Storms 6/6/2022

     Last night was a summer storm here in Idaho. These are usually pretty lackluster and forgetful but this one had the rolling thunder, the lightening crashes and a lot of wind. It was like a taste of Iowa. I found myself wondering if our tent we had set up would blow away under the pressure, if our patio furniture could handle it (the umbrella had blown away earlier and was rescued by Spencer), or if the baby garden would be crushed. I had a hard time falling asleep, so did Brooke as we were both up at 11 pm to "use the bathroom". Really, we couldn't sleep.

    When I woke, I found the tent still there. It was very wet but it had been protected by the trees on both sides. The patio furniture hadn't moved much. I'm not sure about the garden but I bet it made it. On my way back from my run (where all  my best thinking happens), I noticed the wisps of clouds over the mountains. They were the only evidence that a storm had happened. That and the water droplets on the leaves and puddles William and I splashed through. The only evidence. The sun was in full force, the birds singing, the past days of humidity cleared up.

    Our family hs had storms. Storms that have rocked us and made us feel like the gray would never let up. We couldn't hardly see the blue windows of sky even when we they were there. But we held on. We knew that the sun would come. Yes, there would be damage. Yes, there would be remaining fear. But there would also be hope. And hope is quite strong. It can change the way we think, how we plan our lives. It can help us see people and ourselves differently. It is enduring and while some think pointless, I say it is an anchor, a tether that keeps us grounded. It helps us to focus on the simple things. It brings us back to reality just by hoping that the sun will rise again, that rain will fall for drought, that hearts will change. It gives us a goal. And that hope leads to faith. Faith in the Lord. That he can cause these things to happen. That he will allow the sun to rise, the rain to fall and the hearts to change (mine and others). When we recognize it is His hand, then our hope turns to faith.

    This house has been our sun. I wrote about it years ago, not knowing I was writing about our future: a window in the kitchen overlooking a garden, a yard where we could play, grow things and have tree swings. a A place of safety that people could come stay in. After deaths, miscarriages, moves and personal things the last many years, we have found our sanctuary. The trees are blooming and every day I found new flowers popping up here and there. The beautiful green amidst a brown desert is so comforting. It reminds me of a simpler time. It has been a great place to have friends (especially kids) over. They love the open spaces, the chickens, the freedom. I wondered why Blake and I are not wired to live in a subdivision. We both like people. We are social. But there is something that comes with the freedom of building what you want, when you want, on land. There is something about laying under a tree and chatting with your kids while the baby chicks run around. There is something about friends coming by and having a little space of peace, a haven. A quiet place where you can see the mountains and know you're near a city but not in a city. 

    Before the Lord led us here, I often felt like we had been through the fire. And we had. So, where was the reprieve? Where was the place we could say was "our forever home". And I could swear we were done moving. I spent time thinking that but knowing to hold on. I knew, I hoped it had to get better. When the Lord promises he will make up for unfairness, sadness and grief, He means it. He prompted my mind to look at this house, my mind literally had an arrow pointing to this area. And when we came here, we just knew. It was such an easy decision and we all knew it. We were blessed to see some of the Lord's promise in this life. I know many don't see it until after this life. Will Ryan and Jon still be dead, yes. Will our five babies still be waiting for us, yes. Will our kids have long lasting damage from moving so often, hopefully not! But the Lord knows what we need, when we need it. He is the great engineer. He can lead us to the place where we feel home.

    We will have a lot of work to do here. We left our "all done" house with tall ceilings and traded for a "cozy" place with bathrooms from 1979 but they work. And we can slowly change bathrooms and be grateful we have them in the first place. We will have remodels, gardening and yard work to last the rest of our lives. But isn't that part of the beauty? Creating something. Teaching your kids new skills and that hard work brings about beautiful thing. And ignoring their occasional grumpiness about learning new things. This is the rose colored glasses approach but it is one I feel right now. Rose colored glasses aren't such a bad thing, especially after so many storms.

    Now, I'm going to write more of our future. It worked the first time. Grandbabies out here, running through the garden eating so many berries, berries that have been growing here for 20 or more years. They will gather the chicken eggs, play on the swing set and make fairy gardens in the trees. They will use Spencer's old bow and arrow and swing in a hammock. Maybe we will have a pond by then that will have to be gated to calm my worries about babies and water. We will have get togethers here, wedding receptions, celebrations to share our amazing children and their accomplishments. 

    The storms of life are unlikely to let up. That isn't the way of life. But knowing we have our haven to come home to and the Lord to depend on will make things less painful. 

One Valentine picture (bummer!)

Welp, it's been a fun few months and I still don't know where pictures are. But we had Christmas, Michelle graduated nursing school and my Grandma got to go. It was great!

William made a Titanic box and Brooke's is a camera.

 

I've moved

In an effort to write on a schedule, I have started a new blog at Write it out, where I write ten minutes a day on random and sometimes scheduled topics. It's been great and going on for a month and I am loving it. It has been awesome. I hope to see you over there!!

Olives to Oranges

I wrote this using story starters in my writers toolbox by Jamie Cat Callan.  I've had it for years and just barely used it.  I can't believe I waited so long!  It is fun and was shocked at what characters were born and what the setting was. I hope you enjoy it and would appreciate any feedback. I have never written fiction anything so I am open to any critique. Thank you!

On Tuesday, Margaret told me she liked the little oranges with the seeds better than the ones I bought. I hated her for that.  I was the one doing the shopping so naturally, she should just be grateful and accept the oranges, seeds or no seeds.  And honestly, who wants to have seeds in their oranges?  Picking them out is the mess. Chewing them up is not enjoyable.  And really an orange is an orange.

But life has been like this for us since day one.  Really,  it was the day she was born.  15 months after I was born, the only two daughters of a Spanish olive farmer.  We lived in a small coastal town named Soller, hot and humid in the summer, cool and humid in the winter.  The orange groves were all around us, the oranges sweet, all varieties, sizes and shapes.  Groves and groves and the tourists flocked to them.  We would work with my mother at the olive stand in the market where we sold the green and black olive varieties that are only available in Spain.  We would offer samples to the people, all the while hoping that they would buy and come back for more.  Our olives were some of the best on our small island of Mallorca and the olive oil was even better.  We were educated in olives, the types, the tastes, the uses.  While I was a quieter child, more patient with the customers, Margaret was louder and often frustrated that we had to stay at the stand.  She wanted to run, to be free to run, especially in the orange groves where you could get lost, but never feel lost.  She found a home there.  But I was olives through and through.  What is more opposite than olives and oranges?  Black to orange, small to big, bitter to sweet. 

So, there we lived and worked and thrived, mostly.  She started taking up a lot of bad habits, habits that didn’t go away nicely.  She was a flirt from a young age, always looking for the approval of people, especially the orange farmer’s son, Alejandro. They met at age three and were constant companions, even more so than she and I.  He, a dark haired, blue eyed boy, eyes like the ocean.  She, a blond headed, green eyed girl, a rare beauty and a rare find in our small village.  They would play in the Mediterranean Sea.  Nothing could scare her, cliff jumping from the highest heights or stealing oranges from neighboring farms.  Alejandro went along because he couldn’t resist her charms and because he wanted to see what she would do next. It was a partnership of danger and daring and curiosity. 

I came home one day to find them returning from their latest adventure, a climb to one of the highest mountains in the village.  Mama was shouting at them both and the shouting being returned by Margaret but not Alejandro. He stood there sheepishly with his hands in his pockets.  They had gone into forbidden territory, an area where wild animals roamed freely.  An area without anybody to watch over them.  The conversation ended with a smack across the face and Margaret holding her hand to her cheek, tears in her eyes, and a shocked look upon her face.  I sat there open mouthed, surprised but not completely, because these fights had been building up for months.  Nobody moved and all I could do was sit there and watch as the lemon gelato melted all over the counter into puddles that nobody could really clean up completely.

 The village of Soller.  The only time I have ever been overseas was to Spain this last summer.  It was magical and hot. I didn't know that the characters were going to end up in Spain.

Enjoy

Enjoy (5 minute prompt)

I wrote this while the kids were asleep and Blake watched a show.

I have a long list of things I enjoy: reading, writing, laying in bed, Dr Pepper, brownies and ice cream, hugs, crafts, gardening and on and on. But recently, as in the last two days, it’s been baking. I have baked bread, blueberry muffins, granola, pita chips, and tomorrow cookies.  And I have cooked chili and I guess it’s not cooking really, but fruit smoothie popsicles.  It has made a ton of dishes and it has kept my sanity going. It has been negative degrees for a week or so. Who knows? After a day or two of it, you lose count and then you start imagining those hundred bulbs you planted in the spring coming up.  Hello, tulips, I am talking to you.  You better do you work come April!  Anyway, I enjoy baking and I always have.  The first thing I remember baking that was really “mine”, was brown sugar muffins.  They were a recipe from a family cookbook by my Aunt Becky.  I made them pretty much every week when my parents were on their weekly date.  My siblings would ask me to make them and bug me till I did.  So, we had tuna casserole, brown sugar muffins and peas.  Always, peas.  My favorite veggie back then, so I got to choose because I was the cook.  And now I have baked so many different things and tried recipes I never thought I would.  I have made gigantic cinnamon rolls that freeze perfectly.  I have made cream cheese banana bread, which is now my trademark in my little town and quoted as “the best banana bread I ever had”.  Streusel topping is the secret, people.  And I have made rolls and bread and applesauce muffins and brownies and brookie cookies and cinnamon bread and more.  And I love it. I love making pretty food. I love making it more than eating it.  There is something so gratifying about creating something delicious and passing it out to neighbors on a cold day or on their birthday or just because I like you.  And when the kids come home from school or Blake comes home from work and they breathe in that fragrant air and ask what that smell is.  I have mountains of recipes yet to try.  A binder full of recipes torn from magazines at doctor’s offices (shhhh), from church cookbooks, from friends.  I want to make some kind of goal to make them all but the list just keeps growing longer and longer! And who will eat all that food?  My kids won’t try “weird” stuff and you can only freeze so much!  So, I will cook and bake and pass it on to neighbors and friends.  I will cook that soup that only adults like and feed my 80 year old neighbor, Tom who will really appreciate it.  And I will keep doing what I enjoy.  Even If it is just to get me through the winter or so I can start my bakery someday.  Ahh, bakery.

Food photography is not my special talent but these are definitely the best chocolate chip cookies I've ever had. Ever.  It was the first time I browned butter approximately six years ago. They'll definitely be in my bakery.