I want to write a post about my brothers someday.  I wrote here about my sisters.  And you know I’ve written about my brother who passed away.  But I have three other big, strong brothers who are worth writing about.

One of them is Glen, who with his sons just raised $1600 for cancer.  I love his caring heart.

Yesterday my girls and I went to Grande Prairie for a few appointments and shopping fun.  Grande Prairie is 1 and 1/2 hours away.  It’s a town of about 50,000 and it’s got a few more options than the town where we normally shop.

We visited Dr. Kevin Kim Ming Wong to find out the results of Natalia’s MRI concerning her hearing loss.  Everything is good there.  So happy and grateful-PTL.  We sat in Dr. Wong’s office waiting for him to come in and read all his certificates and memorized his name.  I was bored and sang a bit.  Natalia wrinkled up her face and said, “Oh Mom–that just makes me feel SO uncomfortable!”  She was afraid someone could hear me.

While shopping Liesl spotted a girl with a shirt that dropped off of her shoulder.  She said twice very loudly, “Look, her shirt is falling down.  Her Shirt is Falling Down!!”  Victoria nearly died of embarrassment.

I am sad that my 8-lesson watercolor class is over.  It was really so much fun.  I don’t know if I’ve found my niche yet with it–or if I ever will.  But I love how it’s opened my eyes to observing nature more closely and noticing art.  Sometimes it just feels like I’m making a mess.  I’m sure the seasoned artist would say it’s tacky work.  But right now I don’t really mind.  I like the way watercolor is more loose than oil painting.  In class we did saskatoon berries and landscapes.

And last night I was just dabbling around, then wrote my name hugely.

Here is our little painting class, with our teacher Angela in black.   

Angela is such a good teacher.  I recommend her highly.  She blogs here and below are a couple of my favorites of her works, which are many.  What makes her incredible is that she plays soccer and runs and cycles and gardens on top of painting and crafting.

This aspen painting wants to stay small.  whatever.

My sister Linda and I were born on the same day of March three years apart.  We were inseparable growing up, but marriage took her away to Missouri.  Then she and her husband moved to Romania for 7 years.  We talked on the phone and wrote letters over the years and saw each other only occasionally.   I have to pinch myself to believe that I’m actually writing these words, but it’s shaping up for Steve & Linda and their three children to move to Alberta this fall!  Steve is planning to teach at our church school and they will rent a place just a few miles from our house, God willing.  His work permit is underway and things are looking very hopeful.  I haven’t had a sister close by for lots of years, so I’m really, really excited.

Last week I wrote after singing at the nursing home:

 Tonight we sang at Rotary Manor.  Bud with the hemorrhoids was in fine form tonight and Mae picked Amazing Grace like always. The lady in the front row was fussing with her slippers and fiddling with her pant legs and the lady next to her was so sweet and tried to help her get everything adjusted but nothing worked.  Fiddle and fuss she would, her spindly little legs showing.  The lady in the back yelled at Tim to speak up in the devotional and everyone loved Abide With Me.  There was an overpowering smell of urine for a while that went away as quickly as it came.  The flowers at the nurses’ desk were fresh and pretty and When We All Get to Heaven was started too high and left us all breathless.

For Liesl’s birthday she wanted dilly bars at DQ instead of a cake.  We all went in and Dan made the big order for 8 of us.  Liesl was the only one who actually ordered a dilly bar.  Then when the icecream came she wanted my dipped cone and I gave in.  Guess who got the dilly bar?  We had to wait a long time and I was sitting there discreetly studying people.  This cute and fashionable Filippino girl who looked kind of sad around the eyes was in line and after she got two icecreams, she took them back to this 70-ish looking man who was waiting at a table and sat with him.  They ate in silence and then left together.  I wondered what their relationship was and if he helped her get here for a better life when his wife got tired of him and left.  Or maybe his wife died and she’s his new companion.  The age difference was really obvious.  I don’t like to be nosy and I’m not racist or anything, but it seems like you see that kind of match a lot in our little town.

Dan saw his friend Randy* (not his real name) with schizophrenia and stopped to chat on the street.  Randy needed a ride home.  When he got in the suburban, he said, “Smells like beer in here.”  Oh dear.  He needs a job.  Could Dan give him work?  He’ll pick rocks if he has to.

People are so interesting.  When my children all leave home maybe I’ll study psychology.

It’s almost June and everything is blooming.  Iris buds are quite wonderful.  So are crab apple blossoms.

I don’t know what this tree is called, but it’s out by the clothesline and smells heavenly.

And summer clouds are pretty amazing.

It’s a rainy morning and soooo highly tempting to let everyone sleep till noon and mosey around in this quiet house in my housecoat.

But then at bedtime they’re all flying high.  So I take my undisciplined self in hand….

Happy Thursday, people. 

Worship.  Laugh.  Be still.  Say thanks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bear with me.  I know I write of him often.  I hope it’s not in a sick, holding-on-to-the-past glorification kind of way.  I write because honestly….he was someone who so deserves to be remembered.

Kevin would have been 33 years old today.

I remember when he came home from the hospital, boy number 4 in a family of 10.

My little sister Linda was 3 and I was 6.  As we crowded close to watch Mom change a BOY, he let loose and peed in Linda’s face.

That was only the start of all the laughs he caused in our house.

He was blond and brown-eyed and we thought he was perfect.  When he cried, Mom said that literally 6 girls ran to his crib.

He had all the ingredients to become a spoiled brat, but he never was.

He was funny and kind and friendly and artistic.

Never a person of a lot of words, he was just a good guy to have around.

The children swarmed around him because he played with them.

He made the old people starry-eyed because he listened to their stories.

He’d leave conversations that got too heavy and find the volleyball.

His faith was simple and fresh.

He’d hike the mountains and ride the trails and try out the mudholes because he loved God and nature.

He worked hard, played hard, laughed hard, and loved a lot.

Five years after his death, the hole he left is fuzzier at the edges, the ache not so sharp.

But time seems to carve it deeper.

 I’d give a lot to sing Clementine with him and Linda again in 3 part harmony.

Or feed him supper in his dirty work clothes.

But it is not to be.

So on this day

I remember.

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Today was rainy, a soft rain so wonderful for new little seeds.

We are sad here about Oklahoma–so far removed from us, yet so easy to imagine the devastation.

After supper I forced the children to sit down in the livingroom and read quietly for half an hour.  Most of them were actually game.  There was only minor eye rolling and minimal grumpy sighing. 

We all chose a book, the two littlest had great stacks to look at.  It was cozy and quiet and I wanted to giggle a few times for some reason.  I’m reading Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes.  It’s about a couple who bought a huge old house in Italy and restored it.  It’s a slow, delectable book, full of great foods and wines and quiet conversations.  I love it for the hot sunshine and the growing things and the subtle history in it.  It’s not the kind of book I’d normally go for, but give me the $$$$ and I’d be packing off to Italy. 

Tonight I read this in it: “Where you are are is who you are.  The further inside you the place moves, the more your identity is intertwined with it.”  And I thought about living here in the North and how it makes me who I am.

While we read I thought about making my children journal regularly.  I think that’s such a good and wise and cool idea.  Half of my children would NOT be impressed.  And would it fall beside the way like so many of the stabs I make at helping this family become well rounded?

For old time’s sake, I made a quick batch of scotch squares before bedtime.  We loved these things growing up.

Melt together on stove:

       1 c. margarine

       1 c. brown sugar

       1 tsp. vanilla

Remove from heat and add:

2 cups oatmeal

1 cup flour

1 1/2 tsp. soda

1/2 tsp. salt

1 c. nuts (optional)

Bake at 350 till golden brown.  I used a little bigger than 8 x 8 pan and they turned out well, but I think a 9 x13 would be okay too.

Our Liesl-bit turns 4 tomorrow.  I can’t believe it.

Love to you, friends.

When I first started blogging I decided I wouldn’t write unless I had something insightful to say.

But I ran out of insight pretty fast.  So skip this post if you’re looking for inspiration.  Grandma and my sisters will like it, I hope.

*************************************************

Friday evening, May 17

I can’t explain what summer does for my soul.  And it’s not even summer yet. 

It was Last Day at school.  We celebrated with games and hot dogs and softball.

They had their (hand me down from auntie) dresses and hats and pink flip flops all laid out the night before for school picnic day. ^^^^

egg and spoon race^^^^^^  Love their straight posture.

piles of fun at human croquet ^^^^^^

good sports at sack racing ^^^^^^

Miss Janice was graceful as a deer ^^^^^^

friends ^^^^^^

stacking cups race ^^^^^

 conversation and hot dog roasting ^^^^^

Homeschool facilitator wears Emma’s pink hat. Mr. Gary smothers a yawn.  Is Grandpa Arnold looking after Emma’s purse for her?

 

 Who can resist a man who loves the little ones?

I haven’t been seeing much of Dan lately.  Wheat must be in the ground by the 20th of May, you see.  He works from dawn to dark.  And right now that means about 18 hours a day.  Then he will crash and in his words, we won’t get much out of him for a few days.

His Sunday sermon is being formulated from the tractor seat.  He comes in late at night and eats cornflakes.    I take trips to the field and trips to town for parts.  Meals happen whenever they work out.  It’s fun.  But we’re all glad when it’s over.

Having Tori home from school is kind of like having a live personal organizer around.  She says, “So what are we going to do today?” when she gets up in the morning and it doesn’t seem right to say, “Well I’ll be doing well if I get the laundry done and supper made.” It’s really good for me, but disconcerting too.

Now it’s Monday morning, May 20.  The house is deliciously quiet for 8:30.  Jeans are in the washer.  I need to wake people, plant garden, sort through closets for garage sale items.  Liesl is cuddling with me on the couch.

Victoria was experimenting with photography the other night.  These photos were taken after 9:00 p.m.

And the sun sets at 10:15.

Go here to read something good.

“The soul must long for God in order to be set aflame by God’s love;

but if the soul cannot yet feel this longing, then it must long for the longing.

To long for the longing is also from God.”  Meister Eckhart

 

 

 

Shari writes a beautiful song about mothers.

And Beth’s attitude about motherhood always inspires.

Sweet Shanda describes her job as a mom as FUN.

Voskamp’s words catch me deep inside and make me cry.

I write here about my own venerable mother.

My friend Christy celebrates motherhood with taking so many darling photos of her boys.

I love the uniqueness of each one.

Should I add my own thoughts to the wide world of words on mothering this May?

Last week, out in the sunshine and wind with my hoe,

I wondered again at how quickly I came to this place.

I’m a mother of 6. 

They have the most captivating brown eyes ever.

All of them with long lashes like their dad’s.

Some of them have deep voices and drive tractors.

Some of them are so organized and fastidious that it scares me.

Some of them listen incessantly to story tapes and eat copious amounts of cookies.

Some of them still think I’m the most wonderful person ever.

Sometimes I feel really fragile about my position.

Like I’m still an adolescent, struggling to become a well-rounded person.

Not that tower of strength that I want to be.

Every day selfishness creeps closer than I wish it did.

And impatience hangs around and stays too long. 

Dear children of mine,

If I teach you nothing else, may you learn from me to get up and try again after a failure.

May you be grateful for these words about God like I am:

You do not stay angry forever

     but delight to show mercy.

You will again have compassion on us;

     you will tread our sins underfoot

and hurl our iniquities into the depths of the sea.

I’m so thankful for your dad and for God, who fill in the huge gaps I’ve caused in your little hearts.

  

******************************************

Mother’s Day was happy.

I was brought breakfast in bed by 4 excited children.  Oatmeal muffins made by Dan.

 

 The flowers from the houseplant spilled over and made my feet wet.

Three little children fought over sitting next to me while I drank my tea.

The boys rolled their eyes over Mother’s Day photos before church.

The photos were stiff and unpublishable.

In church I was handed the chewed gum that they didn’t know what to do with.

And after church we tried some windy photos with the sun full in our faces.

(I madly try to direct my brood into order below.)

The crooked ones kind of sort of turned out.  Sorry if angled photos bug you.  I don’t know if they’re considered cool or terrible.

At least the clouds are gorgeous.

(is the small one picking her nose?)

We went to the park and had a windy picnic.

Dan grilled the meat, Victoria made deviled eggs, and I wasn’t supposed to lift a finger with packing up the picnic food.

The pickle jar spilled and everything got covered with juice in the wind.

The chips and cheese wrappers blew away.

But I looked around at sun-browned faces and knew with certainty how blessed I am.

Today the little girls fight over who gets to be the prettiest in the game they’re playing and who wears the favorite Indian outfit.

I can’t get the boys out of bed this morning.

I am pulled in 50 different directions.

The towels on the clothesline blew off.

There is a huge purple crocheted chain carefully laid out on our bed with a note on it for Dad & Mom.

It’s a crazy life that we do together.

It’s an incredible life.