember the things that will last….not accolades, waistlines, titles, the right clothes, wads of cash, beautiful things…..but the people who have been placed in your life and your impact on them, whether positive or apathetic or negative. Your choice.

Francis Chan says,”….Nothing you do in this life will ever matter unless it’s about loving God and the people he has made.” That should give us pause.

Down by the Riverside

Just sitting on a bench taking in the view….peace personified. I am in Fort Langley, a 4- minute drive from where I live. It is quaint…like me… and offers feasts for the eyes and tummy….shops with antiques and collectibles, books, one-of-a-kind treasures, caprese grilled-cheese sandwiches in red-checkered cones, rich scoops of waffle- encased gelato, whipped cream and chocolate sauce-adorned mochas, elegant French cuisine (oui,oui).

But then there’s the riverside. Today the water runs stillish…just a slight whisper of breath from God’s lips moves it along. It mirrors its surroundings more easily when it’s not rushing pell-mell to its destination and today perfectly reflects lush greenery, curving hills, cotton-batten clouds…..and tucked to the side, a little white church, steeple pointed heavenward.

I can think here. (that can be dangerous) Mostly, my thought processes slow down. The worries and cares and obligations and hurts and to-do lists and balancing acts take a rumble seat to the serenity before me. How is it that my normal voracious appetite both in my life and on the screen demands action but here stillness feeds my soul and satisfies?  I am reminded of the psalmist words. ‘Be still and know that I am God.’

My recently-adopted daughter-in-law Christy posts beautiful photos of her prairie sky.

She too gazes in wonder at its vastness and beauty and peacefulness. Taking it in can’t help but birth a sense of awe and smallness as if we suddenly see ourselves not as the center of the universe (quelle surprise!)  but as a gaping observer of things far beyond our scope and ken. There is mystery here, but also soul-comfort.  We are not in charge…..there is a bigger plan……we can rest in good hands.

Praying you find your peace today.

A TON OF TOMATOES

Picked up some veg at the local market and found a plethora (I know it’s not an exact amount but I do love using that word) of tomatoes in $1.00 bags on the discount table. I scooped up a bunch of them, romas, vine-ripened, camparis, so pleased with my good fortune. (God is so good to me !)

 Raced home and cut up those babies….not a spot to be found. Laid them lovingly on parchment paper     (dollar- store  purchase) on baking sheets, sprinkled them with freshly- ground pepper and sea salt, slathered them with olive oil, tucked in peeled whole cloves and onion wedges and dotted them with fresh basil, and oregano and parsley from my garden. I was feeling very farm-wiferish.

I roasted them at 400 till they were caramelly and shrivelly…about an hour. The aroma was killing me!!

You could cool them and freeze for later use…

makes sauces very intensely tomatoey (go figure)

I chose to make soup by simply putting my roasted beauties in a large pot, covering with water (could use chicken stock), bringing to a boil and then pureeing with a hand blender (preferably red….thanks Vivian) or a normal blender which is messier and to be honest (not that I would lie) I make enough mess as it is (ask my husband Art)

 I had about 35 tomatoes and got about 12 big servings of soup which I froze in meal-size containers. I like to add a bit of milk or cream when re-heating but it’s not necessary. If mixture separates, simply blend again. Sometimes the flavour seems like it is lacking something….often a little more salt and a pinch of sugar will do the trick.

  I serve the soup with homemade garlicky croutons and a sprinkle of fresh herbs. It’s also pretty with a swirl of cream. Grilled cheese on pumpernickel and Lucille’s bread and butter pickles are its best friend. (Beg me and I will post the recipe)

My other fave thing to do with tomatoes is make a tomato tart. This is other-worldly m-m-m---m—m.  It is great with a salad for a girly luncheon, or add a cup of soup for a bigger appetite. Don’t worry, guys love it too.

You can make it in a traditional pie plate, removable bottom quiche-type tart pan or make a free-form one on a parchment-lined cookie sheet which is usually my choice….very rustic, farm-girlish. This time I’m making them in little individual pizza pans just for a difference and because anything individual is just too cute for words and ‘cuteness’ is my middle name.

After I roll out the dough (recipe below)  I spread some Dijon mustard on the crust, then a layer of mozzarella or other white cheese followed by a couple of layers of sliced tomatoes (you can use any kind, the more different ones the merrier) then some sliced green onion tops, garlic slivers, s and p, and fresh basil, oregano or whatever. I also like to add a bit of crumbled feta cheese. Drizzle all with olive oil, then fold and pleat the crust up around the edge. Before you bake them, brush the turned-up dough edges with a beaten egg and sprinkle with parmesan cheese. You can make these earlier in the day then bake later at 375 for 40 minutes or until you want to rip the oven door open and eat them RIGHT NOW!! If you can find a way to bottle the aroma….do it!

 You can also bake these and freeze them for later, last-minute cleverness. Just reheat from frozen or thawed out.

Just-out- of- the- oven delicious

I do hope you give these a try. They really are easy and you could also make batches of the dough ahead and freeze them to make it all even easier. Not every meal has to be meat-centered….trust me you will never miss it. Oh and it’s cheaper!

Happy cooking!!

So thankful for the abundance of fresh foods we enjoy and too often take for granted! We are among the most fortunate.  Purposing to learn gratitude will change your life.

Recipe for pastry

                               1 and ½ cups flour….use some whole wheat if you like to appear healthy

      ½ tsp. salt

     1-2 tsp. lemon zest….please use this…it adds that ‘je ne

 sais quoi!’

                  ½ cup of parmesan….scrimp on this if you don’t have a lot and save it to put on crust before bakin

     ½ cup cold butter

                                     ¼ cup cold water

Throw all willy-nilly into a stand mixer (red preferred) and mix till it holds together well. Roll out on a touch of flour to required size .Proceed as above. Stand back for accolades.

.

WORDS

    And now….drumroll.......... the sermon for today.

 ( tomorrow I promise a lighter topic.....

A Ton Of Tomatoes!)

 Words. This subject is hardly rocket science, but perhaps bears looking at now and again. (For rocket science, you must consult Lyndsey, my cousin Heather’s daughter. She is famous in our family for working on the Canada Arm! I will use her as my claim to fame.)

    Well now, back to my lecture…I’m really talking to myself here, but feel free to listen in.

    The power of words is unmistakable. Their effect is instant…….. whether to inflate or deflate, enhance or detract, mortify or exalt, inform or judge.

    These are words I have had spoken to me ……they are the kind you never forget:

                       Daddy died tonight

                                       I’m leaving you                                                

       You had a perfect little baby boy but he was stillborn                     

       Your son has been in an accident

       We need to do another surgery

   These words are informational but the kind that are an assault to our every sense. They usually come out of nowhere and they jar us in varying degrees. We enter new realities we never wanted to explore. There is no escape.

    Then there are these words that have been spoken to me:

                                You need to go on a diet

                                Do you like your hair that way?

                                I don’t know why I married you

                                Your limping around is embarrassing

                                I can’t believe you can’t do that

  These are hard words…they are intentional, stabbing, demeaning, rejecting words about our personhood and they are the hardest because they didn’t have to be said. They are meant to wound, to debase, to elevate the speaker, to put us in our place. These are the words that can turn a sunny day into a maelstrom, plunge us into despair, make us question ourselves and our worth, breed hate for the one who spoke them, form our identity based on their remarks/opinions about us. They love to come back to haunt us in the night.

   I had such a night last night. Someone I love and have had a wonderful relationship with has accused me of something terrible….something that I would never think about doing…E.V.E.R. I was crushed. I cried…no chokingly sobbed. I tried to defend myself to no avail. My character was impugned. My faith was mocked. I lay awake composing a letter in my head  to express my sadness and present my case and mourn the loss of trust. I thought of Jesus and wondered again how he, perfectly innocent, could stand before his accusers and remain silent.

                It seems I still struggle to remember that I am not responsible for another’s unkind words/actions, but only for my reactions. If I choose to believe a lie about me, I can’t be the me I’m supposed to be. I lose out and so does everyone who comes in contact with me.

   But then there are these words:

                                Grammy, I love you

                                Mom, your love in my life has made all the difference

                                You’re my BFF

                                Where do you get your hair done?

                                I love your place

                                Thank-you for all your hard work

                                You are such a strong woman

                                I love how you reflect Jesus

                                When I grow up I want to be just like you

    These are the beautiful words, the ones we sing over and over to ourselves. We love them because they make us feel loved and because we know someone took the time and effort to speak them to us out of the largeness of their heart. I have two hatboxes filled with notes and letters and cards from my children and friends and family that I occasionally dump on the bed and spend a few hours re-reading and once again re-living the sense of warmth and caring they evoke. May, and Vivian and Marion and Sandy and Carol and Wilma and Judy and Karen and Patsy and others…like you my new followers.....you have blessed me with your words. My kids, Feona and Kevin….you have honoured me again and again by what you say and write.

    It makes me remember how little time it takes to send a card or note and how appreciated they are. 

     I am reminded of the children’s song, “O Be Careful Little Tongue What You Say.”  Sometimes we need to bite it really hard!! We are often so full of ourselves and think we are being helpful or constructive in offering our words of advice or criticism, but unless we know the recipient really well and have a trusting relationship with them things can go sideways very quickly. Proffering such advice requires much discernment and grace couched in loving phrase. It takes a very mature, confident recipient of such words to get past the ‘smart’ of feeling attacked to a place where they can sift out the kernel and see the truth about a shortcoming or weakness that is exposed.

  Perhaps it would be better to practise using our words to bless and build up whenever we can. You and I have that power to use our words for good.

  I. dare. you!

Some wise words to live by:

A fit word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver. Proverbs 25:11

Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones. Prov. 16:24

A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger. Prov.15:1

The tongue that brings healing is a tree of life. Prov.15:4

A man finds joy in giving an apt reply, and how good is a timely word .Prov. 15:23

                                

Don't Make Me Sad........................

Me, 2nd from left (??)

The thing is……. I’m not old.

Oh the number (unlisted) might suggest it and I may look like it to you, wearer of the cheap lenses but I’m definitely still a spring chicken. Now my mother was a different kettle of fish entirely. She was old at this age. In fact she was even old at 20 years younger. Of course perspective may play a part in all of this but I’m sticking with my story anyway because I’m the one telling it, and I prefer happy endings.

Old means different things to different people. Some look at my white hair and admire it (you know who you are and I love everything about you) while others question my sanity for not colouring it.  I know it goes against all convention to grow gracefully into your dotage instead of fighting it toothless and nailness though you may be, but I've earned my crowning glory…every last follicle. My friend Carol J. refers to her equally stunning do as ‘Arctic blonde.’ We unashamedly save our money and time by going au naturelle. Let’s see, that’s an additional 20 Starbuck’s mochas a month….do the math and weep my chemically- altered friends. Don’t get me wrong…I love your choices… just not on me.  Now that we are of an age (not old mind you) we are free to deviate from the pack (we always were but somehow we’re bolder now, less inclined to call each other up in the morning to see what each other is wearing, free to take a risk and let our true colours show.)

 I have acquired much wisdom…..can’t recall much, but here’s a bit.

 I know better when to speak and when to zip it. I've learned that empathy doesn't always mean telling my  story ad naseum but sometimes just showing up and proffering a shoulder.

  I care less about dust and other inanimate objects and more about the people God brings across my  pathway.

Taking moments to breathe and think and just be, no longer send me into fits of remorse for my nonproductivety.

Bad hair is not an automatic precursor to a bad day

 Ice cream fixes everything….or make mine gelato…salted caramel please.

 Love can be hard but it’s worth it.

Learning contentment is the secret.

Following Jesus makes me a better person.

Those of you who are younger may look past me to engage your hipper (is that still a word….no, I don’t mean big in the hips) counterparts. I know I probably did and I will understand. But one day you will be where I am and you will see that the years are a blessing, not a curse. They bring comfort in your own skin, appreciation for life and humanity, compassion and confidence and a knowing that eludes you when life is hurricaning around you as you strive to move forward and prove your worth.

Wherever you are at today, squeeze all the juice you can from life. Regret is a terrible thing and happens often because we choose to exist instead of live.  We were made to live…….and if you don’t live your life, the world will have lost. It will make me so sad..........

GOTTA START SOMEWHERE

I am unsure about this blog thing??????????????? Several people I trust have implored me, encouraged me, believed in me.....yet, I am uncertain.

.....to what end?
.....who am I even writing for?
.....what unrelenting words will cajole me into giving them a voice?
.....do those words even need to be spoken?And then...
.....who gets the glory?

I confess....it used to be more about me."Hey! Look at me! See what I can do/create/master. See how I excel. Aren't I wonderful?" It is called seeking significance and I was in the extra-needy category, often desperate for people to tell me I was special, or at least okay

That was before I knew what I know now. I truly am special....one of a kind. I alone was chosen to be me.

My maker is my beloved. I believe in His wisdom to fashion me just so.....pathetic at sports, four-eyed, feeble-bodied, chocolate-craving, aesthetically-inclined, puzzle-solving, overly sensitive, idea-sparking, bargain-hunting, logic-embracing, coffee-fueled, hard-working, plant-loving, dimpled, trusting and full of optimism.

I purpose to authentically be me, utilizing my abilities and skills and heart... not to enhance my persona or gain favour but to inform, pleasure others, love extravagantly, bring a smile or laugh, to birth hope, to honour my Creator.

I hope you enjoy the trip and along the way discover and celebrate the one and only you.

I guess we're off.......................!     SCARY!!!!

my world's sweetest boys......scared but excited too!