[By the way, I’m still having terrible problems with Word Press, see the bottom photo where some AI thing gave a caption which I did not write, and cannot fix, nor did I want that photo so big. Oh well.]
My two older sisters, Nancy (nurse), Linda (nicknamed Pert), plus my baby brother Terry [we loved it so much when a baby brother was born!] all got together and with Pert’s great planning and travel expertise, got us on an Amtrak train in South Bend, Ind. (We grew up not far from there in Middlebury, Ind., but now live in four different states: Virginia, North Carolina, Florida and Indiana).
It was the first time us four siblings and spouses planned a trip together without any children. I must add that in 1964, our farmer dad and mom who loved travelling, planned a wonderful 6-week western trip in a very small travel trailer for our family of six. (Dad would send some hogs to market to pay for the long trip. He rented the trailer for $2 a day!) We hit many National Parks and in later years Dad and Mom planned and paid some expenses for family trips every other summer to gather in places like lovely Destin Beach in north Florida, cabins in West Virginia, Rocky Mountain, Colorado, and several times near Cherokee, North Carolina.
So, fancy cowboy hats adorning the women (compliments of sister-in-law Debbe who shared leftover hats from their granddaughter’s recent wedding), with excitement we boarded Amtrak and landed in Chicago’s huge Union Station in time for lunch (most of us munching on Chic-Fil-A goodies). From there we traveled 37 or so hours all the way to Glacier Park in western Montana, (about 30 miles near the Canadian border). Our train adventure was supposed to be 30 hours but storms and leftover debris on tracks etc. caused many stoppages, including waiting for commercial rail cars carrying the goods that serve all of us throughout the year (which have first rights to tracks, Amtrak is secondary).
History: we siblings all remember Dad telling many stories of his assignments and challenge during World War 2 at Glacier Park, sawing lumber, cleaning up grounds, trying out for smoke jumping (he was not selected), fishing, spotting bear, bighorn and goats. He, having quit school after 8th grade (like many other farm boys of the time) also learned from his colleagues and visiting speakers and leaders at the camp, all serving as conscientious objectors. (Fittingly, the northern edge of the park was founded as the International Peace Park in 1932 by the Canadian Parliament and U.S. President Roosevelt’s proclamation.)
While the train travel (adventure) was pretty miserable at first, when we finally snatched two sets of tables the next evening for all eight of us in the “observation car” (with open seating) to play the “Greedy” dice game we all had played umpteen times at various family get togethers, the fun and laughter began. Mom and Dad used to play it with all of us and I for one had a laugh I had not experienced in many months, if not years (I couldn’t even talk, it had me bent over on the table!). We also remembered Mom’s laugh and Dad’s smiles when dicing without worrying about cards, winning, or life.
More stuff on my next post about the trip. Hang on for the ride.
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Do you like traveling? Or not?
Our financial advisor always says travel while you can. What advice do you give?
(P.S. Sorry for the long delay on posts, I was having computer problems …)
Scenic view of Glacier Park, showcasing vibrant flora and the majestic mountains in the background.
I’m going to keep trying, of course. I’m going to keep writing. I can do better when I’m writing than when I’m thinking.
Last night I had one of the most horrible dreams I’ve had for a long while. I think it was probably related to this, maybe. We’ve been having some stress in terms of helping grandsons while their parents work—in the summertime, when they are not quite old enough to take care of themselves at home. I don’t know exactly that I dreamed about, but when I woke up at 2 and realized I had been dreaming wildly and in frustration, I think some of my dream was connected to this stuff.
Of course the kids can’t drive. And they need to stay busy and involved in camps and swimming and playing games. They bicker, they shout, they love each other, but that’s life, eh?
And day after day of temps in the 80s and 90s and higher, and rain are not helping any of this. What happened to lovely days in the 75 degree range??
But we have beautiful gorgeous countryside and green green corn growing in the fields. It is amazing. I love the beauty. I have not seen so much green corn in Virginia, in this part of the U.S. that I remember. It is stunning. And TALL! I would love to share a photo of this green green Virginia but that will have to wait until I figure something else out!
Also, my laptop was dropped and broken. Someone else did it but that happens. I’m using my husband’s laptop and this is working but there has been a learning curve for me. Trying to get back to my Word Press blog right here is like finding myself again!!
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Is this safe to share? Do you know anyone going through this phase of life? I know some of my friends will be kind of glad to find this blog again. I was thrilled when a new reader joined the Finding Harmony Blog today!
I’m happy, a little worried, but I’m going to keep plowing on.
Let me know what you’re experiencing and how you cope!
I love old stories (and this one is also a new story) but I’m curious if anyone else has had this kind of experience.
Ok, our evergreen bushes in the front of our house had gotten way too tall, and needed to be trimmed. On a recent Thursday, I was happy to finally dig into that project. Those bushes seem to love growing, and that’s fine, until it comes to trimming.
So, I got out my small trimming sheers that basically lets you snip snip snip one at a time, or maybe 4-6 small branches at a time. I was snipping away (while my husband was prepping wood stacking for the coming winter—don’t you love hot days for such projects?). Then I started remembering when I used to trim trees or bushes at a neighbor’s yard when we lived in north Florida, (between Marianna Florida and Mexico Beach Fl.) Fred was a divorced fellow at this time and also a very busy farmer, and my Dad also did farming adjacent to Fred’s acres. So we knew Fred pretty good, even though we’d only lived there one year at that point.
I was looking for a little summer work and before I got a summer job, our neighbor mentioned that he was looking for someone to trim his bushes in his front yard. Dad suggested me (I had just graduated from high school there) and so for a week or so I trimmed a bunch of bushes for Fred. He paid me well by local standards and I was happy to earn a little cash of course. I’m pretty sure I used an electric trimmer, hooked up to some electricity. Made the job easier. Less time consuming.
Fast forward about 55 years…. And all of a sudden I thought, hey, I think we still have an electric Sears trimmer in our basement. I was not at all sure that it would actually work, but I thought it was worth testing. I think my memory was frowning because I was pretty sure it had not worked the last time I tried to use it. And I had to snip snip snip one at a time. Not fun.
So I plugged it into one of our basement plug-ins. It did not turn on, not even try. I tried the other slot. Nope, nothing. But I thought it was worth at least checking with my husband to see if he thought he could find a plug to turn on the trimmer.
Eureka, he did, out on the porch and while there is one plug that does not work, most of the others on the porch do. So I put that old trimmer to work and halved my project time almost in half. On a hot day. Yay!
Dog happy to see the job done. And me too.
It doesn’t look too bad if I do say so myself. I finished in probably an hour. Yay.
You never know what will happen!
And my middle daughter reminded me that the old Sears trimmer was one we used at least 20-25 years ago at the house they grew up in, when we trimmed the bushes in front of that house. A pretty good machine, eh?
Joanie was in church the Sunday before she died. She was 79. Every child in our church (and usually adults too) over the 40 some years where she was a member, received her faithful birthday cards. Sent through our church’s mailboxes. [Goodness she couldn’t have afforded all those thousands of stamps if she had sent them through the mail! And sometimes she made her own with recycled cards.]
My heart was gladdened to learn that some of my grandsons immediately remembered Joanie’s joyous singing on a recent Easter Sunday morning when they were visiting us. When their mother told them Joanie had died, they talked about remembering her singing. Joanie had even asked others whether the “Every morning is Easter morning” song was listed in the bulletin—she was so anxious to sing it on Easter. Her actual words and communication were sometimes hard to understand or get—but she always sung with robust zip, but slightly behind most of us singing. Our grandsons, ages 11 and 9, had noticed her joy, and remembered her. (I thought that was kind of unusual for boys their age.)
Born with cerebral palsy (Joanie’s birth mother either couldn’t or wouldn’t care for her), but Joanie grew up to be a beloved friend, jokester, and lover of singing—her voice ringing out in the front row of our smallish congregation. On the day of her memorial service, her dozens of friends also sang with all the vigor they could muster. Some rocked continuously back and forth in their wheelchairs or chairs. Some moaned with joy or sadness, waiting for their own resurrections eventually.
Then remembrance stories began. She had become a bonafide member of our church, present in the front row almost every Sunday. She went through the typical training and teaching for membership before becoming a member. When she was finally asked to share her faith statement, hers was “Jesus loves me.” Who needs more than that?
And I’m sitting here weeping the morning after her service, knowing that Joanie knew things we didn’t know. She had proclaimed that there would be no wheelchairs in heaven, of that she was sure! That made me cry because that was the same thing my Dad had often said in his final years leading up to his passing. Not regarding wheelchairs, which he had to use for awhile, but then he graduated to just a cane. But eventually he was longing for the day when he would no longer even have to use his cane, the one that I now keep in our bathroom. I grabbed for my tissues again.
Some of us were quite happy to hear the history of one family, Harvey Yoder, who many of us knew from his long life as a pastor, counselor, and dear man. He reaches out to prisoners, to the lonely and hurting, to those needing help, to those who need to be prodded to join in caring for others. When Joanie was just 18 months old, Harvey’s parents (who were Amish), cared for Joanie (her given name was Janet Marie but for some reason she loved her name as “Joanie”). So she grew up to live a very long and decent life, volunteering for many helping jobs, despite her difficulties. She was a frequent guest in Harvey and Alma’s home at holidays, her birthday, and other events. Our church also cared for Joanie, helping her relish post-service snacks and pureed foods along with her coffee every Sunday she could be there.
One pastor who spoke at the memorial noted that Joanie taught us and didn’t leave barriers get in her way. For example, she was not able to get aboard the hay wagon for her group one Fall and asked to ride in the pastor’s golf cart. While they drove around the hayfield, she finally begged the pastor to let HER drive—and he let her, heading off one wacky and wild way and then another, and enjoying every minute. He shared her abundant zest for life, and she reminded others to not take life too seriously. This retired pastor recalled that frequently if he saw her somewhere she would put her arms and hands up like she was driving on a golf course. Even if they were both just waving hi.
It was Joanie’s resurrection day, the past was over and gone. “I belong to the Easter People! Life’s exciting to me” went the lyrics and indeed, she helped all of us be more compassionate for those with hurdles to jump.
Joanie, enjoy your new life in the heavens. God bless, and Jesus loves us all!
***
I’d love to hear your thoughts, your memories, your stories.
No, this is not “Strawberry Fields Forever,” (the Beatle’s song), but the berries I picked yesterday morning are in my hands now, and in the freezer, and in an awesome new strawberry pie for which I uncovered a recipe I had never noticed before.
The recipe book was one my mother’s generation made at North Goshen Mennonite Church in Indiana where I grew up. The names in this cookbook are special to me, conjuring up women who I had long ago forgotten. Erma Slabaugh. Pauline Beachy, Cleo Yoder, Nora Bender, Betty Stringfellow, Alma Yoder. Mary Mininger. These women, and a tribe of others, had brought me up, taught my Sunday School classes, saw me through MYF for three years of high school.
Oh my, wouldn’t they all love to see their names published on the Internet! (Ha!) I hope the recipe book still sits on a library shelf at North Goshen Church. (Someone tell me, yes!)
I’ll give you Erma Slabaugh’s interesting (and brief) recipe in a minute, but I hope you can be remembering more women—and a few men—who were excited to have their “receipts” in print (as some of them used to say. Google the truth of that).
More women who shared recipes back in the mid-60’s. “Phyllis Schrock. Ruth Swartzentruber. Alberta Troyer. Lizzie Weaver.” Oh my goodness, what memories. I won’t go on, but the yellowed “Fellowship Cooking,” compiled by North Goshen Ladies Fellowship, should follow me to my grave, I reckon.
We made the best Raised Doughnuts from recipes in the cookbook, one from Sue Christner. And I was super elated when my sweet wonderful daughters, some 13 years ago, surprised me by making a huge batch of Raised Donuts for my 60th birthday (instead of a cake), held in the fellowship hall (no not at North Goshen) but in Harrisonburg, Va. (In our Presbyterian church. Roll over my friends, yes, I turned Pressie, as my sister Pert would say about me and her other Presbyterian long time friend.)
Rich and tasty, this filled our tummies over a couple days.
Okay, here’s the “new” recipe I unearthed in the Pie section of Fellowship Cooking, meant to cover an etc. of fruits: Strawberry, Red Raspberry, Peach, according to Erma.
FRESH FRUIT PIES
2 c. fruit| 1/8th teas. salt| 1 c. sugar 4 Tab. flour
Mix together. Put in unbaked pie shell. Put on top your crust and bake in 425 degrees oven until done (NO!! My insertion here, see Below). For 9 inch pie. –Erma Slabaugh
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My changes: Okay, all went well, but I took it upon myself to change the cooking temperature, and brought it down from 425 to 350 degrees after about 15 minutes in the oven. Erma never did give a cooking time, but I went with my tried and true 45-50 minutes for a pie like that, watching carefully.
My husband and I loved it, even though it looks different that way.
I always freeze strawberries that I wish to keep over fall/winter.
THEN I DISCOVERED WHERE THE OTHER STRAWBERRY PIE RECIPES COULD BE FOUND!
There are four in this cookbook, one pie with a pint of vanilla ice cream in it! In all 4, strawberry recipes for a cook’s sampling!
And just for the record, Erma Slabaugh was the mother of Rosemary who was a good friend of my oldest sister, Nancy. Rosemary’s father was Jacob and she loved swimming in our pond on Sunday afternoon. IF we didn’t get any blood suckers.
I think I’ll love strawberry pies forever!
A rainy stormy night left the strawberry field quite muddy. But I was glad when the owners said they would hold my box of strawberries, (I paid for them), and keep them in their fridge as I did a number of errands around town.
Yes, this photo is a bit far off but I didn’t want to do any close ups with the darling children I saw in the patch.
On a busy Saturday right before Mother’s Day, I found myself waiting in line at a local Dollar Store (that now features most items at $1.25, of course). Others were also busily buying balloons (yes, Mylar) and Mother’s Day cards for sure, but I became aware that the cashier was also cheerfully whistling as he worked, checking out a woman whose shopping cart of flowers ended up being $68 worth.
Whew. I knew it would take a long time for him to process it all and I had deadlines.
But my mind went immediately to my mother’s penchant for whistling while she worked, and the cheerfulness that she always exuded in our kitchen as she made breakfast or washed dishes or put things away. Her thoughts, I know, ranged from good things to worrying things, and while I never quizzed her on her thoughts as she worked, I know her brain held joy, sorrow, chagrin, worry, faith in God, love and more. Mom died almost four years ago now in October 2021.
Mom, the actress, much later in life, greatly enjoyed preforming in funny plays!
My husband was waiting in our car for me to pick up the goods I had ordered the day before, and we were rushing to get to the 75th birthday party for his middle brother. Would we make it in time? There were other helpers setting up chairs and tables in the VFW Hall where the festivities would take place, but I didn’t want to be late when others had hurried to get there too on a beautiful sunny day. The party was about seven miles away.
But I soon I became more engaged in his whistling and the woman’s joy at her bundle of artificial but beautiful flowers. I guessed she and her daughter were probably planning either a large party or spreading the flowers on some graves, somewhere. I couldn’t hear all of their conversation but she was smiling happily, knowing that she was doing something good, I’m sure.
I began to think I would maybe tell the cashier how his humming reminded me of my mother. When my turn at the register finally came, I did quickly tell him that he made me think of my mother who always whistled. He smiled and since he was already in a cheerful mood, I relaxed, knowing that we would probably be able to pick up the birthday cake over at Costco’s and make it to the party site on time as well. It helped my worry.
We arrived at 1 minute to 5 o’clock. While we had lots of stuff to take into the building and organize, it was not worth worrying. Others were decorating the hall very nicely and organized the kitchen goods.
Remember that the next time you have a deadline you are afraid you won’t make.
My mother, on the other hand, when women or planners at her very Mennonite church would tap her shoulder that she should take on the roll of “head of the kitchen,” she was smart enough to turn it down, knowing that it would make her way too nervous or anxious. May she rest in peace with no worries about cooking for a group!
Our oldest grandson, though, has just been appointed “Grub Master” as he advanced up to regular status of Boy Scouts. He has always been on his toes asking what’s on the menu at our house—not complaining or fusing, but just interested in the food! He and his mother have already planned his first gig: planning, purchasing, and preparing food (with help!) for their next outing. I am so proud of him and his interests and I’m sure he’ll learn a lot. Go Sam!
And happy birthday to my brother-in-law, Nolan!
Nolan was told to blow out his non-existent candle, which I forgot to bring!!
We also turned off the lights and had everyone turn on their cell phone lights to sing his Happy Birthday!
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Do you like planning birthday parties? Or celebrations for mothers, fathers, children, graduations?
Some of us depend on the opportunity to sit down and write, figure, find information, but for the last week or two, I’ve been lost. My computer decided to have a vacation, and I don’t know why. I took it to a local business which is very busy and depends on people for his job (income) and he’s quite good, but when it comes to finding everything I used to have at my fingertips, I’m lost in outer space as I try to remember which is my password for various things–important things!! I have them everywhere and I need to sit down and organize them, leaving space to enter changes as the years go by. Ugh.
So I’m at a happy but frustrated stage, because there are dozens (maybe hundreds) of passwords and now computers make you prove that you are who you say you are or think you are and send you things that are supposed to be helpful. Such as “your childhood nickname.” Well I know what it was, but somehow, I must have put in the wrong childhood nickname, you know.
Today I found my blog user name and then, yes, I found the right password. From 2013. It can’t be, but here I am, rejoicing. I feel like one of my grandsons trying to make beauty out of Legos, and having something finally go right.
Anyway, for now, I’m happy. And have work to do.
One more thing: having my first cataract surgery today. Prayers welcome!
Tell me how you deal with frustration. Start over? Quit forever?
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the Palm Sunday tornadoes of April 11, 1965 in northern Indiana. I was 14. We got out of school on one or more days that week and were turned loose to help pick up storm debris. It was sad and remains a difficult memory. The tornado hopped over our farm and hit our neighbor’s barn, which my Dad never forgot his good fortune (to be missed).
The youth from church had gathered at our house that Sunday evening before the tornado fell. I remember that well, too. The youth group leaders and my Dad stayed outside to maybe help detect what paths the ornery wind was making, while they sent us younger people down to our meager basement. We gathered in a room where mom stored stuff like glass jars of peaches, apricots, applesauce, tomatoes, green beans and some meats. We were more excited than scared, I think. Especially with the grown leaders hanging around outside. In fact, a newspaper report later said that many people missed the tornado warnings because they were standing outside, waiting and wondering, I guess.
My other memory regarding that tornado was the fact that school was out on Monday, and Mom took us to town to buy some suitable clothes (jeans, maybe) … to help us with the clean up that was set other days that week. Mind you, in those days girls wore dresses or skirts to school—no pants, shorts, jeans or any outfits of that ilk. On our farm, we were allowed to wear jeans. So wearing jeans to school was like a “school day out” that turned the sadness into camaraderie and worries into flirtations with possible boyfriends or girl friends.
We lived not far from Elkhart, Indiana and I found this picture near some of our relatives in Dunlap, Indiana who were doubly scared and worried that day. Years earlier, their home had been struck and pretty much destroyed, and they started over. But it was something our larger family always remembered, and felt sorry for the Breniser family (correct spelling).
The double funnel shown in the picture below, was nabbed by a man named Paul Huffman working for The Elkhart Truth. President Lyndon Johnson even visited Dunlap to personally see the destruction of that storm. Just a year and a half earlier, our nation had gone through the trauma and drama of experiencing the shooting death of a president, John F. Kennedy, never to be forgotten.
I don’t think I’d ever want to see one of those single funnels, let alone a double or bigger storm coming our way. We lived through a bad storm that was named a Derecho in 2012, and after about three 3 days of no electricity (and melting ice in the freezer), we finally were able to borrow a friend’s generator to get our electricity back on the very day we had hoped to leave on a vacation.
Be safe and well, my friends. And when we have the opportunity, help with clean ups or donations to those who have not been as fortunate. Blessings and prayers.
My husband wanted to experience a really really big boat for his birthday so he chose a cruise ship called “Oasis of the Seas,” with roughly 5,000 passengers and 2100 crew.
If you are lucky, there comes a time in life when “the government” makes you have RMDs (Required Minimum Distributions)—and you have to take some of your “retirement money” and spend it or at least put it somewhere. Our financial advisor encouraged traveling while we could.
So husband wanted to try out the big boat. (It truly didn’t sway much at all, but we were, again, lucky, I know.) Gorgeous deep blue and lovely swashes of green waters on every side, clipping along at 20-21 knots or so. Seemingly an “endless” ocean after we launched from a port in Fort Lauderdale, Fla.
After sailing solid for two long days, we made day stops on three very small “oasis” island countries: St. Kitts, St. Maarten, St. Thomas (all pretty close to places like Puerto Rico), and all offering excursions (for extra $ of course).
And ending with Coco Cay’s “Perfect Day” with free food on a very small island (no extra $ involved unless you went snorkeling or something).
Children playing with real baby monkeys, but were warned that the monkeys could have fleas. Of course!
My sailor, with “Oasis of the Seas.”
Overall, we enjoyed three sumptuous meals a day, at our leisure, no extra tip or money required. (Well, there was the initial cruise amount which included free meals.) No making beds, no cleaning bathrooms, the “stateroom attendant” took care of that, each day, with those cute wound up “towel” animals made out of extra towels. It was sweet. Sleeping in. Reading books. Playing on phones. Watching TV news. Going to shows onboard. A fantastic hour of women and men flying from amazing heights into water and then watching the water disappear… !
“Central Park” is a large area in middle of ship.
Listening to karaoke contests. Singing with a guy, Andy, who focused on songs everyone knew from the 60s and 70s: “When you’re weary, feeling small … I’m on your side… bridge over troubled water” etc.”
Andy played many nights in one corner of the ship … The shiny piano reflecting someone’s shirt!
Husband had almost daily exercise on a huge roomful of bikes and other exercise equipment, and I enjoyed rounding the huge ship’s long track 4-5 times.
The busy busy staff cleared plates from our tables before we could object, and waiters dashed to and from the numerous ship kitchens (guessing at least 4-6 of those?). They also managed to engage in conversation with us: finding out who we were, where we were from, the dot to dot games we played while waiting on dishes brought to us, remembering their own games from childhood, always inquiring if the food was tasty. Husband says he had the best New York strip steak he’d ever ever had, so that was a nice win.
Stuart’s best-ever steak in background; my huge chicken BBQ plus beans, rice and roll. All was delicious but couldn’t eat all that chicken!
The attendants were from so many countries including Europe, Asia, India, Africa, Romania, Philippines, many South American countries, even Canada and a few U.S. I was particularly excited when at breakfast one morning I noticed a mother and son (in his 20s) next to us were chatting in an interesting language, Catalan. That is now the main language used in Catalonia, an area where Barcelona, Spain is, and where I lived for almost a year as a college student. It took me back to the fun times we had with Catalan friends.
I especially admired the room “servants,” if you will, doing the “dirty work” for us. Scrubbing toilets, washing down showers, hanging up fresh towels as needed, making sure we had toilet paper. Then, one day, the bag I reserved for our dirty clothes (that I thought I had placed near the bottom of some space near drawers) had disappeared. I was a little embarrassed. The attendants weren’t supposed to take clothing of course, but I asked the attendant if he had taken my bag of dirty clothes and put them somewhere. (They were able to send clothes to a laundry on ship for you if you wanted to pay for that, but I had planned to wash our underwear etc. in the very small sink.) He was likely from one area of Nigeria and I know he was terribly embarrassed to be approached about any issue, let alone dirty clothes. Two days later, I took time to hunt in our closet for the missing clothing and to my chagrin found that I had put the dirty clothes bag inside a piece of our luggage, so no one would mess with them. I was only too happy to apologize to Igede for MY mistake. And we lived happily every after with that attendant.
A word of caution about the yummy meals, especially breakfast: by the end of the week, on the morning of disembarking, we noticed the wonderful waffles we had enjoyed were quite stiff and hard to chew, like they had been warmed over to serve to us. I mean really hard to chew. I will forgive them for the wonderful foods we enjoyed the other days.
Unusual markers like these helped us (especially me) find our way (outside one dining room).
Disembarking is a zoo, of course, and we were happy to finally land in the correct bus taking us and our luggage back to the airport. I won’t mention the terrible stiff winds we experienced flying to Dulles Airport near Washington D.C. We were so happy and thankful to be safely home and greet Britney who took care of dog Velvet and cat Pumpkin (who wondered where on earth we had disappeared to).
The world God created and still maintains is just amazing, and the endless oceans (making up 71 percent of our world) was a joy to experience. May we continue to take care of our corners of the world.
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