With my birthday approaching, I knew I had to get my driver's license renewed before the 27th when it would expire. I certainly didn't want to take the driver's tests again, so today I finally made it to the DMV. When I presented myself to the dispenser of licenses and handed over my old license, which happened to be one from when we lived in Tennessee, she informed me I would have to go down the hall to the state examiner, since it was an out-of-state license.
"Do you have a birth certificate or a passport?" the clerk asked. I told her I wasn't sure if I had a birth certificate, and I certainly didn't have a passport. "Well, that's what you have to have," she said, summarily dismissing me.
We had some errands to do and decided to do them before going home to search for the birth certificate. I'd remembered seeing it sometime in the not-too-distant past, but I didn't remember where. And I had just gone through all kinds of papers, pictures and mementos during a spell of nostalgia. Oh, God, let me find it, I prayed.
"Howard, do you think you filed it with your birth certificate?" I asked my OCD mate. He told me he has three copies of his. He said he wasn't sure, but when we got home I helped him look through folders. I gave up and went to put away the groceries we'd bought. I knew we couldn't get another copy before my birthday, and anyway, we were going away for a few days for a family reunion. I resigned myself to having to take the driver's test again.
Just then Howard called me. "Did you find it?" I asked, but he didn't answer. I went into the bedroom and he held up a folded sheet of paper tantalizingly. "You found it!" I shouted gleefully. I looked at the old document and marveled again at the data. Mama was 29 when I was born, and Daddy was 34. I couldn't imagine them being so young! Then I saw the old familiar name of our then-neighbor as someone in attendance at my home birth (the doctor didn't get there in time.) The ink was faded and a little illegible in places, but there was my name, weight and other vital information.
Back at the DMV, the examiner studied my birth certificate for an interminably long time. "Is there a problem?" I finally asked.
"Well," he said, "Right here where it says 'boy or girl?' nothing has been checked." I smiled, because I had noticed the oversight, or perhaps the check mark had worn off. After all, the info had been recorded in 1940, a few months after I was born.
"Well, I can assure you that I'm a girl, and the mother of six children!" I said. He said he'd had one other case like that, and he'd had to issue a 6-month permit to the applicant, until she had her birth certificate amended. That didn't set too well with me! Much ado about nothing!
He decided to call someone in the front office. "She was born in 1939," I heard him say. Then, "No, she is not 39, she was born in 39!" he explained. Then he said okay, hung up and smiled. "She said, 'That means she is 75! Don't worry about it!'" My sentiments exactly! "If you had been 39, you would have had to get it amended," he said, "But you're okay."
I got my picture taken, was handed a new license and was only required to pay $4.00. What a relief! Thank you, God!
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Thirsty!
"Where did you get that?" I asked a man who came down the aisle in the garden department pushing a cart carrying a lovely, tall plant. He pointed and said it was "back there." We had been looking for a fern for our front porch for several days, but nobody had one. I told my husband that we had waited too long, since the advent of hot weather seemed to have discouraged the stores from re-stocking them.
But that feathery, fern-like plant would be fine on our screened porch! And they were on sale, obviously being closed out. I was telling my daughter in a phone conversation about it. "I can't believe you couldn't find a fern!" she exclaimed. "They are available everywhere here!" Well, she lives in a larger area in Georgia, and has several hanging on her wrap-around porch.
"If you get one, just make sure it has a water bowl attached," she advised. "Ferns in hanging baskets require lots of water." Thinking about our conversation later, it came to me that the same thing is true in the life of a Christian. We require the refreshing of the Holy Spirit, which should spring up like living water in our souls.
I was touched by something our son Jamie told us the other day. He said he was playing the piano for a service at Kids' Camp held in their church this past week. The children, including his little girls, Maddie, 5, and 7-year-old Anne-Marie, were gathered sitting on the floor for worship time.
"Afterward," he related to me, "Maddie came up to me and said, 'Daddy, when you were playing the piano, something warm came all over me, and I started to cry. Then I couldn't quit crying!" It had to have been the Holy Spirit!
I asked if she was sitting with her sister, but he said the lights had been dimmed and he really couldn't see her. But a little voice that he didn't even recognize in its maturity and clarity came over the microphone that had been set up. It was Maddie testifying about her experience! How precious! I was the one with tears as he told me about it. Thank God for the spiritual atmosphere these children are being raised in!
I was amazed when we were in their home last week and Maddie was persuaded to show me the action movements the kids do when they sing their worship songs at church. Anne-Marie put on an accompaniment music CD and Maddie, eyes closed, unselfconsciously waved, danced, and at one point, knelt, gracefully prostrating her upper body, arms outstretched with palms on the floor.Then Anne-Marie did a lively, jumping, hand-clapping version to another worship song.
Just as I was attracted to the plant purchase the man had in his cart, people should see something in our lives that make them want to say, or think, "Where did you get that?" Then we can point them to Jesus, to whom the woman at the well said, "Give me to drink!"
But that feathery, fern-like plant would be fine on our screened porch! And they were on sale, obviously being closed out. I was telling my daughter in a phone conversation about it. "I can't believe you couldn't find a fern!" she exclaimed. "They are available everywhere here!" Well, she lives in a larger area in Georgia, and has several hanging on her wrap-around porch.
"If you get one, just make sure it has a water bowl attached," she advised. "Ferns in hanging baskets require lots of water." Thinking about our conversation later, it came to me that the same thing is true in the life of a Christian. We require the refreshing of the Holy Spirit, which should spring up like living water in our souls.
I was touched by something our son Jamie told us the other day. He said he was playing the piano for a service at Kids' Camp held in their church this past week. The children, including his little girls, Maddie, 5, and 7-year-old Anne-Marie, were gathered sitting on the floor for worship time.
"Afterward," he related to me, "Maddie came up to me and said, 'Daddy, when you were playing the piano, something warm came all over me, and I started to cry. Then I couldn't quit crying!" It had to have been the Holy Spirit!
I asked if she was sitting with her sister, but he said the lights had been dimmed and he really couldn't see her. But a little voice that he didn't even recognize in its maturity and clarity came over the microphone that had been set up. It was Maddie testifying about her experience! How precious! I was the one with tears as he told me about it. Thank God for the spiritual atmosphere these children are being raised in!
I was amazed when we were in their home last week and Maddie was persuaded to show me the action movements the kids do when they sing their worship songs at church. Anne-Marie put on an accompaniment music CD and Maddie, eyes closed, unselfconsciously waved, danced, and at one point, knelt, gracefully prostrating her upper body, arms outstretched with palms on the floor.Then Anne-Marie did a lively, jumping, hand-clapping version to another worship song.
Just as I was attracted to the plant purchase the man had in his cart, people should see something in our lives that make them want to say, or think, "Where did you get that?" Then we can point them to Jesus, to whom the woman at the well said, "Give me to drink!"
Friday, June 20, 2014
Special Day!
I am so amazed and humbled at the well wishes and words of congratulations we have received from friends and family today for this, our 56th wedding anniversary! I guess I'm just so used to having anniversaries that it seemed it would be an ordinary day, but as I dwelt on it, I realized it is very special, indeed! That is a lot of years! Yet at the same time, it seems to have flown by, with all the memories of a lifetime compressed into a time capsule that I open now and then, pulling one up to reflect upon and long for.
The staff at Red Lobster where we ate seemed impressed with our long marriage, gathering around our table to give us an anniversary card signed by each one. The card was printed with the date, 6/20/2014, on the front under an artistic design with Happy Anniversary in pretty script in the center. Inside were the signatures and greetings, over two entwined hearts, with the words, We hope you have many more to come!
Our waitress, who my inquiring husband found out was from a country town not far from us, told us she had been married only one year, but hoped to someday celebrate her 80th anniversary! After our meal of lobster, cheese biscuits, shrimp and vegetables, plus key-lime cheesecake, I returned from the ladies' room to find Howard engaged in conversation with three college-age servers. One had lived in Alaska as a child and regaled us with tales of northern lights, curious bears, and an aggressive moose.
In our early marriage, it was our custom to go to a nice restaurant to have lobster for anniversary meals, but it had been years since I had eaten the treat. To my surprise, it didn't taste the same as I remembered. I thought of a story I read once by Elizabeth Sherrill. She and her husband were celebrating their 50th anniversary in France where they had married and were retracing their travels there. Somehow the quaint restaurant that they chose had lost its charm as remembered by a starry-eyed bride; she couldn't speak French to the waiter as formerly, since her French had gotten rusty; and the food wasn't what she remembered.
Finally she wondered if there was anything good about the season in which she now found herself. Suddenly the waiter brought in a beautiful, feathery acacia plant, covered in blossoms. "Did you grow that in a greenhouse?" she asked, knowing it was winter out, to which he answered, "No. Acacia blooms in all seasons." She felt this was a message from God to her to remind her that there is good in every season, and she determined to be open to what God had for her.
I will be 75 in a week. I'm eagerly looking forward to what God has planned for this season!
The staff at Red Lobster where we ate seemed impressed with our long marriage, gathering around our table to give us an anniversary card signed by each one. The card was printed with the date, 6/20/2014, on the front under an artistic design with Happy Anniversary in pretty script in the center. Inside were the signatures and greetings, over two entwined hearts, with the words, We hope you have many more to come!
Our waitress, who my inquiring husband found out was from a country town not far from us, told us she had been married only one year, but hoped to someday celebrate her 80th anniversary! After our meal of lobster, cheese biscuits, shrimp and vegetables, plus key-lime cheesecake, I returned from the ladies' room to find Howard engaged in conversation with three college-age servers. One had lived in Alaska as a child and regaled us with tales of northern lights, curious bears, and an aggressive moose.
In our early marriage, it was our custom to go to a nice restaurant to have lobster for anniversary meals, but it had been years since I had eaten the treat. To my surprise, it didn't taste the same as I remembered. I thought of a story I read once by Elizabeth Sherrill. She and her husband were celebrating their 50th anniversary in France where they had married and were retracing their travels there. Somehow the quaint restaurant that they chose had lost its charm as remembered by a starry-eyed bride; she couldn't speak French to the waiter as formerly, since her French had gotten rusty; and the food wasn't what she remembered.
Finally she wondered if there was anything good about the season in which she now found herself. Suddenly the waiter brought in a beautiful, feathery acacia plant, covered in blossoms. "Did you grow that in a greenhouse?" she asked, knowing it was winter out, to which he answered, "No. Acacia blooms in all seasons." She felt this was a message from God to her to remind her that there is good in every season, and she determined to be open to what God had for her.
I will be 75 in a week. I'm eagerly looking forward to what God has planned for this season!
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Blooming Season
My Knock-Out Roses look as if they've been knocked out! After blooming profusely and beautifully for a month or more, they have been looking worse than the last rose of summer! But today I have a glimmer of hope. Fresh blossoms are beginning to appear after weeks of blah!
I was worried that something could be wrong when I saw other bushes around town blooming brightly. I even looked up info online and found that they do that sometimes and bloom in cycles, but this cycle seemed to be lasting too long. Evidently they are having seasons within a season! In the three years we've had them, I don't recall that ever happening.
Ever since this type of rose was introduced a few years ago, it has become wildly popular, outselling all other rose bushes. Though the blooms are beautiful and popping with color, they do have a drawback. They hardly have any smell. (Not that I miss that!) With my limited sniffing sense, I'm all about the visual! But how well I remember the "real" rose scent!
The Bible says in Ecclesiastes 3:1, "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven." As Christians, we obviously have spiritual seasons, and although we are to be always "instant in season and out of season" (II Timothy 4:2) in sharing the gospel, most experience an ebb and flow in the direction of ministry sometime in their lives.
I was reading about seasonings and spices recently and was surprised that spices have health benefits, especially turmeric, cayenne, cinnamon and black pepper! Not only adding flavor and zest to food, they are also very beneficial nutritionally, without additional calories.
May our zeal for Christ never become like the faded rose, and may we never lose the "sweet-smelling savor" of Jesus in our lives. We don't have to be "tasteless" Christians, no matter what season we are in, but always retaining the zest and sparkle of new life in Him. In spite of the showy beauty of the Knock-Out Rose, nothing compares to the scent of the genuine article. The same is true of Christians.
Monday, June 16, 2014
The Right Seasoning
Hmm. Why is this corned-beef brisket so bland? I wondered, as I taste-tested my Father's Day meal I was preparing. I turned the brisket over in its broth of cabbage, potatoes and carrots. I could see it was getting tender when a small piece flaked off with my fork. But wait! That wasn't meat! Then the light dawned: It was a packet of the seasoning mix that I had missed and forgotten to put in the pot! No wonder it didn't taste right! I quickly opened and poured it in!
Then something vaguely familiar from the Bible about seasoning popped into my head. I couldn't remember it exactly, so I ran a reference and found this verse in Colossians 4:6: "Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye are to answer every man." I have experienced words of grace coming from a couple of unexpected sources recently.
Little Maddie, our five-year-old granddaughter in whose home we visited last week, was talking with me upon our arrival and unexpectedly said, "I like your shoes!" She was referring to some lightweight athletic- type shoes I had worn for our train trip.
"You do?" I said, because the shoes are not necessarily a thing of beauty. They were even called "Scrubs," and may be nursing shoes, but I liked them for comfort. "What do you like about them?" I asked.
Maddie said, "I like the style!" ( "Style"" is a word she obviously likes and understands, because when we were there for her birthday a few months ago, she insisted on wearing her be-flowered headband with the huge flower on her brow. Every time anyone tried to get her to push it up, she would say, "This is my style!"). Anyway, I enjoyed the compliment coming from such a sweet young lady!
Then yesterday, having gotten home from our trip in the wee hours and being exhausted, I was late getting dressed. I had washed my hair and put on a dash of lipstick before we went to the grocery for a few things. Walking down the aisle with my cart, preoccupied but seeing a couple of young girls about my granddaughters' ages tagging along with their parents' cart, I passed them and thought how cute they were. Then I heard one say something to me that I couldn't make out.
"What did you say?" I asked, turning around to see the solemn-looking little girl looking into my eyes, to which she replied, "You look pretty today." Wow! What a nice thing to say to a stranger! "Why, thank you, Sweetheart," I managed to say as I walked away with a warm glow. Such grace from a child!
A funny thing happened awhile ago, as I was thinking of writing this article. My husband and I had just come home from some errands, including mailing some letters. We had intended to go to the bank to make a deposit, but I hadn't been able to find a check that had come for me in the mail while we were gone. I remembered opening it and looking at it, and placing it on the mantle. Then looking at it again and putting it down on a bookcase, but it was nowhere to be found!
I have a fancy salt and pepper shaker set from Cracker Barrel with words of inspiration written in graceful script on them. I went to check the exact wording, thinking it was a scripture. It turned out that the pepper shaker said, "Season your words!" and the salt shaker said, "Salt your offerings!" As my glance fell on a plate behind them, there was the check leaning against it! It was on our A-line bookshelves!
My husband loved his special meal, seasoned just right. And I, a forthright and to-the-point speaker, am trying, by faith, to "season" my words. After all, "Faith is your companion," were the words on the decorative plate!
Then something vaguely familiar from the Bible about seasoning popped into my head. I couldn't remember it exactly, so I ran a reference and found this verse in Colossians 4:6: "Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye are to answer every man." I have experienced words of grace coming from a couple of unexpected sources recently.
Little Maddie, our five-year-old granddaughter in whose home we visited last week, was talking with me upon our arrival and unexpectedly said, "I like your shoes!" She was referring to some lightweight athletic- type shoes I had worn for our train trip.
"You do?" I said, because the shoes are not necessarily a thing of beauty. They were even called "Scrubs," and may be nursing shoes, but I liked them for comfort. "What do you like about them?" I asked.
Maddie said, "I like the style!" ( "Style"" is a word she obviously likes and understands, because when we were there for her birthday a few months ago, she insisted on wearing her be-flowered headband with the huge flower on her brow. Every time anyone tried to get her to push it up, she would say, "This is my style!"). Anyway, I enjoyed the compliment coming from such a sweet young lady!
Then yesterday, having gotten home from our trip in the wee hours and being exhausted, I was late getting dressed. I had washed my hair and put on a dash of lipstick before we went to the grocery for a few things. Walking down the aisle with my cart, preoccupied but seeing a couple of young girls about my granddaughters' ages tagging along with their parents' cart, I passed them and thought how cute they were. Then I heard one say something to me that I couldn't make out.
"What did you say?" I asked, turning around to see the solemn-looking little girl looking into my eyes, to which she replied, "You look pretty today." Wow! What a nice thing to say to a stranger! "Why, thank you, Sweetheart," I managed to say as I walked away with a warm glow. Such grace from a child!
A funny thing happened awhile ago, as I was thinking of writing this article. My husband and I had just come home from some errands, including mailing some letters. We had intended to go to the bank to make a deposit, but I hadn't been able to find a check that had come for me in the mail while we were gone. I remembered opening it and looking at it, and placing it on the mantle. Then looking at it again and putting it down on a bookcase, but it was nowhere to be found!
I have a fancy salt and pepper shaker set from Cracker Barrel with words of inspiration written in graceful script on them. I went to check the exact wording, thinking it was a scripture. It turned out that the pepper shaker said, "Season your words!" and the salt shaker said, "Salt your offerings!" As my glance fell on a plate behind them, there was the check leaning against it! It was on our A-line bookshelves!
My husband loved his special meal, seasoned just right. And I, a forthright and to-the-point speaker, am trying, by faith, to "season" my words. After all, "Faith is your companion," were the words on the decorative plate!
Sunday, June 15, 2014
The Little Engine That Couldn't!
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have about a 15-minute delay because a train is stalled across the tracks, blocking our departure," the conductor's voice came over the train's intercom. "They should have it out of the way shortly. Thank you for your patience," he said.
We were on the last leg of our rail journey after spending a week with son Jamie's family in Houston. Our trip down had been flawless, with our oldest son Mark and wife Rhonda picking us up at the whistle stop close to their home near Austin. After treating us to supper, they took us halfway to our destination where Jamie met us, then it would be on to his and Tammy's house for our eagerly anticipated visit with them and the little granddaughters, not to mention baby Isaac!
Besides our relaxing time doing nothing that week, we had enjoyed parks, a picnic, riding with the kids on a park train tour, an amazing visit to the Museum of Natural Science, church services, and eating out several times, plus gourmet meals Jamie made at home. Now it was time to go home, with our pony-express relay being reversed: Jamie would meet Rhonda and she would take us to the train.
We were a half hour early, and thirsty after our ride, we took a few minutes to buy cherry limeades at a nearby Sonic in the small town. Before we knew it, the train whistle interrupted our conversation and we hurried to board. Others had gotten ahead of us, and we saw there was no room to stash our luggage, necessitating a little rearranging of other suitcases. Bending over to help, I was suddenly mystified by an icy liquid splashing to the floor and onto carry-on bags as my limeade turned upside down and spilled everywhere through the straw and lid opening..
The conductor had given us cardboard markers, #52 and #53, to tuck under the metal strip above our seats. Going up and down two cars looking for our spaces, we finally located them only to find someone was sitting in one. She looked confused and started to move, but a young girl offered her seat to us so we could sit together. By this time, I was tired and cross, and Howard was out of breath from struggling with the luggage. The trip was losing some of its luster, and now, having reached Ft. Worth, we were having this delay!
A little later the voice came on again, saying it would be another half-hour, which extended to an indefinite time that the train, which was carrying a load of coal, could be moved. I kept my eye on the coal-laden train, and I could see it hadn't moved an inch! After an hour had gone by, the conductor was offering people refunds on their tickets and a chance to travel the next day. We couldn't do that! I tried unsuccessfully to reach our son Trevor, who had taken us to lunch during our scheduled layover here earlier and had since gone home, about an hour's distance away.
Egged on by the promises that we would take off soon, we sat with bated breath until the conductor came in and offered everyone free coffee. There were no takers from the disgruntled passengers. We had told our son Greg, who was to meet us in Oklahoma, of the situation, so he and his son decided to take in a movie to fill the time. When we were still there after the movie, he offered to drive the 3 hours to come and get us.
Meanwhile, Trevor called us back and was appalled at our predicament. We had been waiting five hours for a new engine to be hooked up to the stalled train. "I'll come and get you right now!" he exclaimed. We grabbed our bags, got a refund, and waited for him inside the station. He was there almost immediately.
After a few suggestions about a way for us to get home, our sons decided that Trevor would drive us to the Oklahoma line, where Greg would come south to meet us. It worked! We were all tired, but not as tired as we would be when we finally got home at 3:30 in the morning! It wouldn't have been so bad, but I I had been awake for more than 24 hours having awakened early that morning! My bed never felt so good! My prayers of thanks to God included thanks for our wonderful sons!
We were on the last leg of our rail journey after spending a week with son Jamie's family in Houston. Our trip down had been flawless, with our oldest son Mark and wife Rhonda picking us up at the whistle stop close to their home near Austin. After treating us to supper, they took us halfway to our destination where Jamie met us, then it would be on to his and Tammy's house for our eagerly anticipated visit with them and the little granddaughters, not to mention baby Isaac!
Besides our relaxing time doing nothing that week, we had enjoyed parks, a picnic, riding with the kids on a park train tour, an amazing visit to the Museum of Natural Science, church services, and eating out several times, plus gourmet meals Jamie made at home. Now it was time to go home, with our pony-express relay being reversed: Jamie would meet Rhonda and she would take us to the train.
We were a half hour early, and thirsty after our ride, we took a few minutes to buy cherry limeades at a nearby Sonic in the small town. Before we knew it, the train whistle interrupted our conversation and we hurried to board. Others had gotten ahead of us, and we saw there was no room to stash our luggage, necessitating a little rearranging of other suitcases. Bending over to help, I was suddenly mystified by an icy liquid splashing to the floor and onto carry-on bags as my limeade turned upside down and spilled everywhere through the straw and lid opening..
The conductor had given us cardboard markers, #52 and #53, to tuck under the metal strip above our seats. Going up and down two cars looking for our spaces, we finally located them only to find someone was sitting in one. She looked confused and started to move, but a young girl offered her seat to us so we could sit together. By this time, I was tired and cross, and Howard was out of breath from struggling with the luggage. The trip was losing some of its luster, and now, having reached Ft. Worth, we were having this delay!
A little later the voice came on again, saying it would be another half-hour, which extended to an indefinite time that the train, which was carrying a load of coal, could be moved. I kept my eye on the coal-laden train, and I could see it hadn't moved an inch! After an hour had gone by, the conductor was offering people refunds on their tickets and a chance to travel the next day. We couldn't do that! I tried unsuccessfully to reach our son Trevor, who had taken us to lunch during our scheduled layover here earlier and had since gone home, about an hour's distance away.
Egged on by the promises that we would take off soon, we sat with bated breath until the conductor came in and offered everyone free coffee. There were no takers from the disgruntled passengers. We had told our son Greg, who was to meet us in Oklahoma, of the situation, so he and his son decided to take in a movie to fill the time. When we were still there after the movie, he offered to drive the 3 hours to come and get us.
Meanwhile, Trevor called us back and was appalled at our predicament. We had been waiting five hours for a new engine to be hooked up to the stalled train. "I'll come and get you right now!" he exclaimed. We grabbed our bags, got a refund, and waited for him inside the station. He was there almost immediately.
After a few suggestions about a way for us to get home, our sons decided that Trevor would drive us to the Oklahoma line, where Greg would come south to meet us. It worked! We were all tired, but not as tired as we would be when we finally got home at 3:30 in the morning! It wouldn't have been so bad, but I I had been awake for more than 24 hours having awakened early that morning! My bed never felt so good! My prayers of thanks to God included thanks for our wonderful sons!
Thursday, June 12, 2014
A Few of My Favorite Things
"Anne-Marie, what makes you so full of vinegar tonight?" my daughter-in-law Tammy asked her 7-year-old daughter as she bounced around in animated conversation.
Overhearing, her 5-year-old sister Maddie piped up, "I didn't have any vinegar today!" I'm not sure if she is even familiar with vinegar, but this is typical of her remarks that keep me entertained.
When I was unpacking on our arrival here, Maddie came into the room carrying a handful of tangled yarn. "Mimi, do you know how to sew?" she asked me. When I told her yarn was for knitting, she asked if I knew how to knit, which I don't. Today it must have still been on her mind, for I heard her say thoughtfully, "I bet my other grandma knows how to knit!"
We were preparing to go out yesterday, and my husband decided to stay home. Anne-Marie found out her Pa Pa wasn't going, so she put up a plea to stay home, too. I knew she was a little homebody, but I asked her why she didn't want to go. "Well," she said, "if we were going to the Lego store, I would want to go. Or if I was going to a friend's house, I would want to go." Then, thinking harder, the thoughtful little miss said, "And if it was church, I would really want to go, or if I didn't know where we were going I would want to go."
"Well, we don't know where we are going," I reasoned, although I knew a couple of places we might go, to which she answered, "Yes, I heard Dad say you were going to Sam's Club." I get it. The unknown factor might still present possibilities in her mind, I guess.
Last night was church, and Anne-Marie could hardly wait. When I came down from upstairs she met me at the door, freshly bathed and shampooed, wearing a longish summer dress with sandals and fairly dancing with excitement. After church, dashing in and out among her friends in the spacious foyer, she was a vision of loveliness, her blonde hair bouncing and the purple dress, longer in the back, floating after her.
No wonder she likes church so much. I had read a sheaf of papers held by a magnetic clip on their refrigerator that Anne-Marie had typed (yes, she types) as part of her homeschooling. One was about kids' church. "First, we have waffles," she wrote, "Chocolate chip or plain." (This was for Sunday mornings.) "Then we have worship. Sometimes we feel angels," she continued. She went on about games they play, the story, and songs they sing.
Other pages were about her baby brother ("His face makes him cute."), or "How to Give a Baby a Bath," the last step being, "Hug and kiss the clean baby."
And that is one of my favorite things about my visit, hugging and kissing the baby!
Overhearing, her 5-year-old sister Maddie piped up, "I didn't have any vinegar today!" I'm not sure if she is even familiar with vinegar, but this is typical of her remarks that keep me entertained.
When I was unpacking on our arrival here, Maddie came into the room carrying a handful of tangled yarn. "Mimi, do you know how to sew?" she asked me. When I told her yarn was for knitting, she asked if I knew how to knit, which I don't. Today it must have still been on her mind, for I heard her say thoughtfully, "I bet my other grandma knows how to knit!"
We were preparing to go out yesterday, and my husband decided to stay home. Anne-Marie found out her Pa Pa wasn't going, so she put up a plea to stay home, too. I knew she was a little homebody, but I asked her why she didn't want to go. "Well," she said, "if we were going to the Lego store, I would want to go. Or if I was going to a friend's house, I would want to go." Then, thinking harder, the thoughtful little miss said, "And if it was church, I would really want to go, or if I didn't know where we were going I would want to go."
"Well, we don't know where we are going," I reasoned, although I knew a couple of places we might go, to which she answered, "Yes, I heard Dad say you were going to Sam's Club." I get it. The unknown factor might still present possibilities in her mind, I guess.
Last night was church, and Anne-Marie could hardly wait. When I came down from upstairs she met me at the door, freshly bathed and shampooed, wearing a longish summer dress with sandals and fairly dancing with excitement. After church, dashing in and out among her friends in the spacious foyer, she was a vision of loveliness, her blonde hair bouncing and the purple dress, longer in the back, floating after her.
No wonder she likes church so much. I had read a sheaf of papers held by a magnetic clip on their refrigerator that Anne-Marie had typed (yes, she types) as part of her homeschooling. One was about kids' church. "First, we have waffles," she wrote, "Chocolate chip or plain." (This was for Sunday mornings.) "Then we have worship. Sometimes we feel angels," she continued. She went on about games they play, the story, and songs they sing.
Other pages were about her baby brother ("His face makes him cute."), or "How to Give a Baby a Bath," the last step being, "Hug and kiss the clean baby."
And that is one of my favorite things about my visit, hugging and kissing the baby!
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