The fresh insight and input of my children into my day is almost a guarantee against boredom around home. For instance, today Jamie is making yogurt. No, he didn't get a yogurt-making machine for Christmas, but he did check out a book from the school library before Christmas entitled, "Recipes for Science Fun." Although he looked high and low for it to return it before Christmas vacation, his efforts failed to unearth it. Of course, it did turn up for that two-week stint at home, and has been driving me up the wall ever since.
First, he wanted to make butter--simple enough, but I'd bought the modern, pre-whipped version of the cream he wanted as I made my Christmas dinner purchases. And he tried for weeks to assemble the ingredients for making mayonnaise. Mom again turned out to be maddeningly forgetful in the supermarket. (It called for dry mustard.)
But today he prevailed upon me to get the necessary starter carton of yogurt, whole milk, (I usually buy low-fat), and dry milk for his project. ("Did you notice me reading the label on the yogurt in the store, Mom? It had to be the kind with the live yogurt culture in it.") He'd done his homework, I had to admit.
First he poured the special quart carton of milk he'd bought into a pan, along with the powdered milk. Without a cooking thermometer, he could only guess when it reached the required 180 degrees. ("I know it's 32 degrees below the boiling point,") he reasoned. So when a scum had formed, he decided it was long enough.
"Mom, get me a clean jar, rewash it to make sure it's very clean, or the bacteria won't grow," were his instructions to me.
"That's funny, I thought that's when they grew best," I mumbled under my breath. "Why aren't you doing this yourself?" I asked as I rinsed out the jar.
He stirred furiously at the stove. "Can't you see I'm too busy? Now warm it up under the hot water again."
Just now the phone rang as he called from his friend's house. "Did you remember to turn the heat on under my yogurt for a few minutes at 5:00 o'clock?" he asked urgently. "No, but I'm doing it right now," was my guilty reply.
When he called again to see if I was tending his yogurt, I asked how long this was going to go on. I smiled as his terse reply made me realize how important this was to him. "Until 7:40."
So now I'm baby-sitting a very large pot of water containing a quart of yogurt-in-the-making. Tomorrow, that book's going back to the library.
Later, when Trevor came in, I was telling him about some trouble we'd had with one of the office phones. "You can hardly hear on it," I told him. "If you really want to hear, you have to turn off the typewriter, turn off the copier, and close the door on the sound of the vacuum cleaner . When they deliver the computer we ordered, we'll have to turn that off, too, I guess."
"That's called low-level noise, Mom," he said. "It's very harmful. It can induce hypertension."
"Well, I do feel tense sometimes," I ventured.
"Well, it might not bother you consciously, but your subconscious picks it up and it causes stress."
"How do you know all this?" I questioned.
"I saw a documentary on it the other night. The stress level on people in offices has picked up considerably since the advent of the computer," he went on knowledgeably. "It affects animals, too. It puts out vibrations that drive mice crazy."
"How?" I laughed.
"They pick up the computer noise as a mating signal: it confuses them and they chew up the wiring."
Thankfully, we don't have mice. (I don't think.)
When I thought about these seemingly unrelated incidents, I realized they had something in common. They are both dealing with the small, the seemingly insignificant. The noise factor: nothing big--just a little racket here and there. A hum, a whirr, a buzz--but adding up to a creeping, insidious lethal-ness. Like the Bible says, "It's the little foxes that spoil the vines."
I could easily recognize as noise pollution the loud music teenagers listen to, or as sins the ones listed in the "Thou shalt not's". But what about the jibes, the unkindness's, the white lie, the exaggerations--the petty sins?
On the other hand, the tablespoon of yogurt culture reproduced itself as a whole quart of yield after the prescribed time had elapsed. "A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump." Here, however, the effect was good. It changed the milk sugar into lactic acid, retarding spoilage and creating a changed milk product that would keep without refrigeration.
This is how we should leaven the lives of those around us. The shared light of the Gospel in our witness, however small, can germinate and grow, changing for all eternity the fate of others.
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
Friday, April 24, 2020
It Won't be long Now!
"It won't be long now!" I remember reading this on a billboard advertising the opening of a new bank in the town where I grew up. A picture of a young girl holding a pair of scissors over one of her blonde braids was artistically displayed on the billboard, no doubt catching the eyes of those driving past who couldn't miss the message.
I was reminded of this when I read a text from my granddaughter, Sarah, the picture showing a handful of blonde hair which could only come from her 4-year-old daughter, Liannah. Yep, she had cut her hair in Sarah's absence while her mom was at the store, and daddy was not looking!
It almost seems like a rite of passage, since many kids get the scissors and start whacking when the urge strikes them. My granddaughter, Bethany, then 4 or 5, altered her bangs right before she was to be a flower girl in her aunt's wedding! Thankfully, her blonde curls helped camouflage her hair-do.
When asked why she scissored her bangs, her response was, "My hair was getting in my eyes, so I cut it, that's why!"
I remember when grandson Reid was about that age and cut his hair in front. In love with the magic of scissors, I realized he got carried away when I found slashes on garments in my clothes closet, and re-designed dust ruffles on my bed!
More recently, grandson Isaac, 3 at the time, found a thread on his sock, so he cut it off. When his dad asked him about it, and if he had also cut his hair. Isaac's response was, "Yes, but I didn't use a knife!"
Evidently, he had been cautioned about knives, so he chose something that would work both ways!
Kids! Gotta love 'em, and what would we do without them!
I was reminded of this when I read a text from my granddaughter, Sarah, the picture showing a handful of blonde hair which could only come from her 4-year-old daughter, Liannah. Yep, she had cut her hair in Sarah's absence while her mom was at the store, and daddy was not looking!
It almost seems like a rite of passage, since many kids get the scissors and start whacking when the urge strikes them. My granddaughter, Bethany, then 4 or 5, altered her bangs right before she was to be a flower girl in her aunt's wedding! Thankfully, her blonde curls helped camouflage her hair-do.
When asked why she scissored her bangs, her response was, "My hair was getting in my eyes, so I cut it, that's why!"
I remember when grandson Reid was about that age and cut his hair in front. In love with the magic of scissors, I realized he got carried away when I found slashes on garments in my clothes closet, and re-designed dust ruffles on my bed!
More recently, grandson Isaac, 3 at the time, found a thread on his sock, so he cut it off. When his dad asked him about it, and if he had also cut his hair. Isaac's response was, "Yes, but I didn't use a knife!"
Evidently, he had been cautioned about knives, so he chose something that would work both ways!
Kids! Gotta love 'em, and what would we do without them!
Thursday, April 23, 2020
Roots
When my phone died awhile back, son Greg blessed me with a new, fancy phone that I am still getting used to! Maybe it's just me, but sometimes I still can't figure out some of it's quirks. Yesterday Greg called and was trying to instruct me on Face time calls, to no avail, until granddaughter Bethany showed up.
In no time, she clicked to the right feature, and I was immediately seeing our son! What a great discovery! Suddenly we were right at home in his house! How heart-warming to see his familiar kitchen, with grandson Adam coming in from an errand, and even the family pet, Pebbles, looking hale and hearty despite her 13 or 14 years and having lost her hearing!
Soon Greg was showing us his guitar room, with all his beloved instruments displayed on the wall of sturdy hooks attached firmly to a base. Some guitars were unique in size and shape, and others he was working on to restore like new.
Today I see a picture of granddaughter, Beth, holding a pair of baby turkeys! Something tells me the place will soon be home to more critters, but what's a farm for? We loved being there when Greg and his dad raised pigs, chickens and a pasture full of goats!
It is beautiful here in Tennessee, but I can't help missing Oklahoma, "In the Oklahoma hills where I was born!"
In no time, she clicked to the right feature, and I was immediately seeing our son! What a great discovery! Suddenly we were right at home in his house! How heart-warming to see his familiar kitchen, with grandson Adam coming in from an errand, and even the family pet, Pebbles, looking hale and hearty despite her 13 or 14 years and having lost her hearing!
Soon Greg was showing us his guitar room, with all his beloved instruments displayed on the wall of sturdy hooks attached firmly to a base. Some guitars were unique in size and shape, and others he was working on to restore like new.
Today I see a picture of granddaughter, Beth, holding a pair of baby turkeys! Something tells me the place will soon be home to more critters, but what's a farm for? We loved being there when Greg and his dad raised pigs, chickens and a pasture full of goats!
It is beautiful here in Tennessee, but I can't help missing Oklahoma, "In the Oklahoma hills where I was born!"
Monday, April 20, 2020
Things that go Bump in the Night
Was I dreaming? Coming back to wakefulness, I heard a muffled sound. Then, crash! What was that? I woke my sleeping husband so he could listen. It must have been 2:00 in the morning, but we lay quietly listening for a long time. Then we crept out of bed to see if anything was amiss. Everything was in place, with no disturbance, so we went back to sleep.
This morning, I surmised it was probably a cat on the porch, maybe knocking over a feeding dish or jumping from a chair, making a noise. Anyway, we slept through, even getting up a little late.
Looking back, I thought about how the uncertainty of night can make us fearful. If a child gets sick, it is often in the night. Worries of this and that may seem insurmountable and can keep us awake. Recalling the song, "I Met the Master" which tells the story of a blind man who walked in darkness until he met the Master, and, as the song says, "He walked no more in the night."
Yesterday had been a blessed day, with our Drive-In worship service, some social-distancing from other cars and listening to our pastor's message. The skies were iffy with dark clouds, but someone had thoughtfully erected a smart, blue canvas tent cover over posts on the truck platform to keep the preacher dry in case of rain, which thankfully, didn't happen.
Later, the sky became clear for our ride home as we traversed the picturesque, rolling roadway. Cheered and refreshed by the church service and looking forward to the meal waiting in the Instant Pot, followed by phoning kids, we were walking in the Light!
This morning, I surmised it was probably a cat on the porch, maybe knocking over a feeding dish or jumping from a chair, making a noise. Anyway, we slept through, even getting up a little late.
Looking back, I thought about how the uncertainty of night can make us fearful. If a child gets sick, it is often in the night. Worries of this and that may seem insurmountable and can keep us awake. Recalling the song, "I Met the Master" which tells the story of a blind man who walked in darkness until he met the Master, and, as the song says, "He walked no more in the night."
Yesterday had been a blessed day, with our Drive-In worship service, some social-distancing from other cars and listening to our pastor's message. The skies were iffy with dark clouds, but someone had thoughtfully erected a smart, blue canvas tent cover over posts on the truck platform to keep the preacher dry in case of rain, which thankfully, didn't happen.
Later, the sky became clear for our ride home as we traversed the picturesque, rolling roadway. Cheered and refreshed by the church service and looking forward to the meal waiting in the Instant Pot, followed by phoning kids, we were walking in the Light!
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
A Day in the Life
Well, Howard and I wore our new masks to Walmart today. He had to get a prescription, and I needed Band-Aids. We were surprised that more people didn't wear the protective masks. Mostly employees, such as pharmacists and grocery checkers wore them, with occasional shoppers wearing everything from a nose mask to a make-shift covering.
Wearing my reversible green/khaki mask, I was sitting on a bench waiting for Howard, when a man walked by and smilingly said something to me. Later, I realized he had said, "Did you make it yourself?" Then as he walked on he said, "I like it; it looks good!"
I didn't get the chance to tell him a thoughtful friend from Texas sent one for me, and one for Howard, too!
Placing the stretchy, comfortable Band-Aid around a scrape on my finger, I read on the box that washing your hands would not make the Band-Aid come off. It seems that this small strip of bandage has come a long way, since it's invention by a man named Earl Dickson, who worked as a cotton buyer for Johnson & Johnson many years ago.
Reading about the making of the Band-Aid, I learned that Mr. Dickson's wife was always cutting or burning her hands when she cooked. Her thoughtful, inventive husband experimented with various bandages, gauze squares, and other possibilities to help her. Finally, after much experimenting, he came up with one that pleased his wife very much. And I guess the rest is history!
Another reason we had ventured out to Walmart was because Howard had lost his cane. Somehow he left it somewhere, and today he bought a new one. The old one was a polished, wooden cane that he liked very much, but he was pleased with the adjustable, metal cane he got today. It really does fit him better than the one he lost. All's well that ends well!
Wearing my reversible green/khaki mask, I was sitting on a bench waiting for Howard, when a man walked by and smilingly said something to me. Later, I realized he had said, "Did you make it yourself?" Then as he walked on he said, "I like it; it looks good!"
I didn't get the chance to tell him a thoughtful friend from Texas sent one for me, and one for Howard, too!
Placing the stretchy, comfortable Band-Aid around a scrape on my finger, I read on the box that washing your hands would not make the Band-Aid come off. It seems that this small strip of bandage has come a long way, since it's invention by a man named Earl Dickson, who worked as a cotton buyer for Johnson & Johnson many years ago.
Reading about the making of the Band-Aid, I learned that Mr. Dickson's wife was always cutting or burning her hands when she cooked. Her thoughtful, inventive husband experimented with various bandages, gauze squares, and other possibilities to help her. Finally, after much experimenting, he came up with one that pleased his wife very much. And I guess the rest is history!
Another reason we had ventured out to Walmart was because Howard had lost his cane. Somehow he left it somewhere, and today he bought a new one. The old one was a polished, wooden cane that he liked very much, but he was pleased with the adjustable, metal cane he got today. It really does fit him better than the one he lost. All's well that ends well!
Tuesday, April 7, 2020
Our Father's World
"Let's walk down to see the donkeys," I suggested to my husband. It would be good to get out of the house for some fresh air. He agreed, and we walked to the back of the property where they are fenced in.
The donkeys were nowhere to be seen, but we were enjoying the outdoors anyway, also admiring the blossoms on the dogwood trees. I decided to try to get the cute animal's attention by calling them. So I did a donkey impersonation, yelling, "Hee-haw!" To our surprise, they came wending their way through the trees and were soon looking up at us. They were a little reluctant to being petted, though.
"Look at the cross on their backs!" I pointed out to Howard. Sure enough a black stripe went down their backs, and another streak crossed their shoulders. I had read somewhere that donkeys have a cross on their back, representing Jesus's death on the cross.
I also thought of Jesus riding on the donkey in his triumphant entry into Jerusalem, and the donkey that carried his mother with the growing secret inside her.
I plucked a beautiful dogwood blossom, examining it and thinking of the legend that the four petals represent the cross, and the reddish-brown smudges at the tip of each petal represents Jesus' shed blood. The one at the top for his crown of thorns, the ones on each side for the nail prints, and the lower petal calling to mind the spike in the feet of our Lord.
In any ordinary year, this past Sunday would have been celebrated in churches as Palm Sunday, as the crowd back then waved palm branches to welcome Jesus. Next Sunday, Easter Sunday, our church will celebrate His resurrection! Not everyone can be in or at a church, probably watching online. Weather permitting, plans are that our church will worship outside in a Drive-In service. Wherever people meet, the theme will no doubt be, "He is Risen!"
The donkeys were nowhere to be seen, but we were enjoying the outdoors anyway, also admiring the blossoms on the dogwood trees. I decided to try to get the cute animal's attention by calling them. So I did a donkey impersonation, yelling, "Hee-haw!" To our surprise, they came wending their way through the trees and were soon looking up at us. They were a little reluctant to being petted, though.
"Look at the cross on their backs!" I pointed out to Howard. Sure enough a black stripe went down their backs, and another streak crossed their shoulders. I had read somewhere that donkeys have a cross on their back, representing Jesus's death on the cross.
I also thought of Jesus riding on the donkey in his triumphant entry into Jerusalem, and the donkey that carried his mother with the growing secret inside her.
I plucked a beautiful dogwood blossom, examining it and thinking of the legend that the four petals represent the cross, and the reddish-brown smudges at the tip of each petal represents Jesus' shed blood. The one at the top for his crown of thorns, the ones on each side for the nail prints, and the lower petal calling to mind the spike in the feet of our Lord.
In any ordinary year, this past Sunday would have been celebrated in churches as Palm Sunday, as the crowd back then waved palm branches to welcome Jesus. Next Sunday, Easter Sunday, our church will celebrate His resurrection! Not everyone can be in or at a church, probably watching online. Weather permitting, plans are that our church will worship outside in a Drive-In service. Wherever people meet, the theme will no doubt be, "He is Risen!"
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