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Posts tagged ‘Life’

My window pane

Summers turn to brown and gold
Blanket leaves and school bells toll
Walk in snow up to my knees
Warming fire and Christmas trees
Mom buys candy, Dad hangs lights
Spring comes after starry nights
Young girl ways fade into teens
Don’t forget what true life means
Nuptials babies years pass by
Wrinkles long walks how time flies
The view outside my window pane
Seasons magic will never change

 

How does your garden grow?

Before starting this post I would like to highlight a very special friend, Derrick, who along with his wonderful wife Jackie tend to one amazing garden! This is one of my favorite bloggers who has a garden that is expansive, varied and gorgeous!

If You Weren’t The Head Gardener

 

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Around five years ago we made our usual late Spring visit to the lake. Mom was busy digging, weeding and moving plants. At that time she offered me “starts” of many of her hearty favorites, some having been there for over 20 years! I hemmed and hawed as the saying goes, until she grabbed the shovel and loosened the soil.

Hours later we backed up the gravel drive and headed home, complete with numerous specimens that wilted in the scorching heat. I have to admit I was iffy and irritated at the thought of digging up grass, finding an area to place these plants and was not looking forward to gardening.

I went through the motions and did the hard work and felt a bit better but still wondered why she had pushed me to take these pieces of her garden. At first it looked like a wasted effort as each plant lay drooping on a scattered makeshift bed. That summer it was all about keeping everything watered and alive. Lake roses looked to be rigid, brittle and brown, and yet something compelled me to keep watering and watching.

The following Spring plants were green and some even bloomed! Eventually more space was needed as roses started to flourish infringing on neighboring plants. Rocks and bark were added along with special items from the recently vacated wood house.

A brick from the brickyard where Daddy ( my grandpa Adolph) had worked for years was given to me to place near the purple Iris. This was his favorite plant and when he retired he was given three bricks, one for each of his daughters. img_9840.jpg

The bird bath that stood in the “dream garden” for many years was now placed lovingly alongside Lilies and Columbine. Each year there were new additions, taking plants from Mom’s garden, moving some to other locations if they were not doing well. I learned which ones needed more or less water, sun or shade and was careful when cleaning up debris. It is fun to look back and to see that hard work and patience paid off.

Mom says I have a green thumb and while I am not convinced of that, what I do know is that gardening reminds me in many ways of tending to my family. Patience, room to grow and plenty of care.

 

 

Summer love series-3

This series details the beginning and how I met him. The first two installments can be found here

https://lynzrealcooking.com/2018/06/01/1-summer-love-life-story/

https://lynzrealcooking.com/2018/06/08/summer-love-2/

Pullman 1982

I slid under his arm and rolled to the edge of the bed carefully placing my feet on the floor.  A headache wracked my brain and unsteady balance was evident as I struggled to stuff one leg into rumpled jeans that had been haphazardly discarded the night before.  I had been raised attending church every Sunday, bible camp in summer and youth group as a teen until pressure to” just be like everyone else” collided with alcohol and ended in confusion over self worth, desire and respect. I thought of mother and her disappointment while hopping towards the door. I pulled a shirt and jeans on until teetering finally gave way to collapse. A sigh made its way out of his mouth and then he rolled from side to side eventually settling back into sleep.

A small amount of interest had formed and overshadowed persistent concerns regarding his intentions and sincerity. But he seemed somehow different and had not pressured to be intimate but had pushed to develop a bond of mutual affection. My exit was quick and precise and the door shut quietly behind me.

Events from the previous semester seemed distant and for the first time in a month my mind was in the present not immersed in thoughts of Scott. I vowed that I would never open my heart to anyone again and instead would focus on goals of becoming a jazz vocalist. But there I stood in that tiny apartment next door to my sister’s place sneaking out in the early morning hours.

I knocked with a rap rap pattern, looking in between shabby half closed curtains. The door slowly opened and I crept in positioning myself on the couch in a slumping fashion. I had entered College apartments, number 3 just two doors down from this handsome man five years my senior. He was polite and clean cut, did not drink or smoke and studied engineering at a neighboring University. My sister had become an acquaintance during summer session and felt that he was just what I needed to lighten up and forget the past. Her eyes narrowed and she asked me why I was unwilling to give him a chance. Shoulders shrugged as I poured black coffee into a garage sale mug, placing my feet up on the plywood table. I lit another cigarette and reminded her of dreams and aspirations that needed my complete attention.

 

Grateful for the messy things

The past couple of months have been full of a busy and new excitement.  It started with the birth of my first granddaughter Alayna Lynn and ended with my children being together in our home this past week. There will be a lull in activity now and a much quieter Christmas as four of my kids spend time with friends and in-laws. I choose to find joy in both the chaos and in the upcoming silence.

I am awake as usual in the wee hours while the only noise to be heard is the back and forth tick tock of two clocks in opposing rooms. My Christmas lights are warmly glowing and a fresh cup of coffee sits on the table in front of me.

I think of the past few weeks, the clutter, jumble and blessings of an imperfect household.  Diapers, pacifiers, dog hair and fingerprints on the glass slider. Games, cardboard boxes, loud voices and sunflower seeds in plastic cups on my country table. Toddlers playing, aunts and uncles happily carting them around and never a dull moment.

This Thanksgiving as usual everyone helped, wiped, picked up, washed dishes and held tiny hands. I tried to capture the chaos in photos but like the colors of a remarkable sunset, pictures pale in comparison to reality.

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Just a few shorts years ago, a crumb, hair or stain would have sent our household into a different kind of chaos as an unruly fury seethed just below the surface. A neat, orderly and spotless home became a shining example to neighbors, friends and family.  Visitors asked repeatedly where the toys, mess and disorder of a large family were hidden.  A tiny piece of fuzz on the floor left behind by a recent sweeping was sure to elicit that look of anger and disgust, warning of a possible eruption.

No pets were allowed and in particular dogs. I adhered to these rules even when we moved back to the United States. He was nowhere to be seen but the grip of compliance still reigned and was far reaching.  I scurried around on his visits looking for any evidence of rules that I had not followed and strived to keep what had been considered order.

During this holiday things felt different, a soft and lovely energy dotted with joy, love and acceptance rang throughout our home.IMG_4712

At one point I stood, taking in the random messiness of the moment, feeling proud and full of a delight that could not be contained. My grandson toddled past with a piece of muffin in his hand, he shoved bits of cake into his mouth leaving tiny bits behind. I watched the crumbs gently fall to the floor and with a childlike rebellion I brushed them aside and under the couch!

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I relished every spill and crumpled tidbits on floors and counters. I sat on the couch, dotted with tiny crumbs and dog hair. Pillows were haphazardly placed on one end and a piece of cereal crunched under my slippers. There would be plenty of time to sweep, dust and polish, but for now I enjoyed this new feeling of absolute imperfection.

 

Interrupted

As I make preparations for my son and daughter in law to arrive and later this week all of my children, I am reminded of the glorious freedom we now enjoy.

Bags and boxes of candy canes, chocolate kisses and holiday bells all held a small place on a Tamimi (Safeway) shelf next to the usual Western candy. It seemed a bold and daring move to have this display in plain view of the Mutawa (religious police) who could possibly confiscate the entire contents. I passed by numerous times weighing the benefits against the potential conflict that could be caused by purchasing any festive items. They would be put together into a plastic sack and stashed in my diaper bag to be hurriedly removed when we arrived to the compound. I knew the good stuff would not last long and on my next grocery outing would be gone, picked over by other Westerners who happily purchased these questionable items when they became available.

A warm yet fleeting feeling surged through my mind, a nonchalant breeze, a whisper. I held a bag of sugar ribbons, colored waves of crisp confections that had been placed in a red glass dish on the window box in my childhood home. Dad strung the usual colored lights along the eves outside of the green ranch style house. A towering tree was positioned near the sofa, leaving the continuous smell of pine throughout our home. Mom would buy my favorite, white taffy rounds highlighted in the center by a red and green Christmas tree, wrapped in tiny plastic that twisted and sealed the ends. Plans were made; gifts were purchased and placed underneath the noble pine, topped by a traditional light-up star. The wood cabinet held a colored television as well as a turn table that would be stacked with holiday records, as each one completed, the click and snap of the next in line would be eagerly awaited.  An array of parties and events would follow Thanksgiving and the countdown would begin.

My hands trembled as I summoned the courage to place this simple bag of candy ribbons into the cart under lettuce and carrots, spices and napkins. I knew in my logical mind that he would not come to the store and rummage through a shopping cart but I felt a sick twinge of guilt for disobeying his orders. I grabbed the bag and looked over my shoulder, then gingerly tossed it onto the nearest rack.  A loathsome awareness of my sins reminded me that this was not the way a pious wife would respond to such temptations.

Pictures, music and decorative items of any kind were not allowed in our household during holidays or at any other time. A strict adherence to his rules had become compulsory. Girls wearing pants and bright laughing smiles were discouraged and viewed as immersion into this temporary life. Asking too many questions regarding his rules was met with fury and labeled undisciplined and wicked. A strange weave of order teetered haplessly on his predilections and could be toppled by a sudden burst of happiness or irritation. Would a simple bag of chocolate bring about contempt and outrage or would he simply chalk it up to my rebellious spirit.

I inched my cart closer to the shelf, my older children looked on as kids chose favorite bags of candy, eyes growing wide with anticipation. I knew what each one fancied, chocolate covered peanut butter trees, flavored candy canes and kisses wrapped in red and green. Three bags of simple treasures, peppermint and chocolate, tightly guarded remnants and colors of a life interrupted.

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