Black Gold

   I’ve said it before but I must say it again, memories are funny things.  When the good ones come to mind, triggered by a sound, a smell or a tangible object, it’s like taking a mini vacation.  Transported back in time to a place that warms your heart, makes you smile and laugh to yourself.  No one else can really travel there with you but oh how I love to share the story as it appears in my mind!  I love to share those moments with my kids in hopes that one day, when something triggers a memory for them, they will think about me and the stories I told them.  Still to this day I think the reason the hot dogs at Bunyans and Dick Howell’s (fine bbq joints in Florence Alabama!) are so flat is because my grandfather use to tell me that there were large women in the kitchen who sat on them before they wrapped them in paper and handed them out.  Truth is, they probably use a griddle but that’s not the story papaw told me, and I like my memory better (as long as I don’t think to hard about someone’s back side sitting on my hot dog).

   We have been at the lake for almost 2 weeks.  Monday we had “gone into town” (that’s what you say if you are going from Langston to the big metropolis of Scottsboro) and on our way back I spotted an older man and woman on the side of the road.  As we got closer I realized they were picking blackberries.  I almost couldn’t contain my excitement as I pointed it out to Abbie and Michael.  They however, were not nearly as interested as I was.  But that was because it wasn’t just a man and a woman I saw.  In that split second I saw my mom, my Aunt Judy and 4 little grungy looking kids – picking blackberries.  Mom and Judy use to load us up and take us to pick blackberries.  Now I’m not talking about a play date to a blackberry farm, nope, I’m talking cow pastures, side of dirt roads and WAY off the beaten path kind of places.  And did I mention it was always at least 120 degrees in those places?  And LOTS of briars?  We hated it.  All four of us kids.  But still they took us with them.  And then we would return home with our black gold, having eaten almost as many as we picked and sporting a nice sweat ring under our necks.  I know what your thinking- that doesn’t sound too much like a “good” memory, more like a torturous one!  But that’s the thing I’ve learned about memories- as most of them are being created I’m not thinking to much about how “one day I’m going to look back on this with fond memories.”  Except for last night.  After dinner Abbie asked me to go on a walk with her.  Honestly, I really didn’t want to.  We had just eaten dinner and cleaned the kitchen and I had just plopped myself down on the couch.  And I’m at the lake, everyone knows you don’t exercise at the lake! But then it hit me, these are the little things that memories are made of, so I put on my socks and shoes and started out the door.  Before we headed out, I decided to grab a plastic bag in case we saw any blackberries.  Abbie didn’t seem as thrilled about the prospect as me.  So we walked, and about a half a block away from the house I spotted the first gold mine.  And like a beautiful bush loaded with berries will do, it drew us in, briars and all.  I watched Abbie as we got deeper into the brush and when I heard her say, “wait, just let me get these few more”, it was at that moment that I heard my own voice and that of my sister and cousins, in some cow pasture miles and years from where I was standing and it was good.  Not torturous but a memory that made me smile and laugh to myself, and some 40 years later I start a memory with my own daughter, 120 degree heat, briars and sweat, but even more beautiful than the 40 year old ones in my head.  I’m glad I didn’t say no to the “exercise”.

A Mother Ponders

   I don’t know about you but sometimes God just puts a verse on my mind and in my heart that I can’t let go of.   For the last week or so, I can’t get this one out of my mind, “But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19)  I have read this verse at least 1000 times.  However, I don’t think I’ve ever “pondered” them in May.  Nope, I’m pretty certain the only time I’ve ever read or pondered this verse is in December (you know, as part of the “Christmas story”), which is why it struck me odd that it just kept sticking in my mind lately.  This morning it hit me like a rocket as I realized where this verse was leading me!  I have committed myself to praying for two friends in particular during this season in their life.  My sweet friend J has twins that are graduating in just a couple of weeks and will be leaving in a few short months to go off to college.  My other dear friend KB has one son who is graduating from high school this month, another son who just graduated from college last week and he will be getting married in a few days.  WOW!  That’s a lot of stuff for those two women to ponder! 

   As I pray for these ladies each day, I can’t help but think about that verse in Luke.  “Mary treasured up ALL these things and pondered them in her heart.”  I think back a few weeks ago to Michael’s last soccer game of the season.  As the game ended I turned around to see some of my soccer mom peeps visibly upset.  After seeing them, I was very glad that I had not stood up and given a great big “woo hoo, soccer season is over!”  It took me a minute to realize they were crying because they had just witnessed their son’s last soccer game.  And as I think back to their faces, I know they must have been treasuring up their son’s last game and tucking it away in their heart with all the other first’s and last’s.

    I love this commentary that I read, “Mary kept all these things - All that happened, and all that was said respecting her child. She "remembered" what the angel had said to "her;" what had happened to Elizabeth and to the shepherds - all the extraordinary circumstances which had attended the birth of her son. Here is a delicate and beautiful expression of the feelings of a mother. A "mother" forgets none of those things which occur respecting her children. Everything they do or suffer - everything that is said of them, is treasured up in her mind; and often she thinks of those things, and anxiously seeks what they may indicate respecting the future character and welfare of her child.”

   So I guess the truth is, as I’ve been praying for my friends and the changes ahead for them I can’t help but think of the things I’ve treasured up too.   Before Michael was born and there was only an Abbie, I wondered how I could ever love another child as much as I did her. I wondered how you divide your heart between two children.  Then Michael came along and I got it – your heart doesn’t divide, it multiplies and then you wonder, how is it humanly possible for a heart to love this much?  And mixed in the love, you start treasuring it all up.  I know that is what J and KB are seeing right now – everything they have treasured up.  What a beautiful slide show they must be seeing!  I suspect that after huge milestones like these ladies are facing, once again God starts growing our hearts a little bigger, making room for all the new things to be treasured up!  I hope to one day sit on the back porch with these sweet friends, drinking a glass of iced tea and talking about “remember when the kids…..” and then after we finish our tea and have stopped giggling like school girls about “those” days we’ll talk about how wonderfully blessed life has been even when we were going through those emotional milestones.  Of course, that whole back porch story is assuming I remember where the back porch is, how to get there and don’t fall and break a hip on my way out the screen door!  Life is good.  Treasure it up.

Dating My Daughter

    It’s so cliché but time really does go by way to fast.  Especially when you have kids.  Yesterday I had a sweet, little baby girl who held my hand when we walked together, thought her daddy was the ONLY man she would ever love and one day marry, and believed that I could fix everything for her.  That was yesterday.  Today I have a 17 year old, and while we do spend lots of time walking, shopping and going places together she has given up the hand holding.  She still loves her daddy more than any man right now but knows that one day God will place in her life another man to love too.  And sadly, she has learned that I’m just a mom, not super-woman.  I can band-aid a boo boo and I can duct tape the hem of her pants if needed, but she knows that even I have limits to what I can fix for her and that some things she has to fix for herself.  Yesterday I pushed her on the swings, today we drive to college pre-view days.  Time flies.

    But with all the changes in growing up a daughter, nothing, nothing starts raising the hair on the back of your neck like when she begins dating.  When my kids were born I began praying for the people they would date and the people they would end up choosing to marry and spend their lives with.  I’ve prayed for 17 years for the faceless boys that would knock on my door to take my daughter on a date.  I’ve prayed for their parents too.  I’ve actually been pleasantly surprised to see the face of some of these boys I’ve been praying for.  Proof that God hears our prayers.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I know at some time there MAY be a young man show up that surprises me, one that makes me think, “Seriously God?” but for now, Mike and I approve of the record.  So when I think about this there are some things I realize that are important to me as Abbie’s mom that these boys should know.  And in case you have a boy that wants to date my daughter, or you happen to be a boy that wants to date my daughter, these are some things you need to know about me and about dating her.

Before you date her, you’ll need to know a little bit about me… and her Dad!

If you want to date my daughter, I will try to figure out what kind of boy you are before you spend time with her.  I will ask you a lot of questions and make sure you know how special my daughter is.  When you get to know her, you’ll get to know me too (isn't that great!).  I will creep up on and stalk your facebook, twitter, instagram and any other form of communication in order to see how you talk to other people and what kind of friends you hang out with.  I don’t call it being nosy, I call it being a mom.  As for her dad, he thinks she hung the moon.  Nuff said.

Manners are manly

I know you have been taught them, so use your manners.  Not just to impress me, but when you are with her also.  If you don’t have or use manners you are not the one I’ve been praying for and obviously not God sent.  If you want to spend time with my daughter I will insist that you treat her like a lady and respect her the way you do your own mother. So open the door for her, look me in the eye when you talk to me and shake her daddy’s hand.  I shouldn’t even have to say this one BUT if your come to pick up my daughter and your pants are hanging below your underwear I am going to assume you have some sort of parasite and have lost a lot of weight.  In which case I will offer you a belt, some duct tape (that I will personally adhere to your pants and underwear myself) or I will ask that you go home and come back when your weight has increased enough to hold up your britches.   Never, ever come to my house and wait in the car for my daughter.  I want to see your face.

God and school come first

If she says she can’t go with you because she is going to church – then she is going to church, meet her there.  If her grades drop when she is dating you, you will be dropped.

The Last Words

If she chooses to spend her time with you, her dad and I expect you to protect her and keep her safe, just as if she were your best friend, your sister or your mother.  Never put her in a situation where she is threatened or feels the need to call me (she knows she can, and that would not prove good for you).

For 17 years we have instilled values into our daughter.  As she has grown up, she has added to those her own set of values.  Respect those.  That is not optional.  She is a wonderful, beautiful, loving, Godly creature who means the world to us.  You are a blessed young man if she chooses to share her time with you.  Respect that.  And while you are at it….. get her home on time.  This looks like the beginning of a beautiful relationship –  you, her and me.

Signed,

Her mom

Character Flaws

    My sweet Abbie tells me if I’m going to blog I MUST be more consistent.  I’ve thought about that comment and here’s the conclusion I’ve come to:  I’m just not very consistent about many things.  It’s a character flaw.  Sadly, not my only flaw.  Gasp!  What?  There’s more you ask?  I’m just going to lay it all out on the line.  I’m terrible at being consistent, I can’t seem to get the hang of moderation, and I don’t know how to sit still, rest or be quiet.  Wow, sounds like I’m 13 years old instead of.  Never mind.  I expect one day when my kids are grown they will be telling their therapist, “You know, one day I’d leave my clothes all over the floor and she would just step right over them and never say a word.  The next day she would bolt into my room, her head spinning around, smoke coming from her ears and shouting ‘ how many times have I told you to pick up after yourself?’ We just never knew.  There was no consistency.”  And we aren’t even going to get started talking about moderation!  But here is the one that’s been on my mind and heart all week – be still.  Oh, I hate that.  I try to ignore that still, small voice that says, “Pam, come sit.  Be still.  And know that I am God.”  Ohhhhh, that is so hard!  Not the “know that I am God” part but the “be still” part.  I’m not sure why I find that so difficult, maybe I’m the one who needs a therapist!  This week, over and over I kept feeling that tug –be still- be still- be still.  So finally, I did.  I got quiet and I got still.  You know there is such peace in those moments (why the heck don’t I do that more often???).  As I sat in my favorite chair (old person alert, that’s what they do) and just listened I could feel myself being filled and renewed. 

    I think probably the only time I have been still for any length of time was when Mike was going through his cancer.  I found that my new normal then was “be still and wait”.  Wait on doctors, wait on test results, wait on treatment, wait on answers, wait, wait, wait.  And while I waited, I was still.  I was held captive at doctor’s offices, hospitals, and sometimes even my own house.  It took a while for me to settle in to it, but that was my normal for that season in life.  You want to know what was great about that?  When I was still (and most of the time empty) that was when my dependency on God was the greatest.  That was when we would meet.  God and me.  In the stillness.  And there in the stillness he filled me up and renewed my strength, day after day.  I shared this week with a friend who’s daughter is battling cancer, that those times reminded me of when the manna came down from heaven for the Israelites. God sent just enough to sustain them for the day-just what they needed.  They couldn't store it up or save it, they got just enough to get through each day.  What I find when I live like that is that it brings me to a wonderful place of dependency on the one who can really carry all my burdens, sorrows, hurts and pains, and share in my joys and blessings.  I find that I'm where I need to be - dependent on God and not on my own self (I tend to like to fix everything myself!).  So here’s the thing, now there is no cancer (THANK YOU JESUS!!) or no crisis holding me captive.  This season, right now, I have to make myself be still.  I have to make the appointment to meet Him, in the quietness, in the stillness.  I use to think a true test of one’s character was how we acted or reacted during those times of crisis, but now I’m realizing for me, maybe an even better judge of my character is how I handle myself during those “easy” times.   I think the truth is – I need to quit trying to store up my manna.  (Ouch, the truth hurts!)  I think a renewed commitment to being still and being quiet (at least during my time with Him) is in order.  I guess that would also help with my “lack of consistency” problem too.  And the whole problem with not understanding moderation, well let me just deal with my flaws one flaw at a time.  Maybe I will begin working on moderation next week – along with procrastination.  Manna, just enough for today.

Art, Band or PE?

    Friday night our friends Robb and Cassie came over for dinner.  We’ve been friends for what seems like a lifetime but really is probably only like 14 years.  Maybe it seems like a lifetime because we’ve shared a lot of special moments, or maybe because Robb was our Sunday school teacher for several years, or MAYBE because Cassie and I have the same maiden name and are convinced that somewhere way back there, we are indeed related.  Doesn’t really matter, we enjoy their company because they are always good for a few laughs. 

     The evening started with us sinking our teeth into some homemade (ok, semi-homemade) focaccia bread and fresh checca while Cassie and I prepared dinner and the guys talked about guns and Alaska and trucks and Big Green Eggs.  (I LOVE having friends in the kitchen cooking with me!)   Mike and Robb had been on a mission trip to Alaska a while back and we were still holding on to one last pack of halibut that Mike caught while on the trip (they fished AFTER they spend several days helping build a church, in case you are wondering).  I had searched high and low for a good halibut recipe but couldn’t find anything that was tempting my taste buds.  So, I thought to myself about how I wanted the meal (particularly the fish) to taste.  And with those thoughts, Cassie and I cooked together some melt-in-your mouth, slap-your-mama, halibut!  (More about the recipe later).

   So we are sitting at the table, thoroughly enjoying our meal.  And as usual, in grown-up life, our kids were mentioned.  The Wilson’s shared with us about an art project their son had done.  Cassie had a picture of the drawing and I must say--- it was very impressive!  Of course seeing such an impressive art project caused my mind to flood with memoires of my art class, circa 1976 (ouch) and I felt a need to share with my friends those special memories. 

      When I was in middle school (called Jr. High School in Florence, Alabama) you had a choice.  You could choose to take art, band or PE.  I chose the least of those three evils, which is why I have an “art project” memory.  I did not choose band because:  1. My parents refused to pay for an instrument; 2. The only attempt I ever made toward anything musical was piano lessons in 2^nd grade.  Best I remember that lasted about 3 weeks. And 3. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.  Seriously.  I like to sing and I enjoy my own singing but it has come to my attention over the years that not everyone else enjoys my “special” voice like I do.  So based on those reasons, band was not for me.  Next up – PE. 

   Quite possibly the only thing worse than my singing ability is my athletic ability.  When I was in 6^th grade my parents thought it would be a good idea to sign me up for rec basketball.  Why?  Why would you sign up a short, chubby girl for basketball?  I have never enjoyed running, I don’t like to sweat and I’ve never, ever been over 5 feet tall.  Now I don’t know if this memory is completely accurate but this is how I remember it.  For this particular league, they didn’t count points during the third quarter so guess who ALWAYS got to play during the third quarter?  EVERY short, chubby girl!  Not one of my fondest childhood memories.  I don’t even remember if I ever scored a point (let’s pretend I did).  Of course, I’m sure it greatly helped my self-esteem when at the end of the season the family was so complimentary of how I had “slimmed down”.   I’m seriously laughing as I type this.  Really, what were Ken and Ruth thinking?  So, as you can see, PE was also not a choice for my Jr. High elective.  And that left me with art class.

    I’m sure it crossed my mind, “How hard can an art class be?”  This is how I remember it going down….. We had to choose an animal and make a paper mache’ replica of it.  I chose a dog.  I remember having 4 long balloons for the legs, a large oval one for the body and a round one for the head.  I applied paper and all that gooey stuff until my balloons were well wrapped.  Oh, and did I mention that in addition to not liking to sweat, I HATE to stick my hands in gooey, messy, glue-like stuff.  Alrighty.  By the end of the day, the paper mache’ dog had dried enough for me to take home and finish.  Mom and I went out and bought white fur to attach to the dog so he would be a cute, soft, sweet-looking pup.  What I didn’t anticipate was that as the balloons dried some of them would shrink, but I covered my dog in fur anyway.  The next morning, mortified, I went to school with my white furry dog.  Some of the leg balloons had shrunk so none of the legs were the same length.  The body balloon had also shrunk but the head had not.   And somehow, his body was more square than round.  Looking back now, maybe a basketball career would have been the best choice.  It’s ok.  You can laugh.  I’m laughing too.

   So that was the dinner table topic on Friday night.  Fortunately for me, Mike, Robb and Cassie redeemed me by saying that although I may not have excelled in Art, Band or PE, our meal was OFF THE CHARTS!  I’m thankful for a husband and good friends who love you even when they know your ugly parts. 

Our dinner menu:

     Roasted pear salad- Anjou pears stuffed with craisins, blue cheese and walnuts.  Baked in a marinade of apple cider, brown sugar and port, served on top of spring mix and drizzled with a dressing of olive oil, fresh lemon juice and a couple tablespoons of the marinade. (recipe of Barefoot Contessa)

    Halibut – salt, pepper and pan seared in a hot pan.  Remove from pan.  Brown diced pancetta in same pan.  Add a couple tablespoons of butter and fresh squeezed lemon juice. (recipe from my head)

   White cheddar cheese grits with chives – cook grits in water and half and half.  When done, add butter, white cheddar, fresh chives, salt and pepper. (recipe from my head)

  Focaccia bread with checca – roll out pizza dough (I use the one from Publix’s deli).  Brush with olive oil and use fingers to make indentions into dough.  Bake in 425 degree oven for 5 minutes.  Remove from oven, top with fresh chopped rosemary and sea salt.  Return to oven until nicely browned.  Checca- diced tomatoes, garlic, FRESH basil, olive oil.  Serve with bread. (recipe similar to California Pizza Kitchen)

 Dessert -Cassie’s chocolate pound cake topped with cherry compote, fresh whipped cream and chocolate shavings.