I know I say this a lot, but I really love summer.  Give me a garden, some sun, happy little people running around, and  mint iced tea and I will be happy.  But I have all that and more.

Oh- it’s not all rosy.  Sticking to popsicle drips on the kitchen floor with every step makes me cross.  Dan is gone a lot.  Alec has allergies.  On the hot days drawing our living room blinds and running the furnace fan on cool air don’t cut it.  And the thistles in the garden.  Oh My. 

{I have this problem that when I write about my little life joys and sorrows I always line them up with people who have bigger problems and I see how narrow I am.  And then I want to stop right there and not go on because do you realize how many people have an entirely different set of joys and sadnesses?  And theirs are so much bigger and more real than mine.}

Anyway. So much for the guilt.  I didn’t articulate that paragraph well  and it probably makes sense only to me.

Here on the farm we’re enjoying a few lazy hazy summer days.  It’s the calm after lots of (welcome) company, the lull before peas and beans and VBS.

We spent a fun and exhausting 10 days in the USA, where when we cross the border and the guard sees that we’re American citizens he reminds us that we should get US citizenship for our children. (Which we have already done, thank you.)   I kid you not.   I think this is the 4^th time we’ve been told that.  Patriotic Americans.  J   This time he told us that it’s the best gift we’ll ever give them. 

There is an undramatic sameness to the road between here and Grandpa’s house in Wisconsin.  Saskatchewan and North Dakota are vast.  Dan & Alec scrutinize every field and talk farming.  The rest of us eat.  Or fight.  Mostly we listen to story CDs until we have them memorized.  At gas/bathroom breaks we are The Big Family with messy hair and wrinkly clothes.  The littles agonize over decisions about which treat to pick out.  The teen and adolescent pretend they’re not part of us, but they’re marked.  We have some good times.  Up close and personal times.  Way Too Close times.  Funny moments and miserable ones.  Late at night, with the kids all asleep, Dan & I talk.  We stumble into hotels late and leave early the next morning, after loading up with fruit loops and yogurt at the continental breakfast where people look at The Big Family and smile politely.

Grandma Martin’s house always smells and looks the same.  And oh the good food and the love that’s showered on everybody.  Because it was June, we went to the lake.  Idyllic:

(esp. of a time or place) Like an idyll; extremely happy, peaceful, or picturesque: “an idyllic setting”.

I told you last time I posted that we were heading for a school reunion in southern Wisconsin.  It was worth the trip.  I haven’t had such a fun day in a long time.  The awkward adolescents turned into gracious and handsome people.  The noisy 2^nd grader has a lovely wife and 3 little boys.  The boys who didn’t sing much are passionate about music.  These little students  manage businesses, cuddle babies, cook fantastic food, teach school, go to college, plan reunions,  and seek God.  It all makes me feel  weepy in a good kind of way.  I wanted to go around and hug them all and tell them how proud I am of them but I was too shy.  Instead I talked a lot, sang old songs, looked at old pictures, played ball badly, ate good food, and talked some more. 

92-93 school year

93-94

2012(Mast family and Kay Graber Martin missed sorely) Edit: You xangans may note that I taught Cretora & Kay.  (Can’t believe it myself.  And I’m so sad that neither of them could come to the reunion.)

I was proud of the good sports that Dan & the children were for that people-packed day.  Sparta was as storybook pretty as ever.  The corn was growing lush and tall in the humidity of 90 degrees.  My heart was pulled in all kinds of sentimental ways.  At Glenn & Loretta’s house, where I used to board when I was a funny little 18 year old teacher, they still had the same water jug of cold water sitting at the end of the counter with  the stack of paper cups.  Their bulletin board is still crowded with hundreds of photos of friends, and Glenn’s egg mcmuffins were as good as ever.  I didn’t want to leave.

We drove home through South Dakota, where we took in De Smet and the Ingalls’ homestead and Mount Rushmore.

If you care, there are more photos here:https://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/media/set/?set=a.479473978747689.116448.100000552720136&type=1

 Back at home, the canola is in bloom.

 

My sister & her family from Idaho came for a weekend visit.

Cousins slept on the trampoline.

Dan & Alec are making hay.

We worked hard to unpack and get ready for company.  And now we are laying low. 

We pull weeds, post pictures on face book, eat fresh spinach, take supper to the field, and lay on the lawn to read Old Yeller.

It’s idyllic:

(esp. of a time or place) Like an idyll; extremely happy, peaceful, or picturesque: “an idyllic setting”. It’s idyllic until it’s lunch time and I don’t know what to feed everyone.  Or the water fight turns ugly.  Or the tea spills.  Or we have a dentist appointment.  Or we can’t find the library book.  Or I try to blog.

 

But I hope it lasts for a few more days.  I want to sew a white dress with fabric from Joann’s Fabrics.  And write this post:  “Once I thought I was smart.  Then reality hit“.

Tell me the highlight of your June.

                              ~Love, Luci~

(and when I write that I feel badly like I’m copying someone.  But I want to write it.  So be honored if I’m copying you.)

　

Mom always said that at Dad’s funeral people will say, “He was a good man.”

I think she’s right. Because they say it now.  And because he is. 

He stands for peace.  He reads a huge variety of literature and news.  He is open-minded but careful about his own walk.  He is hardworking, cheerful, and generous.

Dad loves nature.  Cold weather made him shiver with delight when he came in from working outside.  He’d rub his hand together with cold, smile widely, enjoy his healthy soup and bread, and find his way to the recliner with Time magazine and coffee cup.  There he would sit and read for the evening with his glasses on the end of his nose, occasionally rubbing his bald head or sticking his false teeth out.  I say this with no hint of disrespect.  It is an endearing memory, though I didn’t always like it when I was 14. 

In the summer he walked his grain fields and found joy in good crops and four leaf clover.  He picked puffballs in wet weather which Mom would fry  in butter and Dad would eat with great delight.

He is a dreamer, but he is content.  He faces reality but finds life full of wonder.  And he can run awfully fast for 75.

Dad grew up Amish in the 40′s.  It was before the days of love languages and Shepherding a Child’s Heart DVDs.  He didn’t hug us a lot or take us out on little dates.

But he taught us to think freely, to love God and our neighbors, and to be grateful.

He taught us that hurting people hurt people.  I remember him saying often, “Don’t be so negative.”  He lived the philosophy that you trust someone until they prove untrustworthy. And he said that when you’re accused wrongly you should live in such a way that no one believes it.

Dad sang lustily, picked bluebells, laughed hard, and always took time to read another book.  Never a control freak, he is comfortable to have around because he accepts people for who they are.  I love telling someone that I’m Jesse Peachey’s daughter and seeing their faces light up with the goodwill that he radiates towards everyone.  And today I always get a hug when I see him. 

___________________________________________________________

 

Dan so different from my own dad.  But he’s a good man.

He grills great steaks and can make the best campfire s’mores.

He’s big and warm and downright nice.

There’s a calm about him that kind of sets the reeling world in place.

He buys icecream often and tells us how fortunate he is to have such a beautiful family.

He forgives and extends grace over and over.

He loves puppies and calves and babies and algebra and board games with his children and new fields of oats.

He knows how to do many things well.

He sees the best in people and Does Not Complain.  The latter trait is so strong in him that it can almost make me upset.  Because it makes me feel mean and small when I do it myself.

I can’t believe how blessed my children are to have him for their dad.

I can’t believe how blessed I am that he’s my husband.

I feel blessed to be deeply connected to these two men who live “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches.”

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When it’s summer here it just kind of consumes life.  Pack all the picnics and gardening and company and warmth and good stuff into 3 short months and that is the result.

Hence you don’t see me here very much.  I want to write.  It bothers me when I see this site being visited and I know the last post is stale.

But it’s just the way it is right now.

There was seeding.

There are dandelions, bluebells, and wild roses.

 

There are hotdog roasts.

And tea parties under the trampoline.

 

 

There are long, long days of sunshine and wind.

And challenges in keeping so many children meaningfully occupied.

We have a flying trip to make to a school reunion in Wisconsin where I taught 20 years ago when I was just 18.

(Miss Peachey of Sparta Mennonite School)

 

Yesterday I called my friend Laura’s husband Honey by mistake when we were playing a card game with Kevin & Laura and eating mint icecream sandwiches and talking a mile a minute.  Oh we laughed.

Long ago when Mom & Dad first moved west from Pennsylvania they had an aunt of Dad’s from the east come out to visit them.  While there, she left a diary of her trip laying out and Mom thought that it must not be private, as it was labeled “Diary of Our Trip” and left on the table.  So being the inquisitive person she is, Mom picked it up.  And she read:

“Got to Jess Peachey’s.  40 miles back in the sticks.  Yard full of dandelions.  Outhouse in need of shaping up.”

I just couldn’t get this story out of my mind while I was preparing for our Missouri-heading-to-Alaska company recently.  The yard was full of dandelions.  The screen door was broken.  The hot water heater wasn’t working right.  And there were other things.  But as always we had a lovely time.  One of the best feelings in the world is having the house clean, the food ready, the beds fresh, and turning on the coffee pot to sit down and visit with friends.  It is always worth the frantic tidying and weed whipping and scrubbing and shining.  It keeps us in shape when we might turn lazy and let things slide for too long.

I know there were other things I wanted to tell you. 

I keep thinking I’ll do a post and invite you to ”unlurk” like the bigwig bloggers do.  But not today. 

I keep thinking of thoughtful, serious posts of a controversial nature.  I admire people who can pull those off.

But it’s summer and I’m me.

So that’s all for today.

 

 

 

 

She’s a peanut.

She’s a princess.

She’s a peach.

 

And somehow she’s already 3 years old.

 

She’s the one who hears the rhythm of the little song, “Hot Cross Buns” in the sound of the chewing of her piece of watermelon.  And when there was one fair, blond cashier at the dollar store and one cute Asian girl with dark skin, she told us later that the chocolate one was the one who gave her the sucker.

She’s a fearless monkey doing flips over high things.  And she’s a funny girl who freaks at spiders and other creepy crawly things.

 

She brings me bouquets of chives.  And leaves to put in my hair.  And she asks me hurry outside to help her put rock puzzles together.

Just yesterday I noticed that her thumb is growing a new pink nail.  I don’t even know what scrape took off the old one.  She’s hard to keep up with like that.

And guess whose bed she loves best when she’s “kai-ud” at night?

Baby….may you always dance wild and free.  May you love and be loved.  May you choose Jesus and His beautiful ways.

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

 

If you are on Facebook, you already know.

But Sunday, May 27th was one of the happiest days of parenthood for Dan & I.  It was right up there with the incredible joy of birth.  And it rated with the night Alec came to us feeling so unhappy and gave his life to Christ by our bedside.  And the days Victoria and Bryant, with tears and prayers, said they wanted to choose Him too. 

Baptism is such a celebration of commitment, such a stake in the life of a new believer. 

It was a really happy day for our church.  We’ve had quite a few heartaches in the past years.  A step forward puts a song in the hearts of everybody.  Dan had the baptismal message and I’ve never seen him so emotional or heard him preach with so much heart.

 

All day my mind was humming….”Oh happy day that fixed my choice on Thee my Saviour and my God…”

Their journey has just begun.  I want to hover by and take out all the bumps in the road for them.  And yet I’m still busy struggling over my own.  I know that love and prayer and most of all the hand of God will keep them from falling and present them faultless before the presence of His glory.

Dan’s parents and his sister Monica drove 30 long hours from Wisconsin in busy May to be with us for the baptism.  We are really blessed with supportive family.

 

 

________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Natalia turned 6 this spring too.  Quite a while ago, actually.

 

I go through these times with my children when one or two of them is doing well and causing so few problems and I wonder if we’re connecting like we’re supposed to.

Natalia is a really easy girl.  She has a big smile and a big heart and just kind of quietly fits into the family.  She loves her bread and jam and her apples.  She sits still at the dentist and they tell her she’s amazing.  She draws and cuts and pastes.  And she has definite ideas about which clothes she wants to wear.  She fights a lot with Bryant and has some friend issues like all little girls seem to.  She doesn’t like to lose in a game. But I’d call her happy go lucky.  And she’s very easy to discipline. 

Since she taught herself to read, she doesn’t want to be read aloud to anymore.  It’s an odd feeling to be told, “No, that’s fine” when I ask if she wants to hear a story. More than that, she can read the books Liesl and Andre beg me to read to them.  I am almost out of a job. 

She didn’t mind that her flower petals were grey-purple instead of purple-pink.  And she’s enthralled with Math concepts.

 Just now I swooped her up and held her like a baby and swayed with her a little and said “I love you.  Do you know that?” And she smiled and said, “I thought I was too big to be held like this anymore.”  But she loved it.

Tillie my love:

May your smile never fade when life gets tough.  May dandelions forever bring you joy.  May the sun shine warm upon your face but never make your round brown eyes squint.  And may bread and jam never make you overweight.

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

Up next here when I have time to blog again and my cliche-ridden mind is free:

Humility (found in dandelion covered lawns and 4 year olds who throw fits at the dentist)

I have been reading blogs rather silently here and there between company, pulling dandelions, and many other things.  I miss you all.

Is it a crime to take photos of people you don’t know and post them publicly?

I just loved these people at walmart the other day.  They were talking and talking.  They’d lean into each other and go at it and then back off for a bit.  They were tallking when I went in and still talking when I came out.  So I took a picture.  And then they said goodbye and parted ways.  I don’t think they saw me.  I just sneaked out of the buggy corral and zoomed in for a moment.

 May you find time to visit with your neighbor today.

I wish I could hug her this Mother‘s Day.

She bathed and dressed and diapered and trained 10 babies.

She patched and laundered and altered.

The sweated behind ornery old tillers and spanked the dogs for sitting in her flowerbeds.

She could make the best soup from the stuff she brought in from the garden in her apron.

She polished and scrubbed and painted and sorted and organized.

She fed strangers at her big table and always found something to say when the conversation lagged.

She braved long trips in undependable vehicles,

Told us we could do better next time when our report cards were bad,

Made things cozy and beautiful with next to nothing,

Darned socks on winter evenings,

Gave us “the look” when we deserved it,

Dug dandelions for spring salads,

Sang funny songs from her childhood

And had time to enjoy good books.

Home was the best place to be.  It was warm and clean, the food was good, you were treated without prejudice, and always there was interesting things to talk about.

She valued honesty, mercy, justice, and kindness.

She’s one of the strongest, most resourceful people I know.

And while she would be unimpressed with her picture being online,

I know she loves me anyway.

I am so blessed.  Thanks, Mom–from the heart.

I’m going to try writing for just 20 minutes.

The even breathing of two toddlers asleep beside me is one of the sweetest sounds on earth.  Liesl and Trevin are both dead to the world.  Today is the last day I babysit Jedrek and Trevin, the two little boys next door, while their mom teaches kindergarten at school.  I want children that are this nice to babysit.  It’s almost like a mini day off when they come because they play so nicely with  Liesl and Andre.  The other two little boys rode in the tractor for the last hour, so things were very quiet here.

The Wild Wind gusts crazily outside.  I want to be planting gladiolus and peas, but I can’t bring myself to bundle up in a parka to do spring work.  The last few days start with beautiful sunshine, but then a cuh-razy wind comes up.  And the temps are cold.  It’s only the beginning of May,  I tell my grouchy self.

Since reading Michelle’s post about money and happiness, I’ve been thinking so much about that subject.  It is well-articulated, as her posts always are.  Read here:  http://smilesbymiles.xanga.com/758949337/why-its-a-lie-that–cant-buy-happiness/?id=1525487467

 It makes me realize several things.  One is that I have not seen a lot of poverty.  Oh  I’ve walked the streets of L.A. and seen the ragged man pushing his grocery cart of stuff.  And I’ve pored over photos of Port au Prince’s tin city.  And I grew up at the tail end of a family where chocolate chips were a  luxury and all they could afford in the early days was oatmeal for weekday breakfasts and puffed wheat for Sundays. 

But I really don’t taste and feel poverty like many have/do.

The other thing I keep thinking about is happy people.  If someone asked you to name the happiest person you know, who comes to your mind?  I find this question really hard.  A Truly Happy Person?  My 2 year old–most of the time.  My own dad, who is an optimistic grateful person who loved to find puffballs on wet years, walk his wheat fields, and bring in four leaf clover he’d find.  Andrew Miller at church, who just always seems to have a smile.  I don’t know.  I have to keep thinking.  Who is the happiest person you know?  And what do you think is the source of their joy?

The two things weighing most heavily on my mind right now?  Nine-year-old defiance.  And the sadness behind the eyes of my friend who lost her son and her brother and her step dad in such a short time. We sing at a funeral tomorrow. And I so wish there was some way to share the pain.

I guess everyone is busy in their flowerbeds or picnicking.  Or something.  Xanga has been pretty quiet lately.  I could pretend I’m teaching again and assign some writing:

Andrea Esh-a post from you on your political views

Christy Smucker-write us something about tears (I don’t know why.  Just popped into my head.)

Linda Hershey-let’s hear about your favorite book of all time.

Esther Troyer-you’ve got lots of boys.  HOW do you teach them to use the toilet like a gentleman?

Janel-where’s a place you’d like to visit?

Lisa T.-Did you buy the yellow and blue dress you posted on facebook the other day and do you like it?

Joanna-Describe your dream life in 20 years.

And Cindy-Tell us about That Big Run you just did.  Wow.

There. 

Just kidding. But I miss you all.

Today she told me that she weally, WEALLY wants a pet lion.  Just a little one, Mom.

And he said, “Mom!  Liesl wants to play boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

Me:  “Well that’s fine.  Someday you might have a girlfriend, you know.”

Andre: “OK.    But Mom.  I don’t really want anyone to know we’re playing this.”

I must hang up jeans and wash lunch dishes.

But not before leaving this link that #itsayoderworld gave me to a blog that I just love: http://shari.zooks.us/

Peace.

From goodreads when I googled Quotes About Being Yourself:

“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
―Oscar Wilde

“Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”
―Bernard M. Baruch

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

“About all you can do in life is be who you are. Some people will love you for you. Most will love you for what you can do for them, and some won’t like you at all.”
-Rita Mae Brown“

“…be yourself- not your idea of what you think somebody else’s idea of yourself should be.”
― Henry David Thoreau

“Never be bullied into silence.  Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one’s definition of your life, but define yourself.”
―Harvey Fierstein

“Don’t you ever let a soul in the world tell you that you can’t be exactly who you are.”
―Lady Gaga

“Make the most of yourself….for that is all there is of you.”
―Ralph Waldo Emerson

There is all of this much and so much more. 

Some of these quotes really mess with my mind.   There’s good in a lot of them.  But frankly, I get tired of them.  Because of this:  If  people knew who the real me can be sometimes they wouldn’t be telling me to be myself.  And because if we all just lived the real us and got  rid of the negative people in our lives and surrounded ourselves with positive people who believe in us and inspire us, how would our rough edges get sanded down?  How would we grow and change? Where did denying ourselves and following Jesus go?

Somewhere in all of this there is a balance between making a god of yourself and being content with who you are.

There’s a balance between understanding and accepting ourselves and being constantly transformed into the image of His dear Son.

What is the real me like?

She likes people and new places and salads and pecan pie.  She cries easily and doesn’t laugh enough.  She thinks too much and talks too much.  She procrastinates and is easily angered.  She has a kind heart but sometimes her words are sarcastic.  She can be moody and  pessimistic.  She is overly sensitive to criticism but knows well how to give it.  She loves peace but can’t stay away from a  good argument.  She is far too governed by what she thinks others might be thinking of her. She is an oxymoron, that one. Just like you  are sometimes.

If it weren’t for my age, denomination, position in the church , and some of my readers, this blog would include a slot for Mennonite fashion.  I know.  Laugh away.  (And Dan is unimpressed with my scarf fetish anyway. And yes I know this outfit is too colorless.) 

Sometimes I really want to write things like:  I know a new bedspread would probably spice up our s*x life.  But honestly.  I don’t know if I can stand it any hotter. 

Sometimes in church when the song gets long and draggy I want to stand up and clap or sway or anything to change the mood.  In my mind I rearrange things all the time to keep them new and interesting in a church service.  (But here at home I can let things get pretty blah.)

I can get tied up in knots about some of our good-but-not-the-only-way Mennonite traditions and feel like I MUST change something or shrivel up and die.  (Okay. I don’t think that really makes sense.  But I’m leaving it alone because I don’t know how to say it differently.)

And sometimes when there are boring (to me) conversations going all around me I have to bite my tongue so I don’t say something shocking just to change the subject.

Those are some of the things that make up the real me.  They’re examples of things that are neither here nor there to many of you.  But if they make my mom ashamed of me or cause a stir or embarrass my wonderful but kind of traditional husband, I need to be careful where I flaunt these bits of me. 

This week I read this verse:  “If what I eat is going to make another Christian sin, I will never eat meat again as long as I live-for I don’t want to make another Christian stumble.”  Really Paul, did you  mean that??

And how does it apply to me today?

I don’t have the answers to this quandary.  But there are so many Biblical principles to add to the “just be yourself” attitude.  Like love and humility and  the preciousness of others.

And I’m not sure this post has a major point.

Just Being You is so very important.

But it’s also highly overrated.  Because if I was just myself

-I would sit at the computer instead of playing Frisbee with my 9 year old. 

-I would shrug and say, “That’s just the way I’m made” when Dan tells me that I was too sarcastic with the children.

-I would miss the good in that sermon I dismissed  as cliché and traditional.

-I would be a strong feminist.

-I would talk too much and listen too little.

And you really don’t want to know the rest.

I never want this to be my life philosophy:

“If you end up with a boring miserable life because you listened to your mom, your dad, your teacher, your priest, or some guy on television telling you how to do your ****, then you deserve it.” ―

Frank Zappa

Be the amazing and unique being that God called YoU. 

But learn of Jesus and conform to His ways to become even more beautiful.  Become gracious.  Honour others instead of yourself.

And the real me?  Here she is on Saturday morning mixing pancakes.  Canadian pajamas from Zellers closing out sales.  They’re cute, but there’s not much of them showing.  Pink housecoat:  Walmart.  Old shirt from Salvation Army.  It needs to retire, but it’s my favorite morning bit of warmth.  It works to wear it with its elbows worn out.

This photo deserves the ugliest profile prize.  Dear Dad, why did you pass your nose on to me?

Dear God, is my hair actually that thin & gray?

Dear morning sun, you show up all the flaws.

And the real me?  She’s very, very messy when she cooks.  But the Spirit-guided side of her cleans up after herself.

Not endorsing Miss Marilyn here, but I kind of like this:

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.”

―Marilyn Monroe

“Oh, never mind the fashion. When one has a style of one’s own, it is always 20 times better.”

―Margaret Oliphant

“You are you. Now, isn’t that pleasant?”

―Dr. Seuss

“Amid a world of noisy, shallow actors it is noble to stand aside and say, ‘I will simply be.”

―Henry David Thoreau

And the simplicity of Romans 12:16 (NLT):  “Live in harmony with each other.  Don’t try to act important (just be yourself), but enjoy the company of ordinary people.  And don’t think you know it all!”    Amen. 

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Something about the word “lentil” just doesn’t sound too appealing, I know.

I had a container of orange split lentils in my cupboard for more than a year and I’d look at them and wonder what to do with them.  Then one day the children came home from their Auntie Barb’s house and told me how GOOD her lentil soup is.  So I called her for the recipe.  It was an immediate hit at our house.  And now I write “lentils” on the list when they run out.

Bring to boil, cover, and simmer:

2 cups lentils  (you can use the split ones or the whole green ones)  My family likes the split ones better.

4 cups water

2 cloves garlic

1/2 tsp. pepper

1/4-1/2 tsp. thyme

1 bay leaf

1 medium onion

Simmer on low for one hour or till soft, adding more water as needed.  (They stick easily.)  If using split lentils, it only takes 20-30 minutes instead of an hour.  You want them soft but not mushy.

Add:

1 quart tomato juice

1 tsp. chicken bouillon (wow.  That word is hard to spell.  Consulted google.)

Salt to taste (original recipe says 1 Tablespoon, but I found that too heavy.  More like 1-2 tsp.)

2 T. parsley

(I also add a tablespoon or so of brown sugar too because my tomato juice isn’t very sweet.)

Add more water if too strong.

Cook for a few more minutes.

Original recipe says to add 3 slices bacon.  Once I used a ham bone and the bits of meat on it.  But what I usually do is cut up sausages (smokies) and throw them in instead of bacon.

 

I hope you like it if you try it.  Not QUITE all of our children adore it, but it’s a favorite with most of us.

 

I know.  That blogging fast was extremely short-lived. 

I read a bunch of my old posts on xanga last night and was appalled at how often the subject of my reasons for blogging and my doubt at why I do and guilt for the time it takes and the what-is-my-purpose thing comes up.  How DO you guys put up with me?

I guess it is the battle between the lady I long to be and the woman I am.  Between the honest lady who writes exactly what she’s thinking at the moment on a rainy day and the wise one who takes time to think and pray and polish before she says or does things or writes things. Between the person who uses discipline and knows when to turn off the computer to tend to the real needs of life (like children, and rest, and God) and the one who reads too far and too much and obsesses over the bad news and compares herself to all the good things in others and gets herself into a hole of weariness.

But please let me make a commitment now to blog when I have something to say and be quiet when I don’t.  And let me be still about the questioning and comparing and everything else.  Hold me to it.

There are 20 pairs of jeans in the wash today.  Days of rain and being a little behind on the laundry makes that happen fast.  It is at this time of year that I am ready to pack up the family and move to the heart of the city.  The mud is beyond description.

A house FULL of toys at her disposal, she is beyond  delighted when I make her these babies in a basket with the hankies Grandma Martin buys from those Mennonite stores in Indiana.   She rocks and sings to them.

There could be some ugly photos of swollen little heels and pimply hands to show you what’s going on at our house.  But who likes pictures of ugly stuff? I will be wildly happy when everyone is better again. 

One of the things I’ll miss most about my children growing up is hearing mispronounced words.  One of the little guys I’m babysitting today says “bringtending” for pretending and “kickup” for pickup.  A little sprinkling of children went out to play in the mud this morning.  Funny little urchins with muddy spring jackets, dirty mittens, splash pants, and the signature gumboots of Alberta.  Aptly named for the mud here.

I am thankful today for an automatic washer. 

Cute calves coming every day. 

Dan. 

Tylenol. 

New little broccoli plants.

Sunshine.

New starts.

Friends.

Good books.  (currently reading Slaying the Giant.  It’s good.)

Hope of green grass, picnics, and petunias.

The God who loves me as I am, but far too much to let me stay that way.

Weekends.

Being jolted out of my small and skewed look at life when I read the news, think of others with bigger needs, or suddenly look around and see my thousands of gifts.

And only about 21 more days of lunches to pack.  Yee-haw!

Happy Friday!  Lentil soup is on the menu for this evening.  I love to make it, the children and Dan love it, and best of all, it’s very healthy.

IN WHICH LUCI MAKES HER USUAL THREAT TO QUIT BLOGGING…..

AND YOU SECRETLY THINK:  “WHY doesn’t she, for goodness sake?”

It’s really grey and chilly outside. But at least it isn’t snowing like it was yesterday morning.

I think it was L.M. Montgomery who spoke of “reluctant Canadian springs” and said this:  “Snow in April is like a slap in the face when you expected a kiss.”  (thanks, Audrey Friesen, for this quote.  I was  far too lazy to look for it in the books.  And Google failed me this time. How dare he??!!)

We have a bad virus in our house (hand, foot, and mouth disease) and I really want to curl up here on the couch and stay in my pajamas all day.  Just the little girls are sick so far.  The nights have been short and the grumpiness long.

 But that pj idea never works around here.  Besides, the neighbor is coming for supper because his wife is gone.  So there is potato salad to make and mud to scrub.  And laundry.  Of course.

I feel like I am in a funk with blogging in general.  I want to make this a worthwhile spot for you to come read.  But I can only put out these  haphazard random posts between baking the cookies and hanging the towels on the line.  And (among other things) since writing an infamous post (or two-or more) I sometimes doubt my ability to express what I really mean.  So I write and then delete. Or I write and even publish and later delete.  (Forgive me if you read and/or commented on the last several posts that I published and then annihilated.) Besides, there is always the question of why I try to be another voice in this HUGE world of people spouting their opinions.

While I know we are all more alike than we ever realize, I feel like a minority sometimes.  Who “gets” the North, the tiniest little Mennonite church in the world, and my strange take on life in general?    I do not decorate, sew fine things, share words of spiritual wisdom, have child rearing and marriage down pat, do fashion, or take gorgeous photos. I can’t ever quite seem to kick my depression problem though it ebbs nearly away sometimes.   I don’t even know if I write.  And when I try, things rapidly begin to look like this:

Now IF I were an organized and efficient lady I would take a half hour a day and work at my “writing”. But I am not.  And it never works for me to plan to write.

I do not write this for you to rush in and tell me that I am gifted and the world needs my voice and I should keep pursuing blogging if it makes me happy.  I write this to tell you where I am.  I want to be a breath of fresh air and someone who makes you feel hopeful and encouraged.  So maybe I need to wait for a while to write. *And please.  I do not mean this as a poor-me-would-you-please-feel-sorry-for-me-and-give-me-affirmation sort of thing.  I know you have heard these words from me many times.  Self Doubt happens to be my middle name. But I always have this overwhelming sense of needing to be honest about where I stand instead of being graciously quiet.*

Just now maybe I’ll stick with baking cookies and making meatballs.  And scrubbing up the mud. I’m doing okay with those things, honestly.   

Victoria has been playing the William Tell Overture on the piano.  And every time it comes rising from the basement, I think of the Mom Song, which so fits my life at present.  Listen here if you haven’t heard it before.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nem0bkErGVY

 

Love you all.  May sunshine dapple your path today.  Hopefully literally. 

I hope you experience Jeremiah 33:3~  “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.”  I’m needing some good and wise things from God today.  Because I do not know so very much.

Andre really needs to know how they nailed Jesus feet down on the cross.  The girls are fighting over paper dolls.  Who knows who might show up at the door?  I MUST get presentable.

Bye for now.

 

There are the faces of strangers.   Some are open and friendly and welcoming.  Others are sad or closed or weary.

And there are the faces of friends.  Funny how you never get tired of those faces.

 And the faces of the people you live with every day, dear and familiar.  Those ones you know so well that you sometimes don’t even really look at them.

 And then there are the faces of acquaintances, people that you don’t really know the heart of.

 And the more you get to know someone, the more precious their faces usually become.

 I flew from way up here in Alberta to Washington D.C.  recently. At midnight, exhausted from the 5 hour flight from L.A.,  in that huge airport where I had to take a tram from the arrival gate to the baggage claim, these were the faces that greeted me.

 The faces of my 5 sisters. 

 

There is Carol.  She is wise and big hearted beneath her rather brusque exterior.  She taught school for 20-something years, loves gardening and babies, reads many, many books, is a cancer survivor, and currently works for Christian Light Education in Virginia, where she helps edit curriculum, works on vacation Bible school projects, and does all manner of things that I know little about.  She lives in a neat little trailer and grows tulips and peaches.  Carol adopted an Alberta 9 year old soon before she moved to Virginia, and her daughter Jessica now has two little girls.  Carol is a very proud and doting grandma and I’m so glad she has Jessica, Lori, and Lyla in her life since she is so far from the rest of her family.

Julia is my only sister who lives in Alberta, but she lives 12 hours south, so we don’t get to see each other often.  She is a mother to 7, three of them First Nations foster children that she can’t adopt but has permanent guardianship of.  Julia separated from her husband something like 12 years ago.  She is one of the sisters I call when I feel blue or anxious because she often calls me when she feels the same.  Julia reads a lot, is very organized and hardworking, and never sits down until the work is done.   She has a good, true heart and is known for her lovely soprano voice.

 Alta lives in Saskatchewan, probably 12 hours from us.  She is married to a very nice computer man and has two children.  Rebecca is 7 and Lucas is her 2 year old son from China.  Alta is a very put-together sort of girl.  She has a teaching degree and has used her training most in working for the Canadian government in the correctional system.  She has been a prison guard, taught substance abuse and family violence programs to offenders, and now provides training and oversight for programs which are offered to offenders in institutions and on parole.  In other words, I think she trains people to do the work she used to do herself.   She travels Canada  quite a lot, reads voraciosly, enjoys politics, and is always fun to discuss life with because she has an understanding heart.  She is also a very good cook.

Twila is a mom to five girls, is married to another very nice computer man, and is very artistic and talented.  Twila is sanguine, has an infectious laugh, and is definitely the most outgoing Peachey girl.  She gardens and cooks amazing food and paints pictures and arranges flowers and sews continuously.  Her friends are very important to her and she loves people and connections and bettering herself with inspirational reading.  She is the fun sister.  She always has a good story to tell.

.

She is also the griller lady.

I, Luci, am next.

 Then there is Linda.  She is tall and elegant.  She is very reserved for a Peachey and definitely the quietest of the bunch.  Linda is married to a very wise, bookish, and musical teacher and they have 3 children.  She and her family were missionaries in Romania for 7 years, so I’m loving having her within calling distance again, even though she lives 40-something hours away in Missouri.  Linda is the little sister that did everything with me as a child and we usually “get” each other in a special way.  Linda is very driven.  She sews and quilts and reads and cleans with a determination I don’t have.  She also sings beautifully.  I call her often.

We have never gotten together as sisters-only, so the dynamics of this encounter were totally different than a family reunion.  We slept late, ate whenever we felt like it, took long walks, and stayed in our pajamas till embarrassing hours of the afternoon.  We slept little and talked about our common insomnia issues, many of us popping pills when we finally did go to bed so that we could actually settle down and sleep.  Because of bad plane connections, I missed the first day of the short three with my sisters and felt a little cheated, but I’m trying not to remember that part of the trip.

(~We’re obviously not the cutie-cute type of sisters who pose originally.  Straight lines only for these ladies.

 My sisters are not really the let’s all go shopping or play games type.  We hashed a LOT of serious topics during our weekend and I just loved sitting in that beautiful cabin snuggled up in a blanket seeing their precious and familiar faces and hearing the words that make up who they each are.

We had some hilarious moments trying to find the lost car at the airport, getting lost on the way back from the airport, and laughing over old stories from the past.  We talked openly about marriages, weight, aging, insecurities, and our relationships with God.  We walked the beautiful campus at Eastern Mennonite University, had coffee and dessert at Panera Bread, cried some tears, and had more than one argument.  (It’s not a Peachey gathering without a good disagreement or two.)  And of course there were the moments when everyone was talking (except maybe Linda) and no one was listening.  This didn’t happen as often as when our brothers are with us, but we had our moments. We discovered that some of us consider certain of our sisters our best friends, while others of us are closer to other people instead. 

All six of us have taught school.  All six of us have sleep issues.  All six of us drink coffee.  But we’re so varied in how we approach life and work and relationships.  And we find that we’re all OCD about different things.

all 6 of us rode around in Carol’s ancient but reliable car….VVVrooom!!

 

 It was a good, good time.  It wasn’t restful, but it was refreshing. 

 

ditzy me…forgot to take any good pictures of the cabin where we stayed.  Here Alta of the fashionable shawl mans her heavy suitcase.  And Carol enters the cabin laden with goodies. ^^^^^^

 

And I was so excited to meet these beautiful Virginia faces as well. 

 When Michelle (@smilesbymiles) heard that I was coming to Virginia and suggested that we get together, I jumped at the chance.  She is such a bright, lovely little thing.  I knew she was tiny, but I didn’t realize how small she was until I looked at a picture a customer at Panera Bread took of us together.  I look like an absolute GIANT beside her and I am boringly average in size all around.  We talked hard for three hours and I loved learning to know her a little bit.  She was even nicer than her blog.  Here is a stellar post she writes at http://smilesbymiles.xanga.com/760978667/what-makes-them-different/

Meanwhile, her 4 year old son Liam was just Theee Sweetest and Most Patient child you ever saw.  I just  couldn’t get over how good he was.  And how cute.  I wish he and Andre (my 4 year old) could get together.  I think they’d get on famously.

 Virginia at the end of March was too lovely for words to my color and warmth starved eyes and soul.

 

But mostly the faces are what I remember.  The familiar faces of these girls that I love.  The faces of those who are tied by blood lines and memories of the past.  The faces of family who love me as I am.  And the faces of new friends with the promise of more.