Sunday, April 10, 2005
April column
My latest Letter from Harrisburg is in the paper today. You can access it at http://www.registerguard.com/news/2005/04/10/ol.smucker.0410.html
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Matt's Experiments
When Matt was about twelve, he placed a jar of raw meat on the windowsill by his bed to see what would happen. Before long, the entire biomass in the jar was changed from meat to maggots, swarming in a vile mass.
When he was thirteen, he took a cupful of gasoline to his room, ignited it, and then poured it out his window onto the roof of the porch, where it burned itself out but did not set the roof on fire.
At about 14, he coiled a long length of wire around a pipe, attached an electrical cord, and then dropped a canning-jar ring over it. The idea was that when he turned on the switch, the jar ring would fly off the pipe and up in the air. Instead, he dimmed all the lights in the house and nearly zapped himself into Heaven.
Would the scientific experiments end when he grew up, I wondered. Evidently not. I came home from Virginia Monday night to find a sign taped on a kitchen cupboard: "Starting Tuesday a.m. do not empty this trash can. I need it for my archeology class."
It turns out that the students will all bring their offerings from home, exchange bags, and then analyze. Everything that would not last for 500 years will be discarded; the rest will be studied for clues to the identity and characteristics of the family involved.
I have put up with Matt’s experiments all these years--at least the ones I knew about at the time--in hopes that they would lead him to someday find a brilliant cure for cervical cancer or Alzheimer’s. If he ends up being an ordinary guy whose only experiments are trying to make a homemade helicopter at age 55, I’ll have some serious regrets to deal with.
Quote of the Day:
"All moms are alike. If their daughter has a problem—a PERSONAL problem—they tell it to all the other moms."
--Bethany Clugston, as told to me by Emily, who heartily agreed
When he was thirteen, he took a cupful of gasoline to his room, ignited it, and then poured it out his window onto the roof of the porch, where it burned itself out but did not set the roof on fire.
At about 14, he coiled a long length of wire around a pipe, attached an electrical cord, and then dropped a canning-jar ring over it. The idea was that when he turned on the switch, the jar ring would fly off the pipe and up in the air. Instead, he dimmed all the lights in the house and nearly zapped himself into Heaven.
Would the scientific experiments end when he grew up, I wondered. Evidently not. I came home from Virginia Monday night to find a sign taped on a kitchen cupboard: "Starting Tuesday a.m. do not empty this trash can. I need it for my archeology class."
It turns out that the students will all bring their offerings from home, exchange bags, and then analyze. Everything that would not last for 500 years will be discarded; the rest will be studied for clues to the identity and characteristics of the family involved.
I have put up with Matt’s experiments all these years--at least the ones I knew about at the time--in hopes that they would lead him to someday find a brilliant cure for cervical cancer or Alzheimer’s. If he ends up being an ordinary guy whose only experiments are trying to make a homemade helicopter at age 55, I’ll have some serious regrets to deal with.
Quote of the Day:
"All moms are alike. If their daughter has a problem—a PERSONAL problem—they tell it to all the other moms."
--Bethany Clugston, as told to me by Emily, who heartily agreed
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Now That's a Vacation
My time in Virginia with my sister and her family was lots of fun, but what really made it a vacation was that for six days I didn’t have to make any decisions. ("Long or short sleeves today?" does not count as a decision.)
I can’t explain how wonderful it was to rest my brain. Like a tropical spa with a dozen servants for the body, that’s what it was like for my mind.
When I left the Portland airport on the shuttle bus and then rattled around the big parking lot trying to find my car in the dark, I had a feeling my vacation was over. Driving home confirmed it—I was back in responsible, take-charge mode.
Today, I am back to making decisions:
What’s on hand for breakfast?
Who can I get to pick up more milk?
Yes, Anne, you can get me, oh, let’s see, how about three or four packages of leg quarters.
What’s wrong with Amy?
What shall I make for supper?
What’s priority—food, laundry, cleaning, unpacking, or getting groceries?
Let’s see, why don’t we make it Monday for my doctor appointment and Friday to use the gift certificate to eat on the Willamette Queen.
How do I approach my new publisher with changes I want on the contract?
When a space capsule re-enters the atmosphere, it burns. This morning in the shower, I asked God to please keep me from burning on the inside during re-entry. I figured burning on the outside was inevitable, but I want my heart to stay intact, willing to get back into Mom Mode so I can do what I’m called to do.
Quote of the Day:
"Braveheart incarnate, aren’t you?"
--my nephew, Jason, when I pointed a broom at him as though it was a rifle because I had seen a few too many Confederate/Civil War references around town and he viciously attacked me with a couch cushion like a crazy Yankee and I screeeeeeemed and retreated down Barbo’s Gap (the hallway)
I can’t explain how wonderful it was to rest my brain. Like a tropical spa with a dozen servants for the body, that’s what it was like for my mind.
When I left the Portland airport on the shuttle bus and then rattled around the big parking lot trying to find my car in the dark, I had a feeling my vacation was over. Driving home confirmed it—I was back in responsible, take-charge mode.
Today, I am back to making decisions:
What’s on hand for breakfast?
Who can I get to pick up more milk?
Yes, Anne, you can get me, oh, let’s see, how about three or four packages of leg quarters.
What’s wrong with Amy?
What shall I make for supper?
What’s priority—food, laundry, cleaning, unpacking, or getting groceries?
Let’s see, why don’t we make it Monday for my doctor appointment and Friday to use the gift certificate to eat on the Willamette Queen.
How do I approach my new publisher with changes I want on the contract?
When a space capsule re-enters the atmosphere, it burns. This morning in the shower, I asked God to please keep me from burning on the inside during re-entry. I figured burning on the outside was inevitable, but I want my heart to stay intact, willing to get back into Mom Mode so I can do what I’m called to do.
Quote of the Day:
"Braveheart incarnate, aren’t you?"
--my nephew, Jason, when I pointed a broom at him as though it was a rifle because I had seen a few too many Confederate/Civil War references around town and he viciously attacked me with a couch cushion like a crazy Yankee and I screeeeeeemed and retreated down Barbo’s Gap (the hallway)
Friday, April 01, 2005
Meeting Verda at Last
Verda Glick is a Beachy Amish missionary in El Salvador. She is also a writer who has organized about 17 writers groups by mail and email. About 10 years ago I joined one of these groups and Verda and I instantly hit it off. We have emailed over the years--she sends me all her updates, I send her mine, even though I quit the writers group about 5 years ago.
I often wished I could meet Verda but it had never worked out. Then last year she and her husband and son took a break from their work in El Salvador and went to work with the Beachy Amish mission in Kenya for three months. This happened to be right over the time Paul went to Kenya to get Steven, and to my great envy, Paul and Steven stayed at Eli and Verda's house. Verda took excellent care of them and sent me glowing stories about Steven.
Well. Time passed and meanwhile my sis Becky and her family had to leave their home in Yemen and come to the US for medical reasons and they decided to go to Harrisonburg, Virginia, where they have a supporting church. Harrisonburg also happens to be the home of Christian Light Publications, which happened to be putting on a writers conference on April 1 and 2, and it just happened that Verda was invited to speak. So. I came to Virginia for a double treat, seeing Becky and Co., and taking in the writers conference and finally meeting Verda for the first time. She is a wonderful lady and said, "Oh, I didn't do much," when I thanked her for all she had done for Paul and Steven.
Quote of the Day:
"Fine."
--my nephew Jason's answer to his mom's questions of how was school today, how was the ride on the bus, how was your geometry class, how was P.E., etc.
I often wished I could meet Verda but it had never worked out. Then last year she and her husband and son took a break from their work in El Salvador and went to work with the Beachy Amish mission in Kenya for three months. This happened to be right over the time Paul went to Kenya to get Steven, and to my great envy, Paul and Steven stayed at Eli and Verda's house. Verda took excellent care of them and sent me glowing stories about Steven.
Well. Time passed and meanwhile my sis Becky and her family had to leave their home in Yemen and come to the US for medical reasons and they decided to go to Harrisonburg, Virginia, where they have a supporting church. Harrisonburg also happens to be the home of Christian Light Publications, which happened to be putting on a writers conference on April 1 and 2, and it just happened that Verda was invited to speak. So. I came to Virginia for a double treat, seeing Becky and Co., and taking in the writers conference and finally meeting Verda for the first time. She is a wonderful lady and said, "Oh, I didn't do much," when I thanked her for all she had done for Paul and Steven.
Quote of the Day:
"Fine."
--my nephew Jason's answer to his mom's questions of how was school today, how was the ride on the bus, how was your geometry class, how was P.E., etc.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Road Trip
Matt came home from his road trip to Ohio last night, so now (no doubt briefly) all my chicks are back in the nest.
This road trip, with Matt and his friends Justin and Brandon, was only about 10% about going to see Justin’s brother in Ohio and their friends at Bible school in Indiana. The rest was that nebulous, indefinable combination of spring break, the call of the open road, a rite of passage, and a test to see if they had what it took to get there and back.
And, of course, somewhere in all that, not necessarily defined, was the hope of meeting girls.
So, there they were, driving through Iowa. Matt was reading in the back seat, Justin was reading up front, Brandon was driving.
A carload of girls passed them. The girls, Brandon reported as they pulled ahead, were looking back at them and smiling.
Unfortunately, as this was happening, Justin was popping a zit and Matt was picking his nose.
Quote of the Day:
"YOU ACT LIKE I’M NOT TRYING TO NOT BE DRAMATIC!"
--Emily, to Matt
This road trip, with Matt and his friends Justin and Brandon, was only about 10% about going to see Justin’s brother in Ohio and their friends at Bible school in Indiana. The rest was that nebulous, indefinable combination of spring break, the call of the open road, a rite of passage, and a test to see if they had what it took to get there and back.
And, of course, somewhere in all that, not necessarily defined, was the hope of meeting girls.
So, there they were, driving through Iowa. Matt was reading in the back seat, Justin was reading up front, Brandon was driving.
A carload of girls passed them. The girls, Brandon reported as they pulled ahead, were looking back at them and smiling.
Unfortunately, as this was happening, Justin was popping a zit and Matt was picking his nose.
Quote of the Day:
"YOU ACT LIKE I’M NOT TRYING TO NOT BE DRAMATIC!"
--Emily, to Matt
Saturday, March 26, 2005
The Ultimate Kitchen Gadget
I am not a fancy-kitchen-gadget person. I like my basics, sharp knives and a wire whisk and dippers. Now and then I get attached to a device like an egg slicer, but not often.
I roll my eyes when the Tupperware lady goes into raptures about the latest pickle strainer. My melon ballers and orange peelers hibernate in the back of the drawer.
But the other day in a kitchen store at the coast I saw the Ultimate Kitchen Gadget. It looks like a semi-stiff, semi-clear mitten—nothing impressive. But actually it is a $19.99 silicone oven mitt, capable of protecting your hands to 600 degrees, not only when pulling cookie sheets out of the oven, but, since it’s waterproof, when plunging your hands into a kettle of boiling water to retrieve an ear of corn or jar of applesauce.
Is that cool—no pun intended—or what?
I couldn’t justify buying it--after all, I do have plenty of oven mitts and tongs. But still, it was really one of the most impressive gadgets I’ve ever seen.
Quote of the Day—
"Matt hugs like he’s practiced on seed sacks."
--Emily
I roll my eyes when the Tupperware lady goes into raptures about the latest pickle strainer. My melon ballers and orange peelers hibernate in the back of the drawer.
But the other day in a kitchen store at the coast I saw the Ultimate Kitchen Gadget. It looks like a semi-stiff, semi-clear mitten—nothing impressive. But actually it is a $19.99 silicone oven mitt, capable of protecting your hands to 600 degrees, not only when pulling cookie sheets out of the oven, but, since it’s waterproof, when plunging your hands into a kettle of boiling water to retrieve an ear of corn or jar of applesauce.
Is that cool—no pun intended—or what?
I couldn’t justify buying it--after all, I do have plenty of oven mitts and tongs. But still, it was really one of the most impressive gadgets I’ve ever seen.
Quote of the Day—
"Matt hugs like he’s practiced on seed sacks."
--Emily
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Amy Comes Home
A long, long time ago, I used to think that some women got far too large a percentage of their fulfilment in life out of mothering. I mean, get a life.
Early this morning I was sitting on the couch with Bible and coffee in hand when the front door opened and in glided a very tired and pale little ghostly figure, laden with suitcase and backpack. I enfolded the fragile figure in a hug and promptly bade her lie down on the couch, clicking into Smother-Mother mode before you could say boo.
Then I was off bringing a glass of water (with a straw, of course, as a good mom should), ibuprofen for her headache, two slices of toasted homemade bread with lots of real butter.
It took me by surprise, the sheer joy of having Amy home and of being able to serve her like this. She lifted her tired little head and said something wonderful like:
Quote of the Day:
"It's nice to have a mom to take care of you."
--Amy
Early this morning I was sitting on the couch with Bible and coffee in hand when the front door opened and in glided a very tired and pale little ghostly figure, laden with suitcase and backpack. I enfolded the fragile figure in a hug and promptly bade her lie down on the couch, clicking into Smother-Mother mode before you could say boo.
Then I was off bringing a glass of water (with a straw, of course, as a good mom should), ibuprofen for her headache, two slices of toasted homemade bread with lots of real butter.
It took me by surprise, the sheer joy of having Amy home and of being able to serve her like this. She lifted her tired little head and said something wonderful like:
Quote of the Day:
"It's nice to have a mom to take care of you."
--Amy
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Shopping
A couple of weeks ago I took my three girls to town and we shopped at Gateway Mall for a few hours. When we left I was tense and exhausted and headachy and wanted nothing more than to just get home. As I drove on Interstate 5 thinking about how much I hate shopping, Emily, beside me, wiggled with glee and satisfaction and said, "I just love to shop. It’s just so ENERGIZING."
Yesterday I needed to go to town again, this time to get a pattern for Amy’s graduation dress while it was on sale. Emily wanted to go along and would have been happy to leave right after she got up (about 10:30). No no, I said. First we do the cleaning, then we shop.
I enjoy second-hand shopping once in a while if I’m not in a hurry and if I don’t have tired children along and if I don’t have to rush home to make supper. The same with garage saling.
Grocery shopping at WinCo isn’t too bad but is physically exhausting, hoisting 25-lb bags of flour or cat food into the cart, onto the counter, back in the cart, and into the trunk of the car. I shop there about twice a month and usually have a brimming cart that must weigh over a hundred pounds and just when I’ve picked up the last item on the west end (ice cream) I remember that I forgot onions and have to push my cart the quarter-mile (it seems) back to the east end. At least it's good exercise.
But mall shopping completely does me in. By the time we leave I am tired of walking for miles holding all my packages, tired of the noise, tired of seeing racks of ugly clothes, tired of the prices, tired of decisions, tired of pierced young people with empty eyes, tired of the overwhelming emphasis on THINGS.
My girls look at me like I’m not quite female when I express these sentiments. Shopping is fun and cool and energizing, after all, and how can anyone think otherwise? Thankfully Paul, at least, thinks I’m a Real Woman even if I don’t like malls. (And a few weeks ago he REALLY racked up the points when he offered to go get groceries for me. Better than flowers and chocolate.)
Fifteen years ago when we lived in the far reaches of northern Ontario, we went shopping a couple times a year, and in the middle of winter I would crave a good shopping trip so bad I could hardly stand it. Maybe someday I’ll find a balance between then and now.
Quote of the Day:
"28…28? But that’s FORWARD!"
--Jenny, in a loud, offended hiss in church when Mike Gingerich said we should turn BACK to song number 28
Yesterday I needed to go to town again, this time to get a pattern for Amy’s graduation dress while it was on sale. Emily wanted to go along and would have been happy to leave right after she got up (about 10:30). No no, I said. First we do the cleaning, then we shop.
I enjoy second-hand shopping once in a while if I’m not in a hurry and if I don’t have tired children along and if I don’t have to rush home to make supper. The same with garage saling.
Grocery shopping at WinCo isn’t too bad but is physically exhausting, hoisting 25-lb bags of flour or cat food into the cart, onto the counter, back in the cart, and into the trunk of the car. I shop there about twice a month and usually have a brimming cart that must weigh over a hundred pounds and just when I’ve picked up the last item on the west end (ice cream) I remember that I forgot onions and have to push my cart the quarter-mile (it seems) back to the east end. At least it's good exercise.
But mall shopping completely does me in. By the time we leave I am tired of walking for miles holding all my packages, tired of the noise, tired of seeing racks of ugly clothes, tired of the prices, tired of decisions, tired of pierced young people with empty eyes, tired of the overwhelming emphasis on THINGS.
My girls look at me like I’m not quite female when I express these sentiments. Shopping is fun and cool and energizing, after all, and how can anyone think otherwise? Thankfully Paul, at least, thinks I’m a Real Woman even if I don’t like malls. (And a few weeks ago he REALLY racked up the points when he offered to go get groceries for me. Better than flowers and chocolate.)
Fifteen years ago when we lived in the far reaches of northern Ontario, we went shopping a couple times a year, and in the middle of winter I would crave a good shopping trip so bad I could hardly stand it. Maybe someday I’ll find a balance between then and now.
Quote of the Day:
"28…28? But that’s FORWARD!"
--Jenny, in a loud, offended hiss in church when Mike Gingerich said we should turn BACK to song number 28
Friday, March 18, 2005
Smucker's Believe It Or Not
I always enjoy those group games where you’re given a paper listing unusual qualities or experiences such as, "I survived a plane crash" or "I can walk down stairs on my hands" and you go around the room and ask questions until you figure out which factoid is true for which person.
Here’s my top-of-the-list Unique Fact about myself: I once had lunch with a man who about six years before had shaken hands with Osama bin Laden.
On a similar vein, I enjoy hearing about Surreal Moments, those times that may have seemed perfectly logical at the moment but looking back seem strange and upside down and almost unreal.
Such as: the time I was 8 months pregnant and toting a heavy vacuum cleaner out to the end of a long boat dock in the Canadian bush.
(Or doesn't that sound as odd as I think it does?)
Or the time Jenny and I were sitting in a very hot church service in a village in Kenya and suddenly had about 50 ants crawling all over us.
Or the time we were in the Abu Dhabi airport at 2:00 in the morning and Paul was having an animated discussion with a big Emirati in a white robe and checkered keffiyah and Emily was horribly sick from her typhoid shot and I turned around and saw her sitting BEHIND the counter and luggage scanner in one of the Official Chairs for the Official People beside an amused Official Woman in a black robe and scarf.
My Unique Facts and Surreal Moments seem to involve travel, but I’m sure people have plenty of them close to home.
So, tell me yours.
Quote of the Day:
"They’re not ninger-fails, they’re fail-ningers."
--Jenny, trying to set me straight when I told her it’s time to trim her ninger-fails. I like spoonerisms and she likes to say things RIGHT.
Here’s my top-of-the-list Unique Fact about myself: I once had lunch with a man who about six years before had shaken hands with Osama bin Laden.
On a similar vein, I enjoy hearing about Surreal Moments, those times that may have seemed perfectly logical at the moment but looking back seem strange and upside down and almost unreal.
Such as: the time I was 8 months pregnant and toting a heavy vacuum cleaner out to the end of a long boat dock in the Canadian bush.
(Or doesn't that sound as odd as I think it does?)
Or the time Jenny and I were sitting in a very hot church service in a village in Kenya and suddenly had about 50 ants crawling all over us.
Or the time we were in the Abu Dhabi airport at 2:00 in the morning and Paul was having an animated discussion with a big Emirati in a white robe and checkered keffiyah and Emily was horribly sick from her typhoid shot and I turned around and saw her sitting BEHIND the counter and luggage scanner in one of the Official Chairs for the Official People beside an amused Official Woman in a black robe and scarf.
My Unique Facts and Surreal Moments seem to involve travel, but I’m sure people have plenty of them close to home.
So, tell me yours.
Quote of the Day:
"They’re not ninger-fails, they’re fail-ningers."
--Jenny, trying to set me straight when I told her it’s time to trim her ninger-fails. I like spoonerisms and she likes to say things RIGHT.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Shattered Prejudices
Background: Go back and read these previous posts: Chivalry and The Nature of Fear.
Amy is in New York City. She called last night.
"Mom, I had a chance to read your blog. And it was kind of funny because we got on the subway yesterday and here was this weird guy with a really baggy sweatshirt and really baggy pants....and he got up and offered his seat to Phebe and me. And then we were in the subway station and we didn't know where to go and there was this black guy with dreadlocks and he was really helpful and showed us where to go."
Quote of the Day:
It goes to show that you can't judge a book by its cover and chivalry is not dead.
--Emily
Amy is in New York City. She called last night.
"Mom, I had a chance to read your blog. And it was kind of funny because we got on the subway yesterday and here was this weird guy with a really baggy sweatshirt and really baggy pants....and he got up and offered his seat to Phebe and me. And then we were in the subway station and we didn't know where to go and there was this black guy with dreadlocks and he was really helpful and showed us where to go."
Quote of the Day:
It goes to show that you can't judge a book by its cover and chivalry is not dead.
--Emily
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