June 21, 2010 @ 7:18 am | Filed under: Family,Pure Sunshine
“You can’t teach genetics. But you can overcome genetics. I know, because that’s what I did.” ~ Kevin Rogers, 2010
Whoever first coined the old adage: “Family. You can’t live with them, you can’t live without them” must surely have known what it means to be smack-dab in the middle of a group of folks that are capable of making you feel virtually every emotion known to man, times 10.
It means that maybe while we shouldn’t live always within the exact same four walls as them, we should most definitely surround ourselves as often as possible with these people who have our back through thick and thin. We laugh, cry, remember, laugh some more, accuse, apologize, laugh even more, tease, tease, tease, and – LAUGH.
My brother is full of dead-panned one-liners that make me laugh out loud. His sentences are almost always deeply philosophical. So much so that if you didn’t know him you’d be leaning back in your chair trying desperately to make sense of this long string of words that just slipped from his lips.
And Jordan wonders why I so often slip and call him “Kevin…” It’s because his words, his antics, his mannerisms transport me back a few years and it’s conversation and time around my brother all over again. I see glimpses of my childhood in my son and it fills me with wonder at this miracle of family.
It is the sporadic and unexpected spurts of laughter when the conversation turns to Johnny James. We share the awe we feel in the presence of a man so brilliant that he can walk to the podium, speak for 45 minutes on the dot without the use of a watch, can quote the entire Bible, and – in the midst of it all – leave us with an impromptu English lesson as only a truly great grammarian can.
“Grammaria?” My brother pipes up in the middle of my dad’s JJ description. “Is that near Ethiopia? Do you need your passport to go there?”
Laughter.
It’s that deep, gut-wrenching hiccup that grabs you around your middle and makes the faces around you light up, tears to puddle in your own eyes, and holds your heart in its tight, joyous, amazing grasp while you savor it all, drinking it in with a great. big. sense of wonder.
It’s the bubble of uncontrolled mirth that grabs you again after you’re in bed at night. It’s the glee your heart feels as your mind replays the day and the words of your two-year-old niece – like her daddy in so many, many ways – that have you and your husband wiping your eyes in the dark from the sheer deliciousness of shared laughter.
My mom gifted each of the men with Polo Black for Father’s Day. Now – in moderate applications – I’m a fan of Polo Black. But when all three of men open their brand new bottles and apply a squirt or two, joking all the while that we now have a “family fragrance,” it can become a bit, well…fragrant.
So when two-year-old Andi walks into the room, sidles up to her grandfather, and honestly declares, “You stink!” it’s a moment that sticks with you. It’s one of those delightful little pockets of time that we tuck away for days when we’ll all need a moment of levity. A moment to pause, remember, and know.
Know that through it all we are family.
Family.
They are the ones who share our past, our middle, and – if we’re very fortunate – our futures. They’re in it for the long haul – no questions asked. There is no other place on the planet that offers that kind of security. No wonder family is God’s great gift to His children. It is a wonderful thing.
It is, after all, where you learn about gentetics, grammarians, and other stinky stuff!
Family, Father's Day, laughter
May 29, 2010 @ 8:26 am | Filed under: Family,Pure Sunshine,Soul Food
Sometimes the things that are left unsaid are every bit as poignant as the things we voice.
It seems as though each time we gather together these days there are silent reminders that we are all participating in something larger, grander, and more heroic than mere words can capture.
Summer is beginning to unravel with all its color and splendor.
We’re making memories – my family and I – breathing in each and every golden moment as it filters through the air around us, and then cradling it close in our hearts. I love these people.
We’ll have these slivers of moments in the difficult months that are sure to come.
Moments when the pain of loss robs us of a good night’s sleep. Moments when there is one less place set at the family dinners. Moments when the landscape of our family is physically altered.
Because in our hearts we’ll always have today.
And today was good.
It was really, really good.
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| This photo album generated with Smilebox |
May 10, 2010 @ 6:34 am | Filed under: Family,Motherhood,Pure Sunshine
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| This free digital collage created with Smilebox |
I realized something last night as I crawled between the sheets and settled down for the night.
I had spent the last couple of hours in the kitchen, planning, cooking, anticipating our Mother’s Day lunch as a family. Robyn’s dad and sister are in town, my mother-in-law is with us, and the day ahead promises to be one full of laughter and great family moments.
It’s been on my mind for the last few weeks that this would be the first Mother’s Day for my mom to ever spend without her mother. I know there is absolutely nothing and no one that can replace Mama; nor would we dare to try. Mama had a personality that was larger than life and this was one day where we would especially miss her presence.
But as I worked in the kitchen last night I was running a mental list of every one that would be at my parents’ the next day for lunch. It wasn’t until later, when I was in bed, that it hit me.
Out of the twelve people who would gather around the table, the only ones still blessed to have their mom are me, Mike, our boys, and my brother. My heart ached for everyone else…for my sister-in-law and her sister, who lost their mom way too young. For my mom, facing the first Mother’s Day as the true matriarch of our family.
The day was a blessed one, full and loud and happy. Little girl giggles, warm hugs, new baby cuddles, animated conversation, and late afternoon mugs of coffee…
And even though we were missing the heartbeats of some very loved mothers, one thing was was felt by all.
The mothering heart.
It is the heart that we share as a family.
And it will always go on.
three generations
September 23, 2009 @ 6:22 am | Filed under: Family,Uniquely Me
So here’s the deal.
I had to write a food memoir for the Advanced Non-Fiction writing class I’m taking. As a self-proclaimed, card-carrying, exuberant foodie, there were about a zillion-and-one things that immediately popped into my head after receiving this assignment.
Long, laughter-filled dinner parties with friends, the way mom always made spaghetti and cherry pie for me on each and every birthday, Deviled eggs at Easter, patterning my own meatloaf recipe after my grandmother’s (secret ingredient is brown sugar!)
I could go on and on…
The long and short of it is that food is more than just an energy source. Mealtimes are a bonding experience and whether it’s as a family or amongst friends, a good meal paired with laughter and sharing is just about as good as it gets.
Maybe that’s why I have such a passion for cooking for those I love…
Maybe that’s why I want to run a B&B one day and have my guests return home with a happy tummy, happy heart, happy memories…
And because I am writing this post instead of doing homework, I am totally digressing…and let’s face it, folks, the homework’s not doing itself.
The following is the food memoir I finally decided on. This memory holds a special place all its own in my heart. I love how its the smallest moments, filled with the most insignificant of things, that are what we remember with the most clarity from our childhood.
Plus, I know that Kevin and our respective spouses will totally get a kick outta this one!
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The mid-summer Texas afternoon was near perfect: cloudless blue sky, sprawling green lawns, and all up and down Bayshore Drive, the squeals and laughter of neighborhood kids as we ran with abandon through whirling water sprinklers. The morning lay like a long, winding ribbon behind us, lazy yet loud, and we didn’t know any better than to expect the hours until dusk to be exactly the same. Then and only then, when mothers, one by one, would stand on front porches and call loudly for their respective kids, would we begrudgingly turn for home. Turning to yell an occasional promise of “Tomorrow! We’ll do it again tomorrow!” to our friends, we’d trudge home with bare, dirty feet, smudged grins, and a tummy rolling with hunger. This was a scene that was repeated more times than I can even count. Only one thing ever marred those priceless dinner hour memories. But that one thing…was big enough, horrid enough, smelly enough…that my brother, Kevin, and I—much to the horror of our mother—still talk about it today.
Homemade pickles.
If you’ve experienced pickle-making of the homemade variety, then you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you haven’t…let me explain. Pickles come from cucumbers and did we ever have some cucumbers growing in our backyard. I was a child of the seventies and it was not uncommon for a middle-class suburban family to grow their own vegetables in neat little rows against the back fence in those days. We were no different. Neat green clumps of lettuce, juicy red tomatoes, and the most prickly okra you’ve ever felt in your life found their way up through the earth in our backyard. Unfortunately for Kevin and me, cucumbers also grew in vast amounts. Sometimes they would grow so fast and multiply in number so quickly that my mother would carry brown paper bags full to eager neighbors.
Other times, she’d make…pickles.
There are no words to describe running up your driveway, tired and hungry from the hours spent outside, and being assaulted in the garage by the smell of vinegar and cucumbers! It is unique, to say the least, and the acidity and sourness blend in such a way that—truly—it can only be described as a stench. One whiff and I no longer had that boisterous eight-year-old appetite. Instead my tummy whirled and spun inside of my skinny little self and I’d beg to go to bed, gagging all the while. In hindsight, my brother and I kind of wonder if the pickle-making process was just Mom’s way of needing a quiet night with the kids tucked away early! I’d hold my nose during a quick shower while the warm, soapy water washed away the day’s grime but did absolutely nothing to dilute the smell that had such a talent for wafting its way from the kitchen into the farthest parts of our home. Scarcely dry, I’d jump into pajamas and make a run for my bed. Once there, it didn’t matter that it was ninety-five degrees outside or that the sun had yet to disappear completely behind the horizon. I’d go as far down in the bed as I could, pulling every stitch of covers up over my head, burrowing my face in the pillow. Praying for sleep to quickly deliver me from the smell, I’d almost always fall asleep wondering one simple thing. Why on earth did Mom go and ruin a perfectly wonderful summer day with a pot full of silly old cucumbers?
I still don’t eat pickles.
The memories of those pickle-making summers, however, have turned out to be something I wouldn’t trade for any amount of money. The richness of shared family recollections, no matter how smelly, provide endless hours of laughter and reminiscing. Our spouses shake their heads every time Kevin or I bring up the subject of pickles, but even they are wiping away tears of laughter by the time the story has been told…one more time.
Not the pickles again!
Family, summertime memories, writing
August 31, 2009 @ 6:36 am | Filed under: Family,Soul Food,Uniquely Me
I’ve been the quietest I’ve been in years…maybe ever…these past several months.
As an aside – I’m sure if you were to ask Mike, he’d beg to differ with that last statement! I’ve been talking, for sure, as we’ve been planning, implementing those plans, and making various adjustments these past few months. But, other than journaling it and talking it out within our four walls, I’ve not been too vocal on much except surface…stuff.
When I shut out the noise around me, good or bad, I can truly focus. Regain some clarity, perspective. There is a tranquility of spirit these days and – while it is something new for me – it is definitely something I hope to keep.
There is one area though that I am resolving to bolster even more. It is one of my weaknesses: time management. I want so much to do well in so many different areas that I find I am constantly tending to the urgent and – in the process – often ignoring the important.
Putting out fires is necessary, goodness knows, but what I so often perceive as being a burning forest usually turns out to be nothing more than smoldering embers. And sometimes when I get back to the important, the passion, the energy and the drive has already been spent.
My heartbeat lately has been to find God and then join Him in what He is doing. In this protected, tender space that is my life right now, I feel a real need to maximize the time. To not only be productive in my work, school, church and family life, but to really be cognizant as I go through my day of the people around me. What they are facing. Decisions they are making. Hurts they have.
My life has slowed, for sure. I don’t know that I will ever truly understand the scope of what this time is about for me. I feel almost certain that, at the very least, I won’t glimpse the meaning until I’ve faithfully trodded this path until I come to the next leg of the journey.
The last thing I want to do is to fill this time with busyness instead of progress. There are some things – some people – that I can do nothing about, nothing for. Some things just need to be left alone. I’m trying to learn that, accept it.
Only then can I cultivate the important. I want to grow a garden during this time, and nourish it with time spent with Him, time spent in reflection, time shared with loved ones, and time in knowledge and understanding.
Today begins the new fall term and, with it, I am starting a new book. I’m excited about both…and also nervous about both. Beginnings – as fresh and fun and exciting as they can be – aren’t really my forte. But they are crucial and I know that these first days will set the stage for the next weeks and months. I want those months to be productive ones. And I know what it will take for that productivity to even have a fighting chance.
This morning I lay it all down, all the components that make up ME.
I ask for eyes to see the realities.
Ears to hear His voice.
A heart to love without borders.
And arms strong enough to cradle it all.
Family, living simply, school stories
February 23, 2009 @ 8:56 am | Filed under: Motherhood,The Solid Rock
A few days ago I walked into the house at the end of a long day and sank onto the couch, kicked off my boots, and launched into filling Mike in on all the details. He’s good at that; at knowing when I need to talk something through and – on this particular day – I think he realized long before I did that I was about to, indeed, talk something through. He pulled off his reading glasses like he does when he’s preparing to give his full attention to something and he listened.
It had been a full day, with classes, labs, a meeting, and then a late lunch with one of our sons. The many conversations – rich with nuggets of information that were still waiting for me to patiently mine through – played through my mind and skipped across my heart as I tried to convey it all to my husband.
After I had done the best that I could, he leaned over and simply looked me straight in the eye. “This is the answer to all those prayers.”
His words stopped me and I grew still.
In one single sentence he had managed to capsulize what my heart had been trying to wrap its arms around for hours. Sometimes I think it’s the prayers we pray the most; the ones we pray for days and weeks and even months that eventually become such a part of the fabric of our day. Much like brushing our teeth or getting the coffee ready to brew for the following morning. They simply become a part of us, so when they begin to be answered we don’t always recognize them.
My husband’s words took me back over the past months, to the countless times I’ve gone to my knees – the tears I’ve wept, the promises I’ve clung to, the prayers that made their way from the farthest reachest of my soul at some of the darkest hours of the night…
In those times I imagined what this answered prayer would look like. I pictured it in my heart’s mind and I memorized it. I knew its lines, its depth, its weight. I knew its color, its shape, the way it would look, sound, taste, feel and behave.
But you see, that’s the great thing about my God. He is the ultimate in delivering surprises. When He answers prayers, He takes great delight in making sure that each package is unique; He wants it to be a one-of-a-kind, original in every conceivable way. I forget that sometimes; either that, or my mind is just not able to comprehend the magnitutude of what it is that He is all about.
This morning I do know He is all about loving His children. As much as I love my own children, He loves His all the more.
From that first moment a few days ago, when He began to answer this long-held prayer, it has been an almost non-stop process since. Each day, more and more of His plan has unfolded and I am in awe of Him. I would never have imagined this answer. It looks nothing like I imagined. Feels nothing like I imagined. Sounds like nothing that I had imagined.
That makes it all about Him, and not at all about me.
And that makes it absolutely perfect.
answered prayers, faith, Family
February 18, 2009 @ 2:22 pm | Filed under: Family,Pure Sunshine
February 7, 2009 @ 5:57 pm | Filed under: Family,It's funny!,Pure Sunshine
Kendall and her Pops
Before Carter was born, Mike and I had several fun conversations as we “tried on” all the various names for grandparents.
We ultimately tossed most all of them out on their ear, since at least one of us (sorry, honey!) was way too young to be called grand anything yet…
We would find out soon enough that those two kids could very well call us anything and we’d answer.
Yep – grandkids really do have just that kind of power over you.
We finally decided on “Pops” and “Nana” since these seemed to best define, both, the traditional and the fun side of how we saw our cute little grandparenting selves. From the first time that Carter first uttered “Pots,” (the precursor to Pops) these names have been indelibly engraved on our hearts since.
It’s no doubt that Carter and Kendall have very firmly established our roles as Pops and Nana. I promise, you’ve never seen a big strapping man like my husband melt like hot butter the way he does when one of the grandkids says, “Pops, will you…”
So imagine his joy when Amy informed him a few days ago that Paul had an important meeting and would be unable to attend Donuts for Dads at Kendall’s school, and would he like to go instead…?
Would he? Are you kidding me?
And imagine my laughter when he returned home a few hours later and was telling me all about his time at the school. Kendall had marched him right up to her teacher and in her very best, big-girl way she has about her right now, she’d introduced him.
“This,” she indicated Mike, “is my grandfather.”
February 6, 2009 @ 11:38 am | Filed under: Family,Pure Sunshine
My niece, Andi (10 months)
January 19, 2009 @ 5:03 pm | Filed under: Family,Pure Sunshine
We just had to share this clip!
