April 7-The laundry is washeddriedfoldedandputaway, which is cause for celebration.
I also pulled myself out of my comfort zone for a short time this evening and went downstairs to play farm with Andre. A few minutes into the spraying job, he told me that I was driving backwards.
Both of the rare occasions above deserve to be remembered. Which is why we journal and blog and write stories, isn’t it?
I can’t seem find the time to write anymore and can’t really figure out why. Maybe it has something to do with the Housecleaning Mania I went on with my sister this spring, another rare facet of life that deserves to be remembered. I won’t bore you with details.
I guess I’ve been traveling a lot too, which is another story, maybe for another day. But as usual when I get here to write, my mind is full and there are 1,001 things to say, the usual jumble of randomness that seems to dog anything I try to write.
March for me meant turning 41. My birthday was a beautiful day of sunshine. Victoria gave me Brandon Stanton’s book, Humans of New York. My sister Linda dropped by with a clock to replace the ancient one we had in the living room and a card with kind words and I felt that pinch myself to see if it’s really true feeling that I still sometimes get about living next door to a sister for the first time in so many years. Andre set the table for a special supper of grilled pork chops and asked, “Mom, should I use the goblins?” (goblets)
Because it would never do to be totally happy, I also cried into the potatoes I scrubbed for potato salad because it felt unfair to me that two of my friends are struggling so hard with marriage relationships and don’t have people who grill pork chops on their birthdays. I cried, too, for my good friend Esther and the loss of her second mother. My own precious first and only mum is alive and well, still entertaining company and telling her hilarious stories. I couldn’t shake, either, the sight of that cute family in Pennsylvania whose little mom died of a brain aneurism. Beautiful children. A lonely husband. Family nearby grieving and trying to help them pick up the pieces. And then there was Kara Tippets’ death after fighting cancer and her amazing story at Mundane Faithfulness.
Ugh. I want to cry right now just remembering that stuff again.
Here is an excerpt of some writing from another day:
It’s one fine spring afternoon and I could be doing so many things, but I’ve missed writing so badly and how can I get back into it unless I Just Do It?
Five children are outside building a teepee and riding scooter and running around on dull brown grass, runny-nosed and happy. Two are mine, three belong to my friend Joanna. They ate a picnic lunch on the cold lawn, hardy little northerners who decide that 5 degrees Celsius is good enough reason to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches outside. (That’s 41 F.) I think this is about the third picnic of the spring.
I wish to write of many things: two trips to Kalispell, Montana in March, our community choir practice, consuming a lot of our time lately. I could write of mud like you’ve never experienced and of Gwendolyn Good’s beautiful white teeth and serene smile and her music and her teaching on surrender at the ladies’ retreat in Montana. And then there was Hope Krabill with her serene smile too…and her story of a broken neck and hands that still don’t work right and wonderful grace.
I want to write about how to know what about yourself is something you need to change and what is just something you need to accept. This would be in question form, of course.
I do want you to read this article on current political issues.
And I was inspired by this sweet writing and the discovery of a new blog by a Mennonite lady.
Mostly today I’m just wondering random things like after all the stuff I’ve thrown away and taken to Salvation Army and donated to Christian Aid Ministries and forced my
slaves teenagers to take to the recyclers, how can the house still be so messy by the weekend?
And things like: After writing this, I’m sure some of the ladies at the holiness retreat in Montana were disappointed that I wasn’t a more exciting conversationalist.
And things like why are the loveseat arms looking particularly worn and the water particularly brown and the roadsides especially trashy and the skating rink hole at school so muddy and the church siding so faded lately? And why am I noticing that my children say, “What?” or “HUH?” so loudly when they really should know to use pardon me instead?
And then I check myself because I remember that we’re planning for weekend company from the EAST, from Ontario, this weekend. And I’m seeing everything as muddy and northern and bushed through the eyes that I assume they might look through, coming from places where there’s lovely brick homes and lots of grass and landscaping and maybe people go buy new loveseats when they need them.
Just relax, Luci.
And remember those old sayings like, if we put up with it all the time, surely they can handle it for four days.
And Dad’s favorite quieting of Mom’s worries back in the days of Crescent Spur, B.C. when they ate puffed wheat and rosehips filled with peanut butter: The bigger the story they (the PA people or whatever) have to tell when they get home, the better!
By now (April 17th) the Ontario company are long gone. They were of the comfortable sort of race that made me forget the worn loveseat arms the moment we met. We had a lovely time together and they encouraged our church immensely.
It’s been windy like crazy and it drives me kind of crazy, but I try hard to remember Dan’s quiet words to me the other day when I was telling him about my cousin and her sick baby and saying, “It’s really not fair. We’ve been so healthy.”
And he said, “I know-that’s why I can’t bring myself to complain about things like mud.”
I also love Elisabeth Elliot’s words, “I will not allow myself to complain, even about the weather.”
Well, I’ve been talking for quite a long time now and nothing brilliant has surfaced.
Tonight I couldn’t remember the password for something online and decided to see if I’d written it in my green book where I’m supposed to write everything but never do. Lo and behold, I HAD. The password I couldn’t remember was: ihatepasswords!
My friend Jessica on facebook posts all these photos of orphans from the Ukraine and wherever who need host families for the summer. Tonight I watched a little video of what hosting is and why you should do it. My heart is so torn and I’m ready to adopt two or ten children. Just pray that Dan would be moved by the Spirit very soon too. 😉
Some phone pictures:
Liesl’s spring artwork
There. It’s bedtime in Alberta.
Go over here and be blessed. It’s short, promise.