Angels on Earth

David James

David James grew up in my hometown.  

He was a few years my senior, liked and respected by many.  I had the honor of playing in the high school band with him, in the trombone section.  

Back then, I was a pipsqueak freshman and he was every freshman girl's idea of McDreamy... an accomplished athlete, confident and handsome with a thousand-kilowatt smile, and nice to boot. While I don't recall visiting with him one-on-one very much, what I do remember is that he was kind and always carried himself with such class.  It was no surprise to hear that he went on after high school to serve twenty years in the Air Force, both in the Gulf War and Desert Storm.  He really was the kind of guy that would make a career of serving his country with honor.

So the news two weeks ago that David was gunned down in a public park in front of his eight-year-old daughter, while defending some skateboarding kids from an idiot on a rant (you can read the news article here)... it was one of those things that hits you square in the chest as being such a senseless, horrific tragedy.  

David and his family have been on my mind a lot these past couple weeks.  I've been praying for his wife and children, that God grant them peace and comfort... and especially for his little daughter Danielle.  She was at the park that day with her dad to play basketball, a game they both loved.  Even as I write this, long-forgotten memories of David playing basketball for our high school rise to the surface; I have an image in my head of him smiling out there on the court, enjoying the game.  One can only imagine the special bond that David and Danielle shared, for love of the game.

Cledus T. Judd

It seems I'm not the only one whose heart was touched by this sad story.  Today, a friend posted to Facebook an audio in which the musician/comedian Cledus T. Judd read, on the radio, the most incredibly touching letter to Danielle James.  He has never met her, but wanted to reach out to her in the spirit of compassion and friendship.  One can hear the tears in his voice, the true feeling behind his words, and I feel compelled to share it.  Please listen here.


There will always be tragedies and losses in this world; some of them close to home.  It is so difficult to make sense of them... but I thank God for people such as Mr. Judd, who step up and step out in the face of such tragedy, to lift up those who grieve.  While such acts cannot bring back loved ones lost or turn back time, they do bring comfort and restore our faith in humanity.

Thank you, Mr. Cledus T. Judd... and David, may you rest in peace knowing there are angels here on Earth, too.

This Is Your Life.

This was posted on the SweetOnVeg.com blog and I just had to share it.  I may just have to frame it to hang in my kitchen... especially love the "All emotions are beautiful." So true.  There is beauty in tears, in anger, in love... they are what make us human.

Help Me God

Sometimes things happen in life which leave us bereft, lost, hurting so deeply and so afraid, that even a believer cannot form the words to pray.  Challenges seem insurmountable, the night so black and without end.  We've all been there, at some point... every single one of us.  Probably more times than one would care to admit, as being strong and self-reliant is what's valued in this society, after all.

A friend posted this beautiful video to Facebook today, and it literally brought me to my knees.

Sometimes all we can say is, "Help me God.  I'm lost and hurting, I can't see You, but I know You are there. Help me."

I share this for all those who are lost and hurting.


"Help Me God"
    by Kathy Troccoli

Help me God I'm scared
And I'm unprepared to face the night alone
Hear me, hear my prayer
My soul it aches and I've nowhere to go
Help me God

Chorus:
In this dark hour
I know only the power that made the stars
Can mend my heart
Oh I've tried on my own but I'm not that strong
You're all I've got
You're all I've got
Help me God

Sometimes, people leave
And I can grieve cause life's not always fair
help me to hold on
though I can't see you, I believe you're there
I know you're there
Chorus

Haying in October

In all my years as a farm girl, I cannot recall ever putting up hay in October.

So, this would be a first.

Let me just say, for the record, I'm okay with it.  

When you're looking at six months of snow up to your derrière...

and temperatures plunging, at times, to -40F...

and herds of horses and calves looking to you as their sole means of survival...

hay put up at any time of year is good.  But hay put up in October is an unexpected blessing.

As is having kids now old enough to help!

Dad giving instruction to the new driver.

She's twelve.  Going on twenty.  

And driving a five-speed, four-wheel-drive, turbo-diesel pullin' truck.

Daddy does the baling, and he stacks the bales I pitch onto the trailer.

The little one helps too.  She fetched my camera for me. And keeps us in stitches.

Oh, and Grace keeps an eye out for varmints.  

Life is good.

Another Creative Outlet...

It was almost a year ago when my oldest daughter contracted the H1N1 flu, and was hospitalized with life-threatening complications. My husband and I took turns staying with her around the clock; one was at the hospital at all times, while the other would be at home with our younger daughter.  We took 24-hour shifts and the arrangement worked pretty well, considering the gravity and stress of the situation.

During one of my shifts at home, however, I was feeling particularly restless and felt the need to DO SOMETHING.  Hoping to share my daughter's story and send out a plea for people to pray for her recovery, I spent a few hours learning the ins and outs of video slideshow production. Quite pleased with the results, I then posted it to YouTube and Facebook.  The video got a lot of positive response... and as a result, I found a new creative outlet in the midst of very unlikely circumstances.







In February, my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, and I wanted to create a tribute to them.

This is the result:







Of course, it was only fair to include my youngest daughter in the mix...





For my 20th wedding anniversary, a retrospective was in order:






And then, there is my most recent project, a video of some of the horses and scenes from around the farm:

I truly enjoy producing these videos.  When my daughters ask about what they should do or be when they grow up, my answer is always the same: they should do whatever it is that when they are in the midst of it, they get so absorbed that time flies by and they lose all track of it.   I am so fortunate to have a number of passions, and to have to opportunity to devote much of my time to them... my horses, my writing, and now this new creative outlet as well.  Its amazing to see how they are all coming together to work in conjunction with one another... and proof positive that keeping an open mind to the possibilities in life really does open up new opportunities.

Of Teddy Bears and Pixie Dust

Six years ago tonight, I was nesting.  Folding and re-folding tiny onesies and sleepers while watching television, something I've done relatively little of in the years since.  I was excited, restless, and yet... content.  Looking back, I realize now that I should have been sleeping.

The next day there was to be a routine check-up with my doctor... then grocery shopping, and after that, a relaxing weekend with my husband and seven-year-old daughter.  There is a saying, however... if you want to make God laugh, just make plans.

The next morning was rushed; I learned early on in my first pregnancy that if one does not wish to spend hours in the waiting room of a busy OB-GYN practice, its wise to make your routine appointments for early in the morning.  So, it was hurry-up-get-my-daughter-on-the-school-bus, then jump in the vehicle for the seventy-mile trip to the doctor's office.  I remember it being the most beautiful of September days.  Little did I know, I would not return home for a week.

As is the case at every late-term prenatal appointment, the doctor took my blood pressure and then checked my "progress"... and I will never forget the look of grave concern which crossed her face.  Nor will I forget the speed at which I found myself suddenly placed into a wheelchair and pushed to the other end of the building to the maternity ward, checked into a room and hooked up to an I.V. which would drip labor-inducing drugs into my system.

For a pragmatic woman like myself who likes to do things by relatively natural methods, the whole scenario was stressful and disappointing... yet when your baby's life (and your own) is at risk, ideals tend to quickly get thrown out the window in exchange for the most technologically advanced medical intervention possible.  My labor was induced, I was given an epidural early on (as the baby was in a bad position and the pain excruciating), and we narrowly avoided a c-section.  We found out days later that the baby had broken a clavicle (collarbone) during delivery; she was jaundiced, I was severely pre-eclamptic, we were both very ill, and we both spent the next two weeks in and out of the hospital before things settled down and we could just be a family.

But, despite our stressful introduction, one which would make any natural-childbirth proponent gasp in dismay (me included)... we survived.  We bonded.  We looked into one another's eyes (hers, rimmed with the most beautiful eyelashes to ever grace a human child) and fell immediately, totally in love... and have, until a few weeks ago, been apart very little in the years since.

The best advice I ever got from anyone in regard to parenting was to "enjoy every single moment.  They grow up way too fast."  I took that advice to heart, and stayed home with my daughters; it was a decision I will never regret.

That does not mean it was an easy road, however.  The "date nights" were few and far between.  We ate, at times, a lot of potatoes and venison.  I learned to cook creatively out of necessity, rather than real culinary talent or desire.  If I wanted Mexican or Chinese food, I learned how to make it myself.  The telephone and computer were often my only social outlet.  February usually lasted three months.

But oh, the joy.  Of being there when my baby took her first steps, babbled her first words, cut and then lost  her first tooth.  Of walking the floor with colic/earache/strep throat, of the thousands of miles she and I put on our hand-me-down rocking chair.  Of watching her personality develop, and her character and confidence blossom....

Three weeks ago, she started Kindergarten.  It was an emotional day for me, but we were both ready.  This daughter has always been an adventure-seeker, one who lives to see what's over the next hill, and had no trouble whatsoever walking on that bus and into her future.  There were no "I miss Mommy" tears, no regrets, and there was no looking back.  And now every day at 4:15, I do a "3-2-1" countdown before the hurricane of enthusiasm that is my youngest daughter, blows through the door to tell me all about her day.

As I tucked her into bed tonight, she was squirming with delight in the knowledge that tomorrow is her birthday, her first "friends" birthday party, that there will be gifts and cake and oh, yeah, gifts.  It is also her "V.I.P." day in her classroom.  Her joy and excitement is something I wish I could capture in a jar, to save on the shelf and savor in years to come.  While she said her prayers in a sweet little voice, I found myself wishing for the ten-thousandth time that time would just... stop for awhile.  That it would just let me squeeze out every last drop of her at five years old.

But as my friend Gladys would have said, "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."  And so I sit here tonight, having wrapped my daughter's birthday gifts, baked the birthday treats for her class and packaged the party favors... savoring the moment.  She'll not be five years old again, after today.  Gone are the days of diapers and pacifiers and that sweet, fuzzy, sweet-smelling head nestled against my shoulder.... of teddy bears and pixie dust... but that's okay.  I savored them, drank them in, wrung every last succulent drop out of them.  Those days are now replaced by ABC's and 123's and the occasional eye-roll.  Much to my surprise and delight, they are every bit as joyful.

Oh... and and after six years, I am actually... finally... catching up on sleep.

Service With a Smile

 

The small town nearest to my farm now has two convenience stores.  

Big news, I know! But bear with me here for a bit... this is a teachable moment... 

I frequented the first store every few days for a couple years, and while the faces grew familiar, they rarely were anxious to smile, converse, or thank me for my business.  It often seemed as if they felt they were doing me a favor in taking my money, of which I gave them plenty (being one of those evil, die-hard SUV owners and all).

So when the second store opened, I gave it a try.  Much to my delight, the staff is friendly, helpful, accommodating.  They once tore the place apart attempting to find a stamp for me when the post office down the street changed its hours and I needed to get a letter in the mail.  Tonight, while waiting for my "Friday Family Night" pizza, one clerk with whom I've chatted a few times suggested we should get together for coffee (she and I realized we are neighbors), and we most likely will do just that.  I actually look forward to visiting that store, which is probably high praise for a gas station.

These two stores are similar in many ways.  Their pizzas and prices are comparable, though the first store carries a larger selection of products.  And, of course, gasoline is just that.  But here's the kicker... to patronize the store I favor, I must go out of my way and cross a busy four-lane highway.  This girl does not generally go out of her way, nor am I much of a shopper.  I tend to visit the most convenient location, get what I need and get out, even if the convenience costs a few cents more.

Unless, of course, it feels good to go out of my way... and in this case, it does.  By simply acting as if my business matters to them, by building a relationship and offering pleasant customer service, the second store earned my willingness to make the extra effort to cross the highway and spend my money at their establishment.  

If that seems inconsequential, consider this:  I drive a large SUV (a necessity), live fifteen miles from my daughters' school, twenty miles from the town in which those same daughters attend tae kwon do classes four nights a week, and eight miles from our church.  That adds up to a whole lot of miles and a whole lot of gasoline most weeks, and does not account for the couple times a month I drive into the city, or to my parent's house an hour away, or the occasional family road-trip.  We buy gasoline for my vehicle, more for my lawn mower, and diesel fuel for the farm pickup and tractor.  And of course, we occasionally purchase a pizza, or case of soda, or some paper towels... 

These two stores are an apples-to-apples comparison; the difference is in the small details.  Relationship building and customer service are not rocket science.  Its pretty simple, really. 

Smile.  Ask about your customer's day.  Be helpful.  Be authentic.  

It makes a difference.

Lazy Pork Roast

Its hot out today... and in all my infinite wisdom, I have been wielding a manure fork in the barn for the past few hours.  In an effort to justify some time inside my beloved, air-conditioned home (and still feel productive), I thought I would share one of my not-so-secret recipes.

Each year in the late fall, we purchase a hog from an Amish family.  They are kind enough to do the less-appealing work of raising and slaughtering it, and we take it from there... cutting, wrapping (well, vacuum-sealing), and eventually, eating the whole darn thing.  First to go generally are the chops, as there is no finer gastronomical pleasure than a perfectly grilled pork chop. In cleaning out my freezer and doing an inventory a few days ago, I was thrilled and amazed to discover a few beautiful, precious packages of chops and ribs left to use up this year... along with around twenty roasts.

Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy roast pork!  But with a whole hog, you do tend to get a lot of roasts.  While the butt roasts usually are tender and juicy no matter the method of preparation, shoulder roasts tend to be a bit tougher cut.  I have, however, found a (ridiculously easy) method of preparing them so they turn out juicy, flavorful and mouthwatering, no matter which corner of the hog from whence they originate.

The crock pot.  I love my crock pot.  All I do is throw the roast into it, top it off with a sliced onion, a couple minced cloves of garlic, 1/4-1/2 cup of water, salt and pepper... put the lid on, and let that baby cook.  All day.  Until it is falling apart, and has tormented my family with its mouthwatering aroma to the point of mutiny if I don't feed it to them. Immediately.

From there, I pull the meat from the crock pot, shred it with two forks, and toss it back into the juices in the pot.  It makes awesome sandwiches, particularly on buns (and if they are homemade buns, prepare yourself to loosen your belt a few notches, as you won't be able to eat just one).  I like mustard on mine, but barbecue sauce is very good, as well.  My husband bastardizes his with ketchup... but to each his own, I guess...

A couple things to remember.  Do not trim the fat from the meat before you cook it... you can always drain or separate the fat later, but the fat is important to the flavor and moisture of the meat while it cooks.  Also, be sure to start the roast early enough to give it time to cook to the point of falling apart or shredding easily... it makes a *huge* difference in the tenderness of the meat.  The water, even though it is a small amount, is important as well.  It seems to facilitate and speed up the cooking process, and also improves the tenderness of the meat.

I've been known to throw all caution to the wind, and put the roasts in the crock pot frozen, cooking them on high... they turned out great, and none of us contracted food poisoning or trichinosis.  But more often, I don't think about whats for supper until after lunch (great foresight, I know)... so then defrost the meat in the microwave and cook it on high.  It works because we generally don't eat supper around here until dark... which, in the summer, means late.  The best way to do it, however, is to do as I say, not as I do, and start the previously-defrosted roast in the crock pot, in the morning, and cook it on low all day so it is ready for a reasonable mealtime of say, 6pm.

Give it a try... pork shoulder is an inexpensive cut to buy, and with few other ingredients and little prep time, you can have a tasty meal, and the leftovers reheat well for lunch the next day.

Every Rose Has Its Thorn... That's What Makes Them Interesting

I love roses.

Wild roses, shrub roses, hybrid teas... and I love rose patterned china and wallpaper and rose-scented perfume and the Jackson & Perkins catalog.  My youngest daughter's middle name is Rose.  During the college years, I actually worked in a shop that sold only roses... and never tired of being surrounded by them.

I love receiving roses, love arranging them and love growing them.  My daughters gave me two rose bushes for Mother's Day... both hybrid teas, a challenge to my horticultural ability.  They are both actually still alive.  I'm not sure how to gently suggest that if, in the future, they decide to bless me with more rose bushes, that blessing might live longer if they choose the hardier "shrub" variety.  Particularly those bred in Canada.  But I'll do my best with these, and hope they prosper for years to come.

Where did I get this love of roses? Honestly, I don't know.  Maybe I'm just fussy... but think its more likely the contrast between the delicate beauty of each rose, and its thorny backbone.  To me, something is truly beautiful when it has a bit of an edge or a challenge to it.  One cannot frolic about picking roses as you would daisies, without receiving a fistful of thorns.  They command respect.  Admire their beauty, inhale their fragrance, and pick them if you wish... but carefully, or risk being scratched...

A bouquet of roses from the bushes my daughters gave me sits on my table at the moment... the first of many (I hope).  The flowers are a bit faded and droopy from the heat we've endured lately. In my eyes, however, a more beautiful bouquet does not exist.

The County Fair

We've been working hard.  Like, for a long time.  

It was time for some fun.... so we went to the county fair.

We rode the carousel...

...played a few games...

...rode some more rides...

She scored the #24 car... atta girl!

Keeping her eyes on the... road?

"Don't text and drive... call when you arrive... don't talk to strangers..." 

Here we go!

Hang on!!!








Then it was time for some fair food...

 She doesn't like corn dogs (my fair food of choice) and wanted to buy her own lunch.
A pork chop on a stick.
How a child who doesn't like corn dogs could have sprung from my loins, is a mystery to me.
Its heresy.

I'll bet this gentleman's mother raised him right, and that *he* likes corn dogs.
(I love seeing the seniors at the fair.  Especially old farmers in John Deere hats.)

YUM! Corn dogs!
(We are having more success indoctrinating this child. Guess practice makes perfect.)

The prodigal daughter.  I love her anyway.
And she did eat most of my deep fried cheese curds.
There may still be some hope for her.






With full bellies, it was time for more fun...

Shaking a leg.
Yes, they are shy and reserved.... until you cue the music.

Taking a bow!

The crowd loved it!






With the show over, it was time to check out the livestock exhibits...

Milking a cow!
They made us sign a liability waiver, and dispensed hand sanitizer afterward.
I told the guy with the hand sanitizer they needed it more over at the carnival rides, than in the cow barn.
He laughed.

She earned her stripes... er, stickers!

The DNR had a baby fawn on display...

So precious and beautiful!







The day was a hot one, and all that fun wears a girl out, so we finally headed for home...

All that singing and walking and riding and dancing and corn-dog eating just plumb wore her out!




...and we went back to work...
sort of...

(Gotta love a man in a tool belt. Be still, my heart.)