August 3, 2011

• it’s a curious thing

   It’s a curious thing that when the suburban is full of children and we’re off to an appointment or to church and we’re running a little late we drive like crazy.  And my mind is whirling and there’s a story tape playing and there’s often some fighting happening or someone asking a question or telling a story that no one is listening to.  But today when it was just baby girl and me and she was sleeping with her pretty lips pooching out I just ambled along.  All the long road to Beaverlodge I would have gone 90 kms an hour if the big trucks hadn’t wanted to pass me.  I sang and prayed and planned blog posts and took in the beauty of the wide sky and the big country where we live.  It really didn’t matter that I was only picking up 4-wheeler parts at the Honda dealer.

   

  It’s a curious thing, this big country.  It’s hard to imagine how much I love it and how much I hate it.  Ever since we spent two years in Belize I wonder every winter why we live here and fight the cold white elements.  Then comes muddy April and I am ready to buy a ticket to anywhere where the soil is sandy.  And then there is golden, fleeting summer.  And I fall in love again, only to die of a broken heart when the geraniums freeze on September the 6^th.

   

  

   

  It’s a curious thing how fast you can get attached to twelve lively kids.  These students learned a lot of songs and verses last week at vacation Bible school.  They made pig noses for the prodigal son drama on program night, played soccer, and tie-dyed socks in all kinds of wild colors.  It thrilled me that some of them were hearing these Bible stories for the first time in their lives.  And they were old enough to really discuss them.  There was a lot to talk about when I told them the story of the lady who wiped Jesus feet with her hair: (“eww”  ….”WHAt?” ….”Really?”)  and I loved the way the tall father in the prodigal play picked up the much smaller 10 year old who was his “son” and spun him around and around when they met on the road when the son returned.

   

  

   

  Photos posted with permission from the parents that I don’t know well and who may object to photos of their children online.  (I’m only assuming it’s ok with you, Suzi and Phoebe and Linnea and Heidi and Laura.:)

   

  It’s a curious thing, the conversation I hear around this house:

  Natalia:  I’m a really fat lady.  Pretend I have 3 babies in my tummy-Andre, Liesl, and my doll.”

  Andre: “I’m pretending I’m in your tummy even though I’m riding trike, okay Tillie?” (It’s a curious thing, the nickname ‘Tillie’ for Natalia.)

  (Later) Andre: “Pretend that I’m born now and I’m one and can nod my head and stuff, ok?”

   

  

   

  It’s a curious thing, this online writing.  Who are the people who read this blog where I usually just come to talk about  the random things I’ve been thinking about so I can get on with picking the peas and doing the laundry and cleaning iced tea off the floor?

   

  It’s a curious thing that when you decide to stop eating out for a while and send the money to Somalia instead the cravings for a Tim Horton’s smoothie or a DQ icecream seem extra strong.

   

  It’s a curious thing to sit and cry when I read the symptoms of depression: 

  -A very negative self-image with strong feelings of inadequacy

  -Unable to cope with the smallest problems

  -Feelings of guilt

  -Indecisiveness

  -Sleep irregularities

  -Spiritual alienation

  -Memory loss and forgetfulness

  -Eating irregularities

  -Loss of concentration

  -Lack of energy

  -Hopelessness

   

  

  And temperaments prone to depression: are extremely introspective, are very sensitive, possess a negative self-image, have poor will-power and self-control, and are perfectionists.

   

  Ugh.  How could this man called French O’Shields in Slaying the Giant describe me to a T?

   

  But I hope I am on the mend again.

   

  It’s a curious thing, how a parent-heart can squeeze and twist and get bent out of shape over a child.   How you long for the good end result but sometimes don’t know how to seize the moment and take the steps to reach that end.  I am in the full throes of this battle-today and every day.

   

  It’s a curious thing how much I love this farmer. 

   

   

  And how happy it makes him to eat a meal like this when it comes straight off the farm, beef included. 

   

  

   

   

  And it’s curious how I never have the camera on those mornings when I take Alec out to the field to take over the baling for his dad and they stand in their bill caps and talk and gesture with Dan giving instructions about how to go about it all and the moment begs to be captured.

   

  It’s a curious thing how faint-hearted I am when it comes to mice.  There is one little mouse running around in our kitchen.  (at least I hope it’s just one)  We’ve lived in this house for three years and have never seen a mouse here.  And it makes me feel sick to know there is one at large.  I shriek when I see it.  I wear tennis shoes after 10 p.m. when I know it’s starting its night life.  I feel like there’s a mouse at my feet when I’m driving, I stand on a stool to turn out the light.  The trap is set and Dan has tried to eradicate it for me with a broom, but it’s peeking around a kitchen chair as I type this and I’m terrified.  I can totally identify with the lady who died of a heart attack when a mouse ran around the bathtub ledge when she was showering.  I could handle the little geckos in Belize just fine.  I think it’s the unpredictability of a mouse that freaks me out.

   

  It’s a curious thing how fast the years move along.  And how I used to be so skinny that people said kind things like “You look like a Holocaust victim” or to Dan “You must be eating her share.”

   

  

   

  And in our last family pictures I look quite tubby, if I do say so myself.

   

  

  It’s a curious thing to  go through a Bible passage and focus only on what you as a believer are and have in Christ based solely on your acceptance of Jesus as your personal Savior, not promises based on additional conditions.

   

  It’s a curious thing, this beautiful almost 12 daughter of ours and her wearing a veil now and looking so grown up.  And me balking because I want her to stay my little girl.  And how do you write of/live delicately and understandably your Mennonite ways when a good portion of your readers/friends aren’t familiar with them or have left them?  (Ok, that last sentence is strange.  Help!

   

  

  Ah yes.  This blogging world is a curious place.  The me-ism, the introspection.  The way I really hope I’m a caring and considerate person,  but when I write MY thoughts and feelings and idiosyncrasies just tumble out and I can’t stop them.

   

  And since I’m tired of curious things and you are too I will brave the mouse and head for the kitchen. 

  • 11:41 am
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