Shhhh!

It will be a quiet week for me in blog land. This will most likely be my post for the week.

We have our grandson Zachary until Friday. He and Gam' Pa should be having a wonderful time while I am at work. <<SIGH>>

I spent most of the weekend cleaning, chopping, cooking getting food ready that I know Zachary likes and that will help the Hubs when the inevitably, "I'm hungry, Gam' Pa!' is uttered.

Speaking of work, we have our annual (shudder) compliance audit this week. Being a government entity, we are accountable to John Q. Public. This is an internal audit. There will be questions, stopping my normal duties to assist with auditor's requests for paperwork, etc. I feel confident my 'ducks' are in a row!

It will be a busy and full week both at home and at work. Your prayers are coveted.


Hebrews 4:13 (NIRV)

Nothing God created is hidden from him. His eyes see everything. He will hold us accountable for everything we do. 

Blessings,

Tamara

XOXO

OK, so I'm not Janette Oke, but the saga continues

Continuing on with the theme of the move to the Wonderful Land of AZ…

The trip from there to here was approximately 2,000 miles and I've already described the ‘beautiful for spacious skies’ so it is time for the rest of the story! 

When we determined to move we were living in a 100 year old farmhouse on 20 acres in a very rural, primitive section of Ohio in Coshocton County. The berg itself was called Tiverton Center and was the second highest point in the state (but still below sea level). This old house needed everything done to it! We painted, we stripped woodwork, we cleaned and finally painted and stenciled. We called it home. 

You've no doubt heard of a “Gentleman’s Farm”? Ours was more like an amateurs’ adventure on the farm! We ended up raising chickens (which I wouldn't mind doing again, but alas we don’t have the area in town and I don’t want to be dodging the poop!). Those we purchased as peeps. Crowmore and the Cluck Sisters was what I called them. We began getting farm critters from people we didn't even know. 

A pig farmer brought us our first runt by meeting me at the back porch door, handing it to me and saying, “Here – I don’t have time for the runts. If he lives, he’s yours.” So I took the cute little guy and promptly named him Hamlet. Mistake, mistake!!! Warning, warning! Never name a farm animal!!! I bought the special nursing “mix” you use to nurse them back to health and he began to grow. I held him like a baby simply because I didn't know any different. Hamlet began to grow, and grow. I then learned that for every pound of food a pig eats, they will put on half a pound in body weight. He moved to the barn and I was pleasantly surprised to learn that pigs are quite neat! (Chickens however are not! And turkeys are even worse and stupid!!!) 

Months passed and the time arrived when it was time to take Hamlet to the butcher’s. Husband did that, I stayed home and felt bad. Really, really bad. A few days later Husband picked up the “packages” and torched the grill. I was still sad. When everything was ready, the table set, the vegetables placed and the food blessed I knew I would have to set an example for our son and daughter, so I reluctantly took a bite. WOW! (This is where we hear the strum of harps with angelic overtones!) A conversion had taken place! What once had been my boy Hamlet had been lowered back to us in a sheet and was now pork any heathen gentile would appreciate! Oh my! Homegrown was the best! 

Off and on, the pig farmer brought more runts to our home. The next one (Calvin Swine) did not make it past 24 hours. When he arrived again it was four piglets – three males and one female. I named the males Runtley, Gruntley, Huntley and the female was naturally Brinkley after the model… yes, I know… Again, sheer mathematics caused us to butcher Gruntley and Huntley as juveniles and we then offered either of the other two to a neighbor who was an Amish dairy farmer. He chooses Brinkley and we kept Runtley. 

Let me tell you a bit about Amish neighbors. You cannot do something for these people without them doing something for you. We had an abundance of eggs which we gave them. In exchange they brought us baked goods. We had the acreage; they planted and baled the hay. We split it. I had to talk hard and fast to get him to accept half because he said it should be 1/3 for him and 2/3s for us. We didn't have the animals for that – it would be a sin for it to go bad! 

Now, about the sow we gave him… the next spring he showed up with a calf for us to raise! I forget the actual mix of the calf but she was half Jersey if we wanted milk and half something else if we wanted her for meat. So… what do you name a calf? I called her “Caffie” and she responded to that. 

Our status on the farm was, well at least growing as by that time we had four goats – two kids, one dairy goat (I still have a great grip!) and the kids Mama. Now the dairy goat Broney was the most stubborn thing in typical goat fashion. I would tether her out by the fence line to eat the poison ivy and sumac as goats spit the antibodies out in their milk and it helps humans to gain immunity to it! 

I would try to lead her from one spot to another and she would dig her heels in and “Neighhhhhhhhhhhhh, neighhhhhhhhhh, neighhhhhhhhh!” as if I were beating her with a stick! I specifically remember one time when I was tugging and pulling and yelling at her saying, “Don’t you know, I’m taking you to a better place, move it!” I’m sure I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Tamara, how many times have I tried to gently lead you and yet you continue to dig your heels in, too!” OUCH! 

Caffie and the goat kids (a.k.a. Mia and Brittney) grew up together. It was cute when they were young, but as Caffie grew I sometimes saw Husband flying out the barn, as she had affectionately head butted him in the middle of the back. 

Coming home from church on Sundays we would be greeted by Smokey (the blind horse who turned the lights in the barn on) all the goats, Runtley and Caffie running to the barn to meet us and be fed. 

Not knowing if the move from the farm was something the Lord was directing us to do; we did a Gideon’s fleece of sorts. We prayed and asked that if this was what we were supposed to do, then God - sell our home without a Realtor AND with enough of a profit that we could leave debt free. 

An acquaintance of ours that we knew through church and who was a Realtor, heard we were selling and wanted to list the home. We told her about the fleece and kindly said no. She asked if she could at least show it. Husband explained that if she were to sell the home, $ $ THIS $ $ is the price we need and if you need a commission, then you will need to tack it on above this price. She agreed. 

She arranged to show the home to a family on Thursday evening. On Saturday she called to let us know the couple wanted the house at that price (to include her commission)! In my typical act of faith I asked Husband, “Were we not asking enough?” 

We had thirty days to vacate the premises! I shouldn't have been amazed, but I still am when I recall that story. 

We sold everything we could and gave our daughter whatever she wanted or asked for. She was 20 and pregnant with our first Grand. 

Suffice it to say, that had I been Lot’s wife, I would be a pillar of salt! My heart, my home, my first born child and future Grand were in Ohio! The move was difficult emotionally.

PS  ⁴ Make me know Your ways, O LORD;
Teach me Your paths.

I’m continuing on with this verse of scripture as it is so appropriate for this long, drawn out story! Actually, it is more than appropriate for my life!

A Little Update

The half cast removed

An update on our grandson Zachary is in order. He is healing nicely and the half cast was replaced with a full cast on Monday. He is still not allowed to bear weight on the leg for three weeks. 

His mother had business in town so she and Zachary stopped in and visited with the Hubs, in fact he kept Zachary for a bit while his mom did some errands. Alas... I was at work. 

Gam'Pa and Zachary played as well as one can with a broken leg, put a 100 piece puzzle together and then just set together and snuggled down enjoying each other's presence. Much like we (read I) should with God... 

Even though pre-school is postponed for awhile, Zachary has continued to learn. The Pastor’s wife at the church they attend has been taking him and his two older brothers and teaching them on Wednesday evening. She has been teaching them the books of the New Testament. Zachary can rattle them off up to Colossians. In fact, according to his mom, he has surpassed his older brothers and he just rattles them off in short order. 

Where some of the stitches were and the drain tube

I had been trying to teach him the Pledge of Allegiance and would say a phrase and then he would repeat it. When we had finished, he asked, “Ga’Ma? Do want to be invisible?” I laughed and laughed about that.

Our granddaughter Abby spent part of last Saturday in the emergency room getting stitches in her forehead after falling on the stairs. She is doing well and knowing Abby, this is merely part and parcel contributing to her badge of courage!

Stitches on the outside of his leg

The New Cast

Matthew 18 New American Standard Bible 

¹ At that time the disciples came to Jesus and said, “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” ² And He called a child to Himself and set him before them, ³ and said, “Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.

Now for the pictures Gam'Pa took yesterday:

Working on the Puzzle

Looking at the Puzzle Box

Waiting for us to sign his cast first! Awww!

Showing off the cast

Thank you for all the prayers!


Tamara

Leaving a Legacy

Recently I began another blog.  It isn’t an open blog for just ‘everyone’.  It is quite private and for my children and possibly even my grandchildren.  I will leave the information for my children with all the other info for end of life.  It’s not for now, but for later. 

I call it, quite simply, Letters to my Children.  Frankly, life is terminal. Life is short. And often persons say, "if only I had known..." So I'm going to chronicle things I want to say to both of my children on this blog.

It is where I am attempting to write down those things I want them to know. Things they did when they were little, accomplishments that made me so proud and filled with awe.  About what a fierce love it is a mother has for their child.

It's about my feelings on mothering and perhaps even about being a grandmother.  For my son, quite possibly it will be about “how to treat a wife” or what to do vs. what not to do if you ever expect to get married and have it work.

I believe it was Bette Davis who said, “Old age ain’t for Sissies.” And as true as that is, parenting isn’t for sissies either.  It takes stamina, determination, love, discipline and prayer.  Lots and lots of prayer. And lots and lots of unconditional love!  Oh, and did I mention the tears? There are a lot of them, too! 

Susanna Wesley, mother of John and Charles (and eight other surviving children) was know to throw her apron over her head when things got a bit tense and her children would quite down, knowing that she was before the Lord in prayer.  

Years ago, we had neighbors who struggled with infertility.  I received a letter from Catholic Adoption Services questioning me on how I felt they would be as parents.  I believe I wrote them a letter of epic proportion!   

I indicated to the agency that I too, had been an adopted child, albeit through private arrangements and family ties.  My adoptive parents didn’t have to go through the rigors of questions such as this.  Persons who easily conceive and give birth are not subjected to such questions.  Some of the aforementioned groups should not have children as evidenced by statistics on child abuse and exploitation.  But that’s another blog for another time.

I often wonder what memories my children hold of growing up.  I hope they have more good memories than bad ones.  I hope they can focus on the good and not on the bad.  We had days of plenty and then we had the lean times.  Sometimes I miss the lean times as I think we were closer then.  Struggling, yes, but for the common good of  F::A::M::I::L::Y. 

We weren’t church goers until our son and daughter were 4 and 14, respectively.  Yes… there’s an almost 10-year difference in their ages.  (God knew my limitations!) 

Then, more often than naught, we would align ourselves with these small little churches that had an elderly population and no children’s programs.  Looking back, that was wrong of us.  We should have sought out churches that could minister to our children and include them in worship. 

And so, this is where I’ve been lately: jotting down memories and treasures that I hope one day will be read by my children and their children. 

Proverbs 31:25-27 (NKJ)

²⁵ Strength and honor are her clothing;
She shall rejoice in time to come.
²⁶ She opens her mouth with wisdom,
And on her tongue is the law of kindness.
²⁷ She watches over the ways of her household,
And does not eat the bread of idleness.

Tamara

The Annual Apple Annie's Event!



Harvest Time

On Saturday, we took our grandchildren Abby & Zachary to Apple Annie’s in Willcox, Arizona for autumn fun and frivolity!  We rode hay rides, picked out pumpkins, got lost in the Corn Maze and ate expensive junk food!

 

Not unlike the popular commercial:

 

 

Free Fall...

Well, it is Autumn!  And it is free! 

There is just something about this time of year.  The chill, the scent, and the promise of winter and then the rebirth of spring. 

Many areas of the country are having their annual county fairs.  Even though I'm not the person who likes the amusement park rides, I do love a good spin on a carousel! 

Passenger Train Memories

I grew up in a small, rural Ohio community. Our house was next to the Erie-Lackawanna Railroad. Every night I was lulled to sleep by the melancholy song of the train passing over the rails and the lonesome whistle that heralded its arrival and departure. “Take me away, take me away, take me away” seemed to be the song that echoed from that railroad track.

Unable to sleep on hot, humid Ohio nights, I watched the coming and goings of the trains.  Passenger trains were my favorite.  I was a voyeur peering as it were into the lit cabin trying to catch a glimpse of the lives that passed so quickly from my view.
Business men sat with newspaper in hand to occupy their time and their space in seeming oblivion to the others around them. They were too important to be bothered I imagined.

It was an era when women dressed in business attire for the train trip and wore hats and although I couldn’t see it, I believe they wore gloves. I don’t know why I believed this, I just did. It just seemed to complete the mental image.

Occasionally there was a child or several children sitting with what was probably their mother or grandmother. Sitting. Quietly. Children of that era were to be “seen and not heard”. Were they traveling to visit relatives? We’re they relocating due to a divorce? Had their parents succumbed to some disaster? Sometimes it appeared they were looking out the window and right back at me. That was eerie or was that Erie?

I imagined the passengers’ luggage. It would be neatly packed and organized with all the important items and clothing that would take them to this new place, this new destination in their lives. The luggage would always appear in my mind’s eye to be the old, hard backed leather looking suitcases of that era. The type my great-aunt owned. The type I would love to own even now. Not use, per se, merely own and use for storage and home decorating purposes.

Where were these people going? Where was life taking them and why was I destined to remain here and not travel the rails with them? I had this spirit, this wanderlust that made me want to jump the next freight train that passed by with an open door… I never did. I thought about it, but I never did. Perhaps that was due in part to having seen gentlemen (?) of a vagabond nature sitting in empty freights from time to time and hearing the stories of my grandmother about the Hobos of the depression era.

After I left home I was struck with insomnia. I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t sleep until one sleepless night it occurred to me: the trains, I miss the trains and the song that heralded a time of sleep.

I recall a time when three Amish women were briskly walking down our street to catch the train to somewhere. My smaller, younger brother started screaming, “The witches are coming to get me! The witches are coming to get me!"  I still laugh at that recollection. He denies any of the event. One would suppose he’s a politician in losing that memory.

Two years ago my husband and I took a small train ride to the Grand Canyon and back via the Grand Canyon Railway. It was a wonderful mini trip that heralded our 30th anniversary.

Last December we scheduled a small Christmas trek for the young grandchildren. It was the North Pole Express out of Globe Arizona on the Copper Spike Train Excursions. The grand kids loved it. They wore their pajamas, slippers and robes and had hot cocoa with cookies. When the train arrived at the “North Pole” Santa boarded and stopped and chatted with each child. It was a magical night for them and for us.

To this very day, I love the romance of passenger trains. From here, I think I’ll browse the Amtrak schedule and listen to Arlo Guthrie sing “City of New Orleans“. Did I mention it’s 3:00 a.m.?  And I can't sleep? Where is the melancholy railroad tune to lull me to sleep?

Tamara


Have you never questioned those who travel? Have you paid no regard to their accounts—   Job 21:29 NIV

July Fourth 2011

When I look at the turmoil of some of the nations of the world...
 ~I know that I am blessed to live in America.


When I disagree with the politics of the day and am free to be vocal about it...
 ~I know that I am blessed to live in America.


When I walk into the church of my choice and not the choice of the state or nation...
 ~I know that I am blessed to live in America.


When I walk the concourse of an airport and see groups of service men and women and I see people applauding them, shaking their hands and wishing them well...
 ~I know that I am blessed to live in America.


What are your earliest memories of the Fourth of July?  Picnics?  Barbeques?  Homemade ice cream?  Swimming?  Camping?  Fireworks? 


Mine surround homemade ice cream and fireworks.  As a child growing up our community also had a carnival during the week of the 4th of July.  Sometimes our fireworks were delayed or even canceled due to rain.  Not so here in Arizona.  If anything, they are canceled due to the drought and the wildfire season. 

And still I know that I am blessed to live in America!

Have a safe and blessed holiday!


~Tamara

So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.  John 8:36 (NIV)

Weekend Edition

Here we are with another holiday season fast approaching. Every year I determine to “keep it simple” and every year I still find the stress of the moment. Many, many years ago, during our ‘poverty’ years, my husband and I determined that we would not go into debt during the holidays. In fact, at that time we set a gift limit of $25.00 on each other. We’ve up’d that amount now, to $35.00. It makes it challenging and exciting to try and find something the other would like and appreciate for that amount of money. We often remind ourselves, it is supposed to be Jesus’ birthday, not ours.

We find that money is generally the best gift for adult children and grandchildren, but the little ones still enjoy a gift they can open. The challenge is to find something age appropriate. The best part of a holiday is that of making memories and having family traditions.

Recently, I was asked by a friend to answer her children’s letters to Santa. I was even able to find a post office in Anchorage Alaska that will post mark it ‘North Pole’. Since I know her children, I can personalize the letters. This has been great fun and allows for a certain amount of creativity. Just in case you’d like to attempt the same, here’s the information:

POST OFFICE TO SANTA: WRITE BACK EARLY

THE NORTH POLE - You are six years old. Your Mom and Dad bring in the mail. They hand you a letter with a North Pole postmark. You open the letter. It's more than Santa's response to the wish list you sent him - it's a memory of a lifetime.

The Postal Service is helping you create and preserve this memory for your child. Here's how it works. Work with your child as they write their letter to Santa. Secretly craft a response from Santa and mail it in a second envelope to North Pole, Alaska Post Office. The Postal elves will postmark and mail Santa's response back to your child. To make this holiday activity especially enjoyable, follow these suggested guidelines.

– Beyond the traditional, "here's what I want" list, ask your child to write why the holiday season is special.

– Teach the child that proper addressing techniques include a return address -- otherwise Santa may not write back.

– After you take the letter and tell the child you'll mail it, keep it in a safe place until you can write Santa's response. If your child recognizes your handwriting, ask a friend or neighbor to rewrite it.

– To make Santa's response extra special, beyond reminding the child that Santa knows if they've been bad or good, add a positive line or two about the child's recent accomplishment that was not included in the letter to Santa.

– As a P.S., Santa might want to remind the child to be in bed at a certain hour, and hint that he and his reindeer appreciate holiday snacks left near the tree.

– Place Santa's response in a stamped envelope addressed to the child, and be sure to include the North Pole as the return address.

– Place this envelope into a larger, properly stamped, First-Class Mail or Priority Mail envelope and mail it to:

North Pole Christmas

CancellationPostmaster

5400 Mail Trail

Fairbanks AK 99709-9998

The North Pole Post Office will postmark Santa's reply and place it in the mail stream.