Pickles and Pearls

Pickles or Pearls?

That's my dilemma. 

I made pickles yesterday for the first time in years. Probably since I was a newlywed and used too-old cucumbers that did not make for a fine pickle eating event. I kinda gave up after that. Nobody's pickles could quite compare with Leo's grandmother's pickles anyhow. 

 The years passed. I contemplated trying again, but just never really felt truly motivated.
Until this year. Until yesterday.

My garden is actually producing some cute little pickling variety pickles (cute when I pick them in time, otherwise they grow quite fat and un-pickle-like). I thought, "Why not give it a try?" Maybe not Grandma Edna's recipe, but something more dill, rather than sweet. And because I didn't trust my spice mixing ability, I went to Springs Store and bought a packet of pickle seasoning, all ready to go.

I cleaned them, I sliced them and a few of the cute ones just fit without me doing a thing. The spices and vinegar were brewing on the stove nicely. Can I just say that if one leans close to the steam and inhales deeply to see if the spices are smelling "pickley" that it will clean out the sinuses quite effectively. Quite.

My eyes are still watering.

I got the jars packed, the liquid poured over and the canner set to canning. Then in about 15 minutes or so, the jars were lined up on the counter. Nine of them. I was happy. I was hoping I'd be happy the next day when I tasted them.

Then I started thinking. I wore a pearl bracelet yesterday. Not a pearl necklace and high heels, but pearls nonetheless. I felt a little June Cleaver-ish.  Then I thought of the contrast. Pickles and pearls.
One is tangy, sour and packs a little punch. The other is pretty and evokes pleasant thoughts.

Today, I am feeling very much like a pickle. I am not thinking nice thoughts. I am not speaking love and encouragement to my family. I am a sour pickle.

But I want to be a pearl. But becoming a pearl takes work. Effort. Do I really want to be a pearl?

I do.

I am taking 10 minutes to gather my pearlish thoughts and make a conscious decision to work on the pickled parts of me.

I can do this. Because the God in me created both pickles (well, the cucumbers) and pearls and He can shape me into what I am meant to be.

Love,
Dianne

The Wedding Blues

Watching Aaron and Lisa-Anna plan and prepare for their wedding takes me back to the summer of 1988. Ah yes, that was a good year…

I was working as a cook at the Casselman Restaurant and Leo was an electrician at Beitzel Welding. His job, most weeks, had him out of town Monday morning through Thursday night. We didn't have cell phones, texting or Skype. Email wasn't even in existence at that point, so our planning and preparation for our wedding was done via the odd phone call during the week and on weekends. I would save up my ideas and thoughts and then I'd run them all by Leo and he'd just agree. He always was a smart one.

Probably the biggest detail that we did not see eye to eye on was color. He wanted blue; a light sky-colored blue. I did not;it was too close to the color of my high school graduation gown which I'd just worn in June. I didn't really want to remind everyone again of my age. We settled on Dusty Rose and Ruby (or so that was what the fabric swatches said). Not a stitch of blue was in sight. But you know, to this day, when I ask Leo what our wedding colors were, he says, "Lavender".

Other details, like deciding on wedding invitation wording, food for the reception, the cake design, bridesmaids dresses, flower girl dresses, tuxedos, napkin colors, order of groomsmen and bridesmaids, music to play during the wedding, flowers and their arrangements, honeymoon destination…@@

Really, it shouldn't be so complicated, should it?

"I do." That's all. A commitment so simple, so true lies at the foundation of it all.

Aaron and Lisa-Anna,
      I know it can be stressful. It is overwhelming at times. Details, details, so many details. I remember how important it was to me to have everything beautiful and just the way I had always envisioned my wedding day to be. I know it is important to you too. And believe it or not, it is coming together. It will be beautiful but not just because of the candles, the music, the dresses or any of the other details. 
     The beauty is because the two of you are proclaiming to the world and before your God of your love and commitment to each other. Keep that your focus and the rest will fall into place a little easier. I know it still takes work, but we are here to help. It may be 25 years since the summer of 1988 when we planned our wedding, but I think we can remember a trick or two. 
     Love,
          Mom

The summer passed, we worked, we planned, and we prayed. And all the little details that threatened to drive us crazy fell into place just when we thought the puzzle would never be finished. And it was beautiful. Very 1980's Mennonite Chic, but beautiful. Just like theirs is going to be.

I can't wait.

Love,
Dianne
   
                                                                                                                                                 

Evenings Are Meant For This

This morning feels like such a long time ago.

I got off work and headed straight to a little coffee shop in Davidsville. Every once in a while, I stop just simply because. No other reason than that. I enjoyed a caramello coffee and a slice of lemon pound cake as I drove and I let the cares of 3 nights in a row melt away. I listened to a PBS radio station and mellowed as Bach and Beethoven did their thing.

In Garrett, I was fighting the overwhelming urge to pull over and sleep, and instead of doing that, I went a different route home and decided to stop at Summit Country Market for some groceries. A "bent -and-dent" kind of place, I enjoy the variety of gourmet items at a much cheaper cost. The sound of hymns playing overhead softly only adds to the atmosphere in this out of the way market. I loaded my car and turned it toward home.

Laundry was waiting for me and just the normal general cleaning up after a weekend where everyone was everywhere but home for long. You know what I mean. Stuff gets piled on the kitchen table, dishes gather in the sink, etc, etc. But today, all my girls were home and they all pitched in a here and there and we got it livable again. Not spotless, but it'll do.

As I hung the laundry on the line, I spied my unplanted shrubs. Today would be the day; I just needed to do it!  I got my holly bushes planted that have been waiting patiently since June. Actually the two female shrubs were waiting for a male and I got one on clearance at Walmart, so now I have a happy little holly corner. Getting something done that has been on the list in my head for much too long is so satisfying.

Since I was on a roll, I decided to shred the zucchini that was starting to take over the kitchen counter and get it in bags for the freezer. And since it was not shredded, why not make some Decadent Chocolate Zucchini Bread? (Which, I am smelling as it bakes, and oh, it smells divine.)

And now, at 9:00pm? I am in a favorite spot that I never take the time to enjoy. But tonight, I am. I have my mug of coffee and my laptop with music playing softly as I type. The candles are lit and the smell of vanilla is mingling with the chocolate.

Oh wait, the bread is done and as I sliced the first piece it was so hot I almost couldn't hold it. The steam burst forth with the first cut of the knife and the chocolate vapor made me swoon. Now, I am recovering with the crusty end piece and more coffee.

Some evenings are just meant to be enjoyed. And I am going to continue to do just that until I fall asleep.

Love,
Dianne

Falling Asleep My Way

Best ways to help one fall asleep after night shift:
     Simply just driving home. Seriously, it works for me every time.
     Checking Facebook.
     Reading a book. Or in my case, about half a page before drifting off.
     Celtic music on the stereo.
     Sleeping in the hammock on summer days.
     Fresh sheets on the bed.
     A hint of the scent of lavender in the air.

Or…here's how it really happens:
     Leave work.
     Drive to Somerset.
     Take a break. Go to the bathroom. Get a coffee to wake up.
     Keep driving.
     Park car. Doze off with mouth open in the car with one gray cat sitting on the car watching.
     Sigh loudly and go inside.
     Bathroom, again.
     Gather a few scattered dirty dishes and take to kitchen sink.
     Wrinkle my nose at the smell of vegetable scraps needing to go out to compost pile.
     (No lavender here.)
     Throw scrubs onto bedroom floor and put on comfy clothes.
     Think about changing the sheets, but don't.
     Sprawl on the bed.
     Check Facebook.
     Set the alarm clock.
     Climb back out of bed to put some music on.
     Realize the CD player is not plugged in and the Sony walkman is nowhere to be found.
     Listen to the sounds of Shakespeare barking, random bugs humming, and the occasional car.
     Doze off.
     Get up at least once to use the bathroom.
     Fall asleep while writing blog leaving behind a trail of littered lettersssaasaafffsfsssfvvddssssssssss
And now, off for a few more winks…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Love,
Dianne
   
   
   

Choose To Be The Honey

I got stung by a bee yesterday, right on my big toe. I was in my usual hurry-scurry to get out the door and as I made a quick detour to verify that Shakespeare had food and water, I stumbled over the bee. The wasp. The winged being with a poison sword.

We are no longer friends.

Immediately the searing, burning pain centering on my foot caused me to have flashbacks of labor and birth. I instinctively began to breathe. Whoo-whoo-heeeeee. Focal point, focal point, find a focal point!
I was seriously annoyed, but I did not have time for this. Not now.

I tried to think of a fast home remedy to stop the spreading wasp venom. Burdock leaves. I scanned the yard where I usually have a few of the ugly broadleaf weeds. Not a one in sight. Seriously? Where did they go?  I can't stand them, but when I need them, they disappear. How rude.

Onions. I go back in the house and put an onion slice on my foot. I am still trying to get my stuff together to get out the door on time, so I tuck it into my sandal. It brings to mind the question Ryan asked my the other day as we were driving in the car. "Mom, what do you think people meat tastes like?" What?! Where did that thought come from? He shrugged; he was just wondering. Now, here I was, seasoning my foot with an onion. Which really did not do a thing for the wasp sting that was now making my foot throb with each heartbeat.

I decided my best home remedy was to ignore it. I went about the rest of my day, but the ache in my foot continued for about 12 hours before finally subsiding into the most intense, ridiculous of itches. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it.

It's funny isn't it, how something so little, like a bee can cause so much irritation? I find that is true with other things, like how one word from someone cause bring me to the edge of despair. Or how one small disapproving look can ruin my day.

If I choose to let it. 

That's the key isn't it; choosing to let the little things make or break me. It's tough sometimes. I am too sensitive to the venom in words; I take it to heart and let it fester instead of hearing them, learning from it (if it truly is something of worth) and letting it go.

And in all this, I am reminded that my own words, my own glances can cause the same hurt, the same sting, the same pain. My prayer? Lord, let me be a blessing to my family, my friends, my coworkers, to all that I meet, in spite of myself. Take away my sting. Make me words, my attitude sweet like honey. Amen.

And now, I am off to work; as always, busy as a bee.

(Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

Love,
Dianne

One A Day in August

I've thought about this.
I've debated the pros and cons.
I've almost talked myself into it.
Then I change my mind.
Then I change it back again.

I've gotten lazy with my writing. I don't want it to become a chore, but I do want to write about my days, my ups and downs and in-betweens, my kids (muwahahaha), my Leo, my life. I go back to Day#1 of this blog and I think about my reasons for wanting to do this in the first place.

So, back to the drawing, er, writing board I go. My resolution?
Write something every day in August. Not anything mind-shattering or life-changing perhaps, but just about life. Because someday, I want to be able to go back and remember August 2013. I want my children, my grandchildren, my great grandchildren to know about August 2013.

You are all welcome to read along as a go about this writing of life stuff. And at the end of the month, if I get through every single day with something posted, well, I am feeling like drawing a few names out of the hat. Hmmm, what should it be this time? Mocha brownies, Knock You Naked Brownies, Apple Pie…..I am open to suggestions. Be reasonable though. I am not Betty Crocker.

Now, I must fly to get myself together for work. My lunch/supper or whatever it is called at 3 o'clock in the morning is packed. My scrubs are clean and semi-unwrinkled. If only my mind was there instead of out in the garden picking sweet cherry tomatoes…

…and zucchini's and green beans….

…and a few random sunflowers. 

Love,
Dianne

What The Fridge Has To Say

I wonder. 

What does your refrigerator say about you? 

This is what mine says about our family and about me:

We like to have fun with magnets. 

Too much fun. 

The blue paper?

Left over from the end of the school year, reminding Ryan to read, read, read.

We have a weird sense of humor. 

Very weird.

Oh, and one of us likes gardening. 

We like to be encouraged,

reminded that God is in control. 

What better place to be reminded than on the front of the fridge?

After all, it gets looked at, opened, checked out more often than any other spot in the house.

(Except maybe the bathroom.)

We are really a much larger family than it appears.

Some of my children just happen to live in other countries.

(Thank you Compassion International for the opportunity.)

We like to pray for the missionaries in our lives. 

Again, what better place to be reminded of this than on the fridge? 

(Don't mind the picture of me, Leo and Ryan at his school. 

While not a picture of a missionary family, it is a memory of a good day. )

Oh, and please excuse the back-end of the dog magnet; not sure where he lost his head. Oops. 

We all need a reminder once in a while that even when "just at home", 

it is important for others to see that the God we serve isn't just for Sunday. 

For Adrienne and me, these are a reminder of a trip to Guatemala. 

And they are just fun.

My cooking helpers hang here too.

No, not the little women, but the timer and measurement guide. 

And we all know that some of us (who shall remain nameless)

do better with a morning cup of coffee. 

And there you have it. Except for all the fingerprints on the door handle which I thought I'd spare you of seeing. Maybe next time, we'll see what the inside of the refrigerator says about the Maust Gang at Level Acres Lane.

Or not.

Somethings are better left to the imagination.

Love,
Dianne