My Tribute to Michelle Edwards...Sweet Something's Designs

This is the photograph that made me fall in love with Michelle Edwards.

A few years  ago I was idling away an hour on Houzz, looking for great Christmas ideas when I hit upon this photo. I was smitten the moment I saw it! Be still my heart...tartan! Who uses a tartan blanket in a tablescape? Who hosts a dinner on a rustic picnic table when it's cold outside?  Visions of a Pacific Northwest winter's day in the woods, friends gathering for a bowl of hot chili and apple cider, sitting at a beautiful, rustic table replete with hurricane lamps and tartan swirled in my imagination.

I had to see more design by this gifted lady who's art had touched me so profoundly. Lucky me...she had a blog called "Sweet Something's Design." I was hooked. It was filled with gracious, lovely home designs. And it was authored by and equally lovely and gracious woman; Michelle. Her posts were so intimate...like her designs! No wonder she had such loyal followers. I became one of them.
Most of her writing and photos were about her craft; but occasionally she posted personal things. I'll never forget her first post informing us that she had a very aggressive form of cancer. It was heartbreaking. She had everything to live for...a handsome husband, two adorable sons, a great business, a pretty home...and a gift for making everything around her beautiful. She continued to share her designs, but increasingly we would read about chemotherapy sessions, loss of hair, and her longing to beat the disease. I remember reading how she cried because her first session of trying an experimental treatment would prevent her from her youngest son's first day at school. (Not first day ever, but the first day in mid-elementary school.) I cried too, knowing that she was afraid that this might be the last 'first day' she would have the opportunity to share with her boy.

"How does a mother face the possibility of leaving this earth before seeing her children safely raised?" I wondered as I read her posts.

She faced it. Bravely. Candidly. With hope and resolve to fight.

Michelle Edwards fought hard. She lost the battle with cancer but she won the hearts of each of us who read and watched and cried and prayed with her; hoping for a miracle.

I've been thinking about Michelle in heaven. I've read accounts from those who've visited and been sent back-- that there are glorious things we've never imagined there. Dazzling colors of hues we cannot see with our mortal eyes, grass that somehow breathes and sings beneath your feet. Paradise for anyone; but especially for an artist! I imagine her in some heavenly woodland; gathering sticks and leaves, berries and flowers for some kind of wreath or centerpiece to adorn her new home; the one Jesus promised. Waiting and preparing with anticipation for a day she'll be reunited with her precious sons and husband.

I fell in love with Michelle Edwards the designer for her lovely, creative, and gracious art.

I now love Michelle for her gracious, lovely and courageous life.

Michelle, I haven't hosted that rustic dinner in the woods yet; but I plan to. And when I do, I'll be thinking of you!

Rustic Dining Room by Webb City Media & Bloggers Michelle Edwards

Two Heartwarming Stories

I want to tell you two stories. The first is one I read some time ago in "The Power of Intention" by Wayne Dyer. The other story is about someone I know.

There was a man, relates Dyer in his book, who's son was severely disabled and attending a school for children with disabilities. The boy's father attended a school fundraiser, and after praising the school and it's employees, he asked a troubling question...

"Where is perfection in my son Shaya?  Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children can. My child can't remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God's perfection in that?"

The audience was shocked and silenced by the man's painful question.  He went on to answer his own question. "I believe that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that he seeks is in the way that people react to this child. He went on to relate this story about his son.

One afternoon Shaya and his father went past a park where neighborhood boys were playing baseball. Shaya asked his father, "Do you think they'll let me play?" Shaya's father knew that the boys probably would not appreciate having his awkward son on their team...but he also knew what it would mean to his son to be able to join in, so he asked the boys if Shaya could play.  Surprisingly, the losing team agreed to allow the boy to play. Even more surprisingly, they allowed him to bat. As he stood awkwardly at home plate, it was clear that he could not hit the ball. The pitcher moved closer and lobbed the ball gently toward him. Shaya still couldn't make contact, so a team-mate stepped up and helped him hold the bat. With help, he managed to hit a dribbler right to the pitcher. "Run, run!" his team members shouted, so off he went. The pitcher slowly scooped up the ball. It would be an easy out. And since the bases were loaded, if Shaya somehow scored, the pitcher's team who now lead the game would lose. Nevertheless, the boy purposely threw the ball far over the first baseman's head. Everyone from both teams cheered and waved him on to second. The throw to second base was somehow 'dropped.' On to third...there were more errors made in Shaya's favor. And finally home. The boys all cheered wildly and lifted him onto their shoulders. Shaya was a hero that day.

With tears in his eyes the father related, "...that day, those boys on that baseball field reached God's level of perfection for them."

Now I will tell you another story.

Last week at school I was monitoring the children having breakfast. I will tell you at this point that our school is a Title 1 school. This means that many of our kids come from families who depend upon free and reduced-price breakfast and lunches. It's nothing short of a Godsend.

I was chatting with a group of children who were happily munching on waffles when I felt a tug on my shirt. "That girl over there is crying," reported the little boy who was tugging at my shirt.

I walked over and put my arm around her. "What's wrong, honey?"

"I can't eat." She broke into huge sobs. Her wailing and tears made it hard to understand what she was saying, and I was trying to figure out why she couldn't eat. Was she sick?

"Katrina", a coworker approached me. "I've got this handled," she said as she steered the girl to a table and handed her a plate of waffles. The crying stopped. The little girl picked up her fork and began eating. She gradually regained her composure and even managed to laugh a bit with her friends.

When I later asked what had happened, Katrina told me that the child's family had been reassigned from 'free breakfasts' status to 'reduced price' breakfasts. But  for some reason they either hadn't known or couldn't afford even the nominal cost of the breakfast, so the girl was told by the cashier that she had no money on her account.  While I'd been talking to the crying child, Katrina was putting money on her account.

 This kind of thing happens every day at my school. Someone shows up with a warm coat for a child who got off the bus all shivery because he doesn't have warm clothing. Another group of folks chip in to help a family get the electricity turned back on when the power has been shut off.  Another person regularly scours book stores on her days off  to find books for students that haven't any at home. And at Christmas, lots of people bring presents for entire families who wouldn't have anything otherwise. I could go on.

There is nothing wonderful about poverty. It is terrible and ugly and debilitating for those who suffer from it.

But the other morning; when my friend Katrina placed a plate of waffles in front of a teary-eyed child and turned her tears into a smile; I think God smiled too.

Every day I'm blessed to watch God's perfection working through the actions of my friends and co-workers.

***

 

The Possibility of Failure

(Photo credit, John A. Byers, my son. Subject: my grandchildren who are the essence of joie de vivre)
 

 

My friend Jack R. flew small planes in Wyoming. He kept reading the stats for small plane crashes and it finally got to him. He knew that statistically, his number's gonna come up. Jack doesn't fly planes anymore. He drives. Maybe he would have crashed; I don't know. Who really knows?
And maybe the pretty girl will say no when you ask her to dance. Maybe the dog will bite and the roller coaster will careen right off the tracks and we'll be left lonely and dog-bitten, and... dead.

Failure is a possibility. It lurks around every corner. Failure is 'the valley of the shadow of death' that David walked through...it was there he learned that 'your rod, and your staff, they comfort me.'
Without the possibility of failure, life (and stories, you writers) is drab, lackluster, nondescript. Nothing is ventured. The princesses remain hidden away in the tower, the shelter dog is euthanized because we think he may be part pit-bull, and we never have a parade; there's a 50% chance of rain, you know.  But isn't the possibility of failure, both in real life and stories, the juxtaposition of failure against the hope of success beyond one's wildest dreams, good fortune, love, and fame..is not this where the joie de vivre of life resides?
 

Are we really going to keep riding our tricycles, knees knocking against the handlebars, all hunched over and fearful of tipping over, taking only wide corners and staying safely on the sidewalk?
NO! Get on that bike and take your spills! Isn't that precisely why you ride it? It's tipsy, it's turvy, it's exhilarating! Take your feet off the pedals, coast a bit and feel the wind against your cheeks.
 

This, my friend is how we lost our youthfulness. It happened when we stopped jumping into Lake Whatcom because it's cold and gives us goose bumps, when we stopped asking pretty girls to dance; it happened...when we stopped flying. 

My story, I mean, my novel-- and all of it's quirky characters, if I write it well enough, will have many incidents where failure looms around the corner. 

 So will my story, I mean, my life.

My Baron, My Bubba, My Babba Louie

 

 

 

This is me and Baron... my Bubba..my partner in crime... my Babba Louie. (You have to be old enough to remember Quick Draw McGraw/El Kabong to know about Babba Louie!)

Baron is a full bred American Field Labrador Retriever. American Field Labs are taller and lankier than their British counterparts. Even so, he's the tallest lab I've ever seen...and most folks who know Labs would agree. There's more to Mr. Baron that his devastating good looks. He is the sweetest creature on the face of the earth. He adores small children and small animals. At the dog park Baron will take his ball and drop it in front of smaller dogs that seem frightened of him; a gesture of friendship. When our grandchildren squabble he becomes very upset. He barks and puts himself between them as if to say, "can't we all just get along?"

Like any two year old, Baron has tons of energy. We walk him faithfully every morning and evening...rain, snow, or shine. At least twice a week we supplement the walks with swimming, outings to the dog park, or a run in the woods for a real workout. We find that if we don't do this, his energy levels just build and build...which can lead to mischief! In addition, we've spent hours and hours in training with him. If you are going to make a dog live in human society, he has to be given the skills to get along.  This means walking nicely on a leash, sitting, staying on command, and just basically having good manners. These niceties will keep him out of trouble with the neighbors, small children, other dogs, and ultimately keep him from winding up on death row in the animal shelter or from getting smashed under the wheels of a car. It is for him, more than for you, that you train him!

 Dogs purportedly  have the intellect of a toddler with the capability of learning several hundred words. It would be unconscionable to raise a young child without training him or giving him the opportunity to communicate with you. The same goes for dogs. They really want to understand you and are very adept at learning words. So far Baron knows sit, stay, wait, treat, eat, food, heel, back, ball, stick, drink, go, break, come, no, leave it, go for walk, go for ride, lay down, off, down, look, fetch, release, poop, pee, Papa, Mama, and Posie Cat, shake, knuckles, we're done, and go to bed.  Most recently I taught him to turn left and right. The way I did this was when we set out for a walk I would walk straight down the driveway without committing (either with my body or verbally) to turn either right or left onto the sidewalk. When we came to the sidewalk I'd say "right" or "left" and then turn in that direction. He soon caught on. At first I wondered if this skill was limited to walking, and if he really understood the meaning of right and left. So we expanded on the concept at the swimming hole. Sometimes when we toss a stick into the water, he'll leap after it, but then lose sight of where it is. When this happens, we yell, "left" or "right" depending upon the location of the stick. When we do this, our Smarty Pants boy-pup invariably swims in the direction that we command and finds his stick! Honestly, he's so smart that sometimes I lie awake wondering what I can teach him next! Algebra?

Bottom line...having a dog is one of the most wonderful things you can do. But I must warn you; as with having children, you must be committed to them for life. If you cannot see yourself exercising your dog daily, providing a safe comfortable environment for them, paying veterinary bills and attending training sessions...don't do it. And for heaven's sake, don't buy a puppy for little Billy for Christmas! How absurd. Is little Billy capable of taking care of a baby? No, you say? Then he's not capable of taking care of a puppy. Period. Just know that that puppy is YOURS, your responsibility and yours to take care of. Little Billy will enjoy playing with him, much as he enjoys playing with his baby sister...but you must not make him ultimately responsible for the welfare of a dog. It's not reasonable or fair to either the child or the pet.

That said; when you're willing to take the plunge; and if you want a big, goofy, loveable family dog, get a Lab. They are angels...angels with an insatiable desire for goodies!

 

Quicks Draw and Babba Louie...'sallright!'

 

***

Guess what!!! Becky Povich, a great blogger friend invited me to do a guest post on her blog! I'm so honored. Becky is a fabulous writer with many published works to her credit. And she's very funny. So if you have a sec...mosey on over to her site and check it out...

http://beckypovich.blogspot.com/2013/03/fourth-vgb-from-debora-rorvig.html

Thanks so much for the opportunity, Becky! I'd love you to guest post for me anytime!

The sun is out...time to go fly kites in the March wind.

 

***

My Thoughts on Facebook and Friends

Imagine with me for a moment...

I invite a friend we'll call Rita over for coffee. We haven't seen one another for awhile so I am looking forward to hearing from her. My friend, by the way, doesn't share my political views, but we are old school chums and our history predates our politics. Besides, we like the same movies, clothing styles, and our kids are friends in school.

Rita arrives at my house and we greet one another warmly. I can't wait to hear about her trip to Florida, and how her husband is doing on his new job. And I want to tell her all about the new consignment shop I found last week. We sit down at my kitchen table and I see Rita fumbling through her purse. She pulls a newspaper clipping...a cartoon from her wallet and hands it to me.

"I just wanted to share this with you; it's so hysterically funny," she giggles.

I look at the picture. It's a grotesque caracature drawing of a well-known political figure (one whom I happen to admire) doing something really stupid. The caption reads, "Idiots...all ______ are stupid morons!" Huh! I wonder why she thinks I would find this even remotely funny! I say nothing. My silence takes her back a minute and she says..."Oh, well I didn't mean YOU were stupid!" I just really hate this OTHER politician.

We change the subject but I can't really get this incident out of my mind. I thought we were FRIENDS.

Isn't that the button we chose when we agreed to be FRIENDS on Facebook? Yet I see this scenario played out on Facebook every day.

So what is a Facebook friend? To many, I fear, it is just a name added to a list. One of those faceless heads that gets added to your account when you don't upload your photo.

Herein lies the problem with social media. It's not social at all. It's people hiding behind a keyboard... saying things they don't mean to people they don't really care about. It's taking cheap shots at people of differing opinions, ethnicity, sexual orientation, religion, or political persuasion without even once having to look into their eyes and see the hurt from their callous remarks.

 My goodness how we 'adults' shake our heads at the cyber-bullying that is so prevalent among today's teenagers. We shed a dry little tear when we read of another young person who committed suicide because of the mean-ness of her peers. Then we look for a great joke to post on F/B...one that'll get everybody's attention you know...because it really IS all about the number of 'likes' and comments you get, right? I mean, who really cares about how my readers, my FRIENDS feel when I post it? It's all about ME...this is my bully-pulpit, dammit! Perhaps we're not so different from our teenagers.

Not so many years ago, at least in my parent's household, discriminatory jokes were pretty common. As a child I remember hearing  my folks tell stories about Jews, Native Americans, African Americans, Polish people, Asians, Mexicans, gays and lesbians, and let's not forget, women. Truly, they meant no harm. But unintended harm is still harmful. The civil rights movement taught us that these are REAL PEOPLE with names and faces and ears that hear and hearts that hurt from our words. So we stopped. Well, I stopped.

So what's left? What is left for us to belittle and demean...there must be SOMETHING that we can criticize and say hurtful things about... well how about Republicans, or Democrats, or Libertarians, or Tea Partiers...THEY DON'T COUNT DO THEY?

Yes...they do.

So do we just do as our grandparents did and forbid the subjects of religion and politics at the dinner table?

No. We forbid attacking other people for the beliefs that they hold. We encourage open and honest and RESPECTFUL discussions and debates that center around issues; always remembering that the person on the other side of the table is our FRIEND. Instead of resorting to posting mean-spirited jokes on Facebook, we man-up (or woman-up) and educate ourselves about real issues so that we can communicate intelligently and sincerely rather than hiding behind sarcasm. That's what we do.

And in regards to Facebook friendships, I'd like to add that Facebook has done us all a dis-service by using the term FRIENDING. They have cheapened the meaning of friends. I wonder, does anyone really have 600+ friends? I can count my true friends on both hands. I've become a little wary about accepting Facebook 'friendships.' Am I really this person's friend...really? Am I genuinely interested in them and they in me? Or am I just another name to be added to their growing list?

Some final thoughts about FRIENDS...

• A friend to all is a friend to none.    Aristotle

• Be true to your work, your word, and your friend.  Thoreau

• Let there be no purpose in friendship other than the deepening of the spirit.   Khalil Gibran

• Never contract friendship with a man that is not better than thyself.   Confucious

***

More than a pretty face...

Beauty

Says Keats...

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing... 
 

Perhaps the advancing years have caused me to ponder beauty in 'older' women; but I prefer to think that it is wisdom, not the progression of years that has taught me that beauty is more than than prettiness of face and body. Beauty is far more potent an elixir than prettiness.    True beauty happens when the essence of one's spirit is illuminated on their face, in their heart, and in their mind. It can happen at age 10, at 30, or at 90. My own mother became more beautiful as she aged, and I think she was the loveliest in her eighties. 

So I've been collecting photographs of beautiful older women on Pinterest. Most of them are celebrities; only because so few women seem to feel comfortable having their pictures taken, much less displaying them on the internet for the whole world to see. What a pity! 

Happily, I've just added a beauty to my Pinterest board who is not a Hollywood glam. She's my cousin's  wife, Esmeralda. Her hubby posted this picture of her as they celebrated their wedding anniversary in Hawaii. Honestly, I really don't know how old Esmeralda is. And isn't that just my point? This I do know, she is a mother, a grandmother, and a lovely woman. Proof that beauty has no age!
 

 

***

Meeting the Family

One of the nicest benefits of being a Christian is that you are automatically a part of a great big family. It doesn't matter what church you attend, where you live, your political views, or your economic status, you are in. (Even if you don't always feel like you are.) Somehow we are supernaturally bound together by this one common thing: we love Jesus. When you meet another believer, you just feel at home. That's how I felt today when I met the lovely ladies from Mennonite Girls Can Cook. They were having a book signing in my area today, so I popped in to say hello. (And to purchase their fantastic cookbook!) These terrific ladies are raising money for needy children in the Ukraine with proceeds from their cookbook...busy fulfilling the words of Jesus when he said "I was hungry, and you fed me." I drove home feeling so very thankful that God has included me in his family, and that I can call 'the Mennonite Girls' my sisters in Christ.

http://www.mennonitegirlscancook.ca/

A photo of me and the Mennonite Girls. I'm the one standing.

Koda

Koda's spending the night at the veterinary hospital...she ate something disagreeable and they're keeping an eye on her tummy. They want to be sure it passes through her digestive tract OK. Words cannot express how much I miss her tonight. She became a part of our pack on Halloween 2010 and she's changed our lives forever. Kelly and I are both head over heels in love with this dog. She's my child, my friend, companion, commiserator, playmate, walking partner, and more. I hate it that she's spending the night alone. Just hate it! I'm sure she's gonna be just fine, and I'm mighty glad to have such a great doggy doctor (and the money it takes to pay him) but I want my sweet Koda dog here...tail a-waggin', goofy smile, and all!

Alice's Handiwork

 

My neighbor Alice is amazing! Look at her beautiful handiwork!

She's a little camera shy...didn't want me to take a photo of her; so you'll have to guess what she's like by looking at her quilts and needlework.

 

 

 

I had the nicest afternoon looking at all of her quilting. This is just the tip of the iceberg. She says she's given away most of her best quilts.

 

 

 

 

Here's one of my favorites...such rich colors!  You'll find a clue about one of her interests in that purple star.

 

 

 

 

There's another clue about her in this quilt. Hint...she's not Dutch!

 

 

  

 

 

Some of her favorite types of fabric are used in the cheery wall hanging above. Can you guess what kind they are?

 

 

 

 When I saw this quilt, I commented that my sister is just crazy about the Dresden pattern. (The daisy-like block.)  She did the nicest thing...she gave me some Dresden quilt blocks that she had made; said to give them to my sister! That should tell you something about Alice! 

 

 

This quilt really appeals to the country-girl in me. It is soooo...folksy!

 

 

Here are some more blocks from the Dutch quilt.

 

Here's what you may have figured out about Alice from looking at her quilts...

 

• She and her husband were avid boaters. Before moving to this area, she lived in a beautiful home overlooking the ocean. They spent many happy hours fishing, clamming, and crabbing.

• When she moved into our little Dutch town she decided to make a quilt with a Dutch theme. She couldn't find any suitable patterns, so she actually designed the quilt herself. She is  resourceful, creative lady.

• She loves Batik fabric, and uses it masterfully in many of her quilts.

• Alice is as vibrant and colorful as her quilts.

• When I asked if she'd entered any quilts in the Fair, she replied, "No, I'm not good enough." Geez! If these quilts aren't good, my little nine-patch quilts would be rags! How modest! If I'd made these beauties, I'd be showing them to everybody I know.

• Alice is a wonderful neighbor; not just because she's a great quilter...she's a great lady! 

Thank you, Scrabblequeen!

The family has headed back to Portland, and it's time for my life to return to 'normal'. The same day the kids arrived, I got a package from Scrabblequeen. I won...yes I did! (The kids were quite impressed that blogger friends would actually send PRESENTS!) Miss Scrabblequeen gave a little quiz and I gave the correct answer. Now if your not familiar with Scrabblequeen, you wouldn't know how fond she is of tea...and it's a shared fondness. She knows this and sent me a box of Cameron Valley tea...which at this very moment, I am quietly sipping and savoring. Also in the box of goodies were two flavors of lip balm AND a Celtic Legacy CD!!! Be still my heart! I've just popped the CD into my laptop player and OOOOOh,  AAAAAAh, such soothing music is bathing my soul. I've been planning to reintroduce music to my blog...and this glorious instrumental music may be just the ticket...if I can figure out how to do it! Go raibh maith agat, Scrabblequeen! (the gaelic term for thank-you!)  My blogger friend is an accomplished knitter too! Stop over and see her Frankensocks...the most colorful socks you can imagine. How I wish I could do that! http://scrabblequeen.wordpress.com/

My Town at 8 p.m: In 2064 Steps

Lynden is known for it's Dutch heritage, tree-lined Main Street, abundance of churches, and meticulously groomed yards.

According to my pedometer I walked 2064 steps this evening. Didn't take the camera...all you bloggers know why! Walking with a camera means dilly dallying...stopping here, wandering over there. Tonights walk was about exercise...sorta.

So without pictures, save one I took this afternoon, I'll try to paint a word picture of what I saw in 2064 steps.

I head toward the City Park, just a few blocks from my house. Underneath a canopy of old growth firs and maple trees, Fishtrap Creek meanders through the center of the park. A pair of towhead girls of Dutch descent I guess-twins--maybe 3 years old; are wading in the creek with dad. They spot a fish and squeal, reaching in vain with chubby hands to catch the slippery thing. One goes kerplunk on the slippery rocks and then the other...and now daddy has to carry both crying toddlers to the shore. One the other side of the creek a family is eating cake and singing 'Happy Birthday' while the birthday girl opens her Barbie Town House and uncle shows off his new yellow lab puppy. I'd like to stop and pet that dog, but I don't.

Moving on I pass a pair of muscle-bound teenage boys, clad only in running shorts and Nikes. They're having a chin-up contest on the bars. Preening, hoping that some girls will happen by and notice that they are buff. Too bad, it's just me; I'm 55 and though I notice; I'm not too impressed with their pecs.

I'm now in the darkest part of the park, and wonder if it's wise to be walking here alone at dusk. But this is Lynden...where people return lost wallets and stop when you cross the street-where the neighbors help you fix your car; and practically the whole town is related, or a relative of a relative. It's not Mayberry RFD, but it's pretty darn close.

Across the railroad tracks, I walk through the 'industrial section' of town. Industrial, in Lynden means a couple of berry processing plants and the milk plant. Though well-past the dinner hour, things are hoppin'.  Hair-netted forklift drivers are scooping up pallets of fragrant berries and whisking them into the plant where more people with hairnets are unloading them.Trucks are coming and going-delivering milk and berries. I think that I live in the 'land of milk and honey!'  One of the large cinder block buildings has been tagged with graffiti. "Not here," I think. "Perhaps it's only wannabes. After all, its hard to be too tough in a little one-horse-town that rolls up the sidewalks Sunday and who's police department know almost every soul." Still... I decide to be a bit more cautious about where I walk alone at dusk.

Back toward town I ramble, down past the Senior Center. Adelia's car is there. She's learning to play bridge. Adelia is a good friend. She only weighs 100 pounds, so tiny is she, but her heart is as big as all outdoors. She's a first rate sign language interpreter for deaf children...and she's a first rate friend. We're going out for lunch this week and I think maybe I'll go in and say hello and firm up our lunch date; but decide against it. Adelia's only 60, but many of her Senior Center friends are pretty old. I daren't interrupt the bridge game and cause a stir among the old folks!

Just down the way, the 3rd Christian Reformed Church has a garden I want to see; out by their parking lot.  Zucchini, corn, potatoes, leeks, greens of every kind and beans are growing in profusion. The sign says 5 Loaves Farm...after the Bible story of Jesus feeding the multitude with only 5 loaves and 2 fishes.
How very wonderful! I decide to come back another day with my camera and a notepad.

Down the alley a block or so an older man is working on a beat-up car. He looks pretty rough himself-unshaven and too thin. As I pass he stops working to say a polite, "hello." I wonder if 5 Loaves Farm might give him some fresh vegetables...I hope so.

Summer in the Northwest means longer days. It's 69 degrees and close to eight o'clock but still light outside. The sky's a moody greyish-blue and the clouds are tinged with mauve. I'm so intently studying the color of those clouds that I trip on a crack in the sidewalk. I catch myself and look about to see if anybody saw and might be laughing; but no one's watching. I marvel at my own egocentricity...always thinking someone's watching when usually nobody cares. The guy across the street is too busy weeding his geraniums to even look up. He's smarter than me, I think. I usually go out at noon and sweat in the mid-day sun. He waits for the evening shade. Then I notice the Comcast van sitting in the driveway. I've been mad at Comcast for awhile. My computer's running slower since they switched to X-finity. Just thinking about it makes me almost dislike that guy until I think about the fact that he's home working in the yard at 8 o'clock after working all day long and putting up with cranky customers like me who act as though it's his fault that their computers don't load pictures like they used to.

I've reached North Park Street, just a few blocks from home. North Park, not so long ago, was a horse pasture. The pasture was neatly subdivided, sold and built into a neighborhood of fancy homes with stone facades where neatly trimmed emerald greens partition off one postage-stamp yard from another. I myself preferred the quack grass with barbed-wire fences and Welsh ponies. Quite a few of the new homes are for sale; an indication that our little corner of the country has not escaped the recession unscathed. So even though the driveways of these lovely homes are line with Beemers and SUV's, I'm not so sure but what behind those double mahogany doors with beveled-glass windows; there isn't someone sitting in their HGTV designer kitchen with head in hands, wondering how to pay for it all. We know many folks who gambled that the 'bubble' would never burst and lost their businesses, homes and cars. It's been sad to see; but here's hoping that Americans will be the wiser because of it.

Step 2030 finds me in front of my house. Koda is barking wildly at the front window. She doesn't recognize me; she thinks I'm a hotten-tot like that mongrel that passes by twice a day and gets her dander up. I stand on the sidewalk and throw up my hands...
"Really! Your gonna bark at ME?" 
"Ruh-ro!" she says with a sheepish look on her face as she greets me at the door. Kelly's watching Feherity on the golf channel and and Posie cat's snoozing on the sofa. I fall into the recliner, give Koda a pat and check my pedometer... 2064 steps.

Hello to New Friends

I want to acknowledge some new followers...

sassysisters2
nelson966
timotheonb
Gino (my very handsome great nephew!)

So glad you 'pushed the button!'

Make new friends,

But keep the old.

One is silver,

And the other, gold.

A circle's round

It has no end

That's how long

I'm gonna be your friend.

***

Old Friends and New Potatoes

     Pam was my best friend from 1st through 6th grade. Would've been longer if my family hadn't moved away. We were like two peas in a pod. We used to play beneath the trees at recess, finding 'magic' sticks that had special markings on them. We liked all the same things...baseball, spelling, and performing in the school's yearly operetta. The thing I remember the most about her was the twinkle she got in her eyes when she was particularly pleased or amused by something. 
     We didn't get to spend too awful much time together outside of school because we lived in a rural community; and our houses were several miles apart. But one time I remember spending the night at her house...oh how excited I was!
     Pam, in my childish eyes, lived an idyllic life. My gosh, they had an above ground swimming pool! I lived on a dry acre of land with nary a tree. Pam's folks had a Shasta trailer and went to exotic locations like Yellowstone National Park! My family spent our summers at a local beach in a rented cottage. Pam's mom didn't work; so she sent all kinds of wonderful home-baked goodies to our school bake sales and birthday parties. My mom worked full time; so if we sent anything at all, it was store-bought. Not that Pam ever made me feel bad about my 'short-comings.' She was too good a friend to be hurtful in any way. 
     Well, anyway, the weekend I stayed at Pam's; it was as wonderful as I imagined! We swam like ducks in that pool. At dinner, her mom fixed home-style fried chicken with creamed baby vegetables. I'd never eaten creamed vegetables and was a little nervous about it; but mom always said that I should eat what was set before me; so I tried them. They were delicious. When I got home, I pleaded with my mom to make some creamed vegetables. Maybe we didn't have a pool or a trailer, but  by golly, I reasoned, we could eat those tasty vegetables, just like her family did!
     To this day, anytime I get ahold of some new peas, potatoes, carrots, or onions, I make this recipe. And I always think of Pam and her delightful family.

Creamed New Potatoes with Carrots, Peas, and Onions

6 small new potatoes

6-8 baby carrots

1 cup of fresh peas, shelled

8-10 baby pearl onions

a little parsley for garnish

White Sauce: see recipe below

(Note: if you can't get new baby veggies, you can substitute with 'regular' vegetables; just cut them into small pieces.)

Boil vegetables until tender. I usually put the carrots to boil first, adding the potatoes a few minutes later, then add the peas and onions just a minute or two before the potatoes and carrots are done. Drain.

White Sauce

1 tbsp butter

1 tbsp flour

1 cup milk

salt and pepper

Heat butter in a small saucepan over medium heat til melted. Stir in flour; salt, and pepper. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly until mixture is smooth and bubbly; remove from heat. Stir in milk. Heat to boiling, stirring constantly. Boil and stir 1 minute.

When white sauce has thickened, add cooked vegetables. Put into a nice serving dish or serve directly onto plates. Garnish with parsley.

Makes 4 servings.





I didn't have new potatoes or onions, so I used some regular ones and chopped them up.
Tonight's menu was steak, creamed vegetables, and a slice of toast. Fresh strawberries for dessert.

By the way... after 40 years or so of wondering about my old friend, I stopped by her family home. I found her parents sitting in their old back yard, taking a rest from their gardening. We had a pleasant visit. The told me that Pam and her husband had a motorcycle business not far from my home; in fact, I often passed right by there. So I hopped in my car and drove right over. Guess what; she's the same wonderful person that she was when we were kids...and she still has that special sparkle in her eyes when she is pleased or amused!

     Don't you just love happy endings!

A Trip to Joe's Gardens

     I'm gonna try planting a fall/winter garden for the first time. Fall can be 'iffy' up here in the 4th corner. Sometimes we get glorious, sunny weather until mid October. Sometimes it rains from mid-September on. I researched the kinds of veggies that will tolerate our weather conditions, then my friend Adelia and I set out for Joe's Gardens. Joe's Gardens have been operation in our area since 1933, and their name is a standard in the best markets in our area. I figure if anybody knows how to grow fall crops in the Northwest, they will.
     We got some great advice, some beautiful, local produce and some very inexpensive starts.
I got broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce, leeks, cabbage and basil...for just 25 cents per start! I didn't find  kale, and garlic yet, but I'll keep looking.
     After a great day of produce shopping, Adelia treated me to a Starbuck's hot chocolate with extra whipped cream.
     A day spend with a good friend, shopping local, and chocolate. That's as good as it gets!

Joe's is located in the beautiful Happy Valley/Fairhaven District of Bellingham.

My basket runneth over!

O

Local strawberries. I wasn't going to buy any, but the aroma got to me.

Rainer Cherries

R

Butter lettuce, can't get any fresher than this!

Oh the colors!

Cheerful zinnias

Sweet peas...the fragrance was divine!

This guy gave me the best advice on planting my garden. He's also a chef; and was giving this lady all kinds of tips for using fennel in her cooking. Sorry, you just can't get this kind of personal service down at the AM/PM!

A New Walking Friend

A week or so ago I mentioned to an acquaintance at work that I'd seen her out walking in the evenings. She invited me to join her for evening walks. Today was our first walk. As it turns out, we both had been praying for someone to walk with after work. So God has answered two prayers at once! Sometimes I just marvel at the ingenuity of my Heavenly Father!

Now shall I walk

or shall I ride?"

Ride," Pleasure said.

"Walk," Joy replied.

W.H. Davies

***