Gather Up

This afternoon as I was striving to be thrifty and was looking for a binder to reuse, I came across this short essay written by Rachel.  It had been an assignment in her English class while a freshman at ACU.  I have no idea what the writing prompt was, but the result spoke to this me today as I'm in a  "growing family" mode of thinking.  I shall share:

This routine that we kept over the years can be attributed largely to Bob's love for God and Scripture and his amazing self-discipline. As I watch our children teaching their own children in their own special, unique manner, I pray that:

God, out of his glorious riches will strenthen them with power through the Spirit in their inner selves, so that Christ will dwell in their hearts through faith. And they, being rooted and established in love, will have the power to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.  Eph. 3:16-17  Amen

I am thankful.

-----Pleas pardon my technological inadequacies.  
These are the ways I knew to copy/reprint Rachel's essay:  
1) type it again, or 
2) scan the pages. 
I chose scanning.

This led to these issues:  
1) leave the image so small that few could read the essay, or 
2) make it larger. But the little orange and red lettering gets in the way a bit.
Again, I chose number 2.

Perhaps I someday become so technologically savvy that I will find a fix.  But perhaps not....
And that's OK.

Officially Endangered....

...and how is your hoshgoshbinggoshaway?

That's what I asked myself this afternoon on the way home from school.

Then it dawned on me; my hoshgoshbinggoshaway is truly endangered.  It's highly likely that it will go into extinction.  If I do not sit down this moment and write this post, it might never breathe again.

My daddy loved to ask kids this question.   He loved the quizzical look given and the bitty bit of stuttering around before they replied with "Wha--at?" He would usually repeat the question and continuing rousting about to gain various degrees of agitation from the kiddo.  The conversation would generally end with kid-giggles and genuine smiley-ness from my dad.

The daddy of the kid-Bonnie (or Boo Kay) had a generally sunny attitude.  He would sing silly made- up lyrics to tunes that only he knew.  You couldn't help but feel happy when he was singing his tunes.  He would sing happy little ditties and call out "Rise and Shine!  Bright-eyed and bushy tailed!" every morning as he woke us to a breakfast, ready and waiting on the table, of eggs, bacon, toast and homemade jelly. (Yes, my dad fixed breakfast every morning, but mom made the jelly during the summer.)

Not really a lot of meat to this post.  Just a stab at keeping our hoshgoshbinggoshaways from moving to a point of no return... the never-never land of no one remembers...or even knew of such things!  I'm joining  Dr. Seuss' Lorax as he proclaims, "Unless!!"  Unless someone cares and does things differently, the truffala trees will become extinct.  Unless someone (maybe me?) cares and tells about hoshgoshbinggoshaway, it will become like the truffala trees...gone, gone, gone.

Ask a child (or grownup) today about his/her hoshgoshbinggoshaway.
That may save it.
Live, Love, Laugh!
Smile.

A Little Fruit of the Vine...

We've talked about doing it for a long time, and last July (2012) we actually did...

Bob and I walked down to the fence row where the grape vines covered a tree and we picked the ripe fruit.
Just plain ol' wild mustang grapes...
The kind you have to pop out of the skin.
Then you have some choices: You can either swallow the seeds along with the "meat" of the grape or kinda eat around them and then spit the seeds out...(In case you've always wondered:  Grapevines do NOT grow out of your ears if you swallow the seeds.)
And then, the juice (or is it the grape skins?) start to make your skin itch.  Lovely.

But lovely it is.  Bob and I both have fond memories of this kind of wild grape.

My grandparents (Roy and Sadie Ragsdale) actually had "domesticated" some of these grapes.  They grew along a grape trellis in their back yard.  It was WONDERFUL to be at their house when the grapes were ripe.  We grandkids would pick and eat them the whole time we were there visiting.  Now I wonder if our grandparents really were OK with us picking and eating their grape crop.  We caused a terrific reduction in their harvesting!   But I guess they could have/would have stopped us if they minded too much.

Bob's memories consist of the grandkids picking the grapes from the wild and bringing them  home to their Oma (Lydia Dornhoefer). Oma would then can the grape juice and serve it later as a special treat for the grandkids.  (Adults would have iced tea; the kids were served grape juice.) Bob remembers her adding sugar and water and the juice from a lemon to a quart jar of preserved juice.  Yum, Yum! What a treat!

Way back then (goodness! that's my life I'm talking about!  Since when did I earn a way back then??) having juice to drink was not the common event that children know now.  Even if our parents had the money,  there just weren't many juice choices.  Bob says that at his home, the only juice served was orange juice from a can of frozen concentrate, but that was only occasionally (maybe once a month). Now it seems as if the many varieties available can take up a whole side of an aisle in Wal Mart.  There are so many choices (regular, organic, or light) and so many blends of different fruit and vegetable juices... Holy cow!

Anyway, Bob and I picked grapes on July 7 (The rule of thumb is that grapes are ripe for picking around July 4.) I googled how to can grape juice and I used my grandmother's (Sadie Ragsdale) juicer. (The wooden "masher" is now stained purple.)

Our little outing and google research made it possible for me to successfully can 4 quarts of grape juice.  I learned that it's quite a job to strain out all the grape pulp...it might even be impossible for the layman (i.e. not a professional processor) to get all the solids out.  I also read that great grape juice critics actually enjoy drinking "thick" grape juice better than the ordinary "smooth" type of store-bought grape juice that the rest of us drink.

Ira and Kelley were the first to try out our concoction. They were at the house shortly after Bob and I had this little adventure.  Sweet Kelley always seems so interested in old-time ways and paraphernalia.  She and Ira both joined us as we partook of the fruit (juice) of our endeavors.  They both approved!

Well, Kelley was at our house on March 9 as we celebrated Rachel, Josiah, and Bonnie's birthdays. She asked about the WellsBros reaction to the grape juice.  I had to admit we'd never had the chance to make the offer to them.

So, on March 11 --(not that the date is important..it's just that I happen to know it!) Rachel and I fixed an afternoon snack of homemade grape juice, frozen "sugar" peaches from the last year's first harvested crop of peaches from the new trees, and honey graham crackers. (No, the crackers were not made at home.)  As you can see from Micah's expression, our homemade style of grape juice was a hit with the WellsBros also.

But none of the boys actually finished their grape juice, even though I believe they truly enjoyed it.  Our (Rachel's and mine) hypothesis is that the juice was still a bit strong (too concentrated) for them to drink all of it.  This is the recipe I used for reconstituting:

1 qt canned grape juice (going one last time through a strainer)
Juice from 1/2 lemon (I cheated and used about 3 T of Real Lemon juice from a bottle.)
Approximately 3/4 c sugar
Water & ice to finish filling a 2 quart container.

When "the guys" drank it, the ice was only about 1/2 melted, so therefore, it was still a bit on the "strong" side.  It wasn't actually diluted to the 1:1 ratio for which I was aiming.

Rachel ended up taking the left-over juice home with her.  The plan is to use it as the communion juice at their worship next Sunday.  Just how awesome is that?

The verdict of our wild-grape picking and serving of the acquired juice:
 I believe we'll do this again.
(The Lord willing and a good grape crop!)  :)

Friday Night Lights

I had been looking in my recipe books for something...For what?  I have no idea any more...but a couple of days later I found this on the floor:

It is said that odors or particular smells evoke memories: the same can be said for some recipes.

My mom, being the hospitable person that she was and the wife of a head football coach, invited all the coaches and their families to our house for waffles after every home football game.  She claimed that this act was really a selfish one. Wanting her husband to come home, yet knowing that coaches want to talk about the game afterward and knowing she did NOT want to talk about it, she devised a plan.  Just invite the other men that wanted to talk football (and their families) over. In that way, she (and the other wives) could have the best of both worlds.

During this time, mom did have a lady come clean the house every Thursday. (Her name was Eliza.) Mom's Thursday evenings were consumed not with house cleaning, but with making waffle batter and homemade syrup.  She used the recipe above for her syrup (right off of the maple flavoring package) and used the waffle recipe that came with her SunBeam waffle iron she received as a wedding gift back in 1949. (recipe to follow)

On Friday nights after the game, the wives would come and bring their children. We played while the ladies fried bacon and made waffles and visited. The men ate, talked, and drew football plays on paper napkins. Lots of good memories...and is the smell of bacon making you hungry?

Buttermilk Waffles

1/2 c melted butter                                                     2 T sugar

2 1/2 c flour                                                                 1 t salt

2 1/2 t soda                                                                  4 eggs

2 1/2 t baking powder                                                2 c buttermilk

                                                                                     1 1/2 t vanilla

Melt and cool butter.  Sift together dry ingredients.  Beat eggs at high speed until fluffy.  Add buttermilk and vanilla.  Beat to blend.  Pour over dry ingredients.  Beat until smooth.  Blend in melted butter.

He-Gwe's Presence in This House

I don't really know much about Bob's dad.  He died on February 14 (yes, Valentine's Day), 1973-- several years before Bob and I met.

Getting to find out a little bit more about him was one of the  unexpected blessings we received when going through Bob's mother's things after her death.  And in spite of the the fact that Ira Allen bears his name, this man had never been referred to by any other term than "your dad's dad".  The kids crafted the name "He-gwe" during this time of semi-revelation.  Yes, that's an unusual name, but Bob's mom was Gwe-Gwe (a story of its own).

There are a couple of random everyday things I've always done in our household that commemorate this man of mystery.  I don't think I've ever really shared this with my children, so I'm thinking now might be the time.

We always use Lea & Perrins worcestershire sauce because that's what he used.

 (and yes, those are tomatoes and peppers out of our garden...He-Gwe's dad was a farmer who sold his produce commercially using hot caps to get an early start.)

We use Oral B toothbrushes because that's what he preferred.

And there are a couple of things that we deliberately do differently than he did but which recall his memory none-the-less:

We only set one alarm clock every night.  He-Gwe always set two.  One was a wind-up clock; one was electric.  What if there were an electrical outage or he forgot to re-wind?  He did NOT want to be late for work and jeopardize his job.  He was very proud to be a USPS mail carrier.  (Yep, they were most likely called mailmen back then--)  Considering that he only had an 8th grade education, he had done very well for himself and his family.  He had a reason to be proud!

...and we do NOT use a hand-cranked ice cream freezer and chip ice off of a 25 lb. block of ice when we make homemade ice cream. When Bob told me of this little quirk of his dad's, Bob was given a choice: If we used bagged, crushed ice and an electric freezer, we would have homemade ice cream very often; if we used a hand-cranked freezer and block ice, the making of ice cream at home would be a very special (and rare) event.  I think you know what Bob chose!

He-Gwe, we think of you in these little ways and wish we could have really known you!

The Golden 50th

Last Saturday, we responded to this invitation by joining in the celebration.

Upon receiving the invitation, my first thought was, "What a wonderful way to celebrate!  Combining the anniversary celebrations! Excellent idea!  Cut down costs, only requiring a trip made once by loved ones, etc.  That's a great idea!  Wonder if it would work for Donnie & Steph's anniversary celebration to combine with ours?"  (I've since decided it would not be so ideal; we don't live in the same town nor go to the same church like my cousins Aubrey and Dean. Otherwise....)

Aubrey and Dean were quite a bit older than Donnie and me.  Their dad, Arvin (my dad's oldest brother), was 12 years older that my dad, who was the youngest in that family.  I was 6 years old when Aubrey and Janice married.  If memory serves me correctly, Bernita and Dean were married by the Justice of the Peace...in other words, they snuck off to get married.  On January 1?  Cool!  But Bernita mentioned that she had a milestone birthday coming up.  (It can't be 60, because I'll be 57 in a month...so it must be 70?  How can that be??!!  ...and she's probably the youngest of the honorees... Wow!)

Anyway, all that bird-walking to say my real message:  I come from a really awesome family.  I've had a rich heritage and many awesome examples of what it means to be a part of a committed and God-centered marriage.  I remember writing a card to Nanny (my mom's mom) the Christmas before Bob and I married in which I was thanking her for the example she and Pampa had left for us.  (They actually celebrated their 70th anniversary before death separated them!)

Granny and Grandad (my dad's parents) celebrated their 50th in December 1961 (if the information I gleaned from Saturday's celebration is correct.)  That means that the "new" dishes in my cabinet which my grandmother received on that anniversary are now over 50 years old!  Whoa!  My grandad died 4 years later which prevented them from celebrating anymore milestone anniversaries.

My mom and dad celebrated their 59th anniversary on July 6, 2008 before my dad's death in August of that year.

On Bob's side of the family...his parents were prevented from celebrating their Golden 50th by his dad's death in 1973.  (I think that's the date.)  I also believe that his Oma and Opa (his mom's parents) were kept away from that event by the death of Oma.  (Don't you just love that their names were German for Grandma and Grandpa?)  ...and there's a picture... of Grandmother and Grandfather Spies celebrating their 40th or 50th with the cake on "the" table.  (If/when I come across that photo, I'll insert it. The table now resides in Ira and Kelley's home.)  But I do know that death separated that dear couple also.

All that to say I'm very thankful for this example which has pervaded my whole way of thinking in the midst of a world where things other than death are often the cause of the termination of marriages.  Hopefully, by the grace of God, Bob and I will continue this rather sacred heritage.  This would be an awesome way to be an inspiration to our children and grandchildren...  July 23 will mark 35 years!  The best 35 years of my life!  I'm very blessed....

As Easy as... Boiling an Egg??

Deviled eggs were one of my mom's favorite foods.  It became her designated job to fix them when we were having family get-togethers. She was very eager to help always, and after I had boiled the eggs, this was a task she could do while sitting. 

But, "as easy as boiling an egg" and "She can't even boil an egg!"???  I'm not so sure about those sayings....The boiling may be easy, but the peeling???? Yuk!  I've heard about and tried many fool-proof tricks over the years, but I guess I'm the fool.  (And besides, I have had trouble remembering the tricks.)

...but since we now have laying hens from which we daily collect eggs and "doubled" eggs are now a desired part of (at least some) our grandchildren's diet, I NEED to know and remember those tricks (and pass that information on to my progeny) .

So I conducted some research:
I first did some simple google research.  I saw some absolutely disgusting things on U-tube (like blowing the hard-boiled egg out the end of the eggshell--Really, who wants my slobber on their egg?? even if you ARE family!) and read some way-too-detailed ways to boil eggs and peel them perfectly.  Then I boiled and peeled eggs every chance I got trying different methods and taking note of the results to come up with what would work best for me.

This is what I've come up with (and the reason it works best so I can remember what I've discovered):

1.  Eggs should be 7-10 days old.  Fresh eggs' whites tend to stick to the membrane because of their low acidity.  As eggs get older, the shell becomes more porous; the egg is allowed to let off some carbon dioxide and the white becomes more acidic and won't cling to the membrane as much.   Also, the white shrinks a bit and there can be more air space between the shell and membrane.  Use fresher eggs if you must, but you will NOT get a prettily peeled boiled egg. Just know that up front!

2.  Place eggs in water right out of the faucet.  (Because eggs aren't noodles!  If you put eggs into water that's already boiling or too hot, the shell will crack because of the extreme temperature change.)

3.  Once the water boils, put the lid on the pan and remove it from the source of heat.  The guidelines say to leave the eggs in the hot water for 15 minutes if they're large, 18 minutes for extra large, but only 12 minutes for medium eggs.  But I've discovered that if you're boiling only a few eggs and using a small pan, it can take longer for them to be fully cooked--or the problem can be solved by just leaving the pan on the turned-off-but-hot heating element.  But if you leave a larger pot of eggs with a lot of eggs sitting on the element for the same amount of time, the yolk will turn gray-green. This is caused by a  chemical change that occurs in the sulfur in egg yolks. The eggs are still perfectly OK to eat; they're just not as pretty!  --and since I cook with electric heat, I'm not quite sure how that translates in gas heated cooking...

4.  Cool eggs down quickly.  Why is this step helpful? A quick temperature change will help the membrane separate from the egg white. This is the method I've come up with that works well for me: Pour off the hot water, then run tap water over the eggs. When the eggs are cool enough to handle, I crack both ends of the egg and run even more water over them.  Then I add a glass of ice to the water and let them sit in the ice water for a while.  

5.  Then, when you're ready to peel the egg, first roll the egg on the kitchen counter with the palm of your hand to sort of crush the shell.  (Do it with a light hand, though, or you'll mush the egg open.) Why?  The shell needs to be flexible to enable it to come off in one big piece with the membrane attached to it.

6.  Start the actual peeling at the fat end of the egg.  The egg has a little air pocket on that end, so it just makes it a natural place to grab ahold and start peeling.  When/if that stops working well, start at the other end.  I'm not quite sure why that works better, but it just does (for me, anyway).

--and another helpful tip from Rachel if  you're making deviled eggs:  Put your yummy egg yolk filling in a zip-lock bag.  Cut off one corner and pipe the filling into the egg white.  Nice and Neat!

Hope this is helpful!  And if you're eggs don't peel well, at least you kind of know why they're not!

*This egg dish was my mom's.  She loved that ruby-border glassware!  She also bought the punch bowl and glasses at (what-was-then) Eckerd's Drug Store in Waco.  She frequented that store because it was where she got her film developed.  They offered double-prints when you got  your film developed (a new trend!).  She loved, loved, loved to take pictures of and share pictures of her grandchildren.  It was her goal to make photo albums for each of them.  She started out good...but there were many, many empty albums (that she'd picked up when they were on sale) and bundles and bundles of photographs...neatly labled with dates, of course!

Granny Conner's "Famous" Pecan Recipe

I've really been into recipes lately.  The harvesting of spring veggies (and the eruption of new life) spurs me to explore new ways to prepare old standbys...

All that (I guess) led me to my old (yes, printed on paper) cookbooks as I was trying to finalize the menu of a meal I am wanting to take to a church family with a new baby.  While perusing my create-your-own cookbook I acquired in 1980 while living in Rockdale, Texas,  I happened upon a recipe, written in my 20's-something handwriting, entitled "Granny's Pecan Pie".

Generations to come should know that my Granny, Ada Ratliff Conner, won a blue ribbon at the Houston Fair (which even then was a BIG deal) with this recipe.  Of course, when you reproduce this recipe yourself and it just tastes like pecan pie, you should remember that at these kind of shows presentation is---I started to say 99%, but it's probably not quite that high.  Maybe only 98%---of the score in the winning entry.  I remember that my Granny told me how she chose the perfect pecan halves (My Uncle Gene ran a pecan orchard in Houston at the time.) and placed them to form some sort of decorative design on the top. May sound easy, but you should just try to place those pecan halves very perfectly in an unbaked pie shell and then pour goo over them and have it all come out of the oven perfectly... I never acheived good results.   My poor results might just be due to my inept ability, but her far superior results are probably (at least in part) due to her very experienced hand.

I should really look this up before publishing, but Granny was 1 out of 7 or 8 girls in her family.  Granny was the "tomboy" of the bunch, but her job in the family kitchen was making the desserts.  She was an extremely great pie maker!!  (Those pie safes they used to have?  I'm thinking the Ratliff family might have had one...but maybe not...)  At Thanksgiving or Christmas when I was a kid, there were always at least 10 pies!

I don't have a picture of Granny with a pie, or even a picture of one of her pies...(They were all consumed!)...but I do happen to have this picture of her with Rachel and Ira.  It is dated September 1980.  She was a very lovely lady; she remained that way even in her last days.

But here is the recipe:

Granny's Pecan Pie

3/4 c Karo (she used light)

1 cup sugar (she used Imperial)

3 eggs

3 T butter (I'm pretty sure she used REAL butter!)

1 cup pecans

1 t vanilla

Unbaked pie shell

Bake at 350 for 30 minutes.  

---please note that I have the 30 minutes marked out in my cookbook and have written 50 minutes.

....and there are actually no further instructions with the recipe.  I do know that the butter was melted.  The pecans were laid out in a design and then the goo was poured over it.  I recollect her talking about how carefully she had to pour goo over the pecan halves so they wouldn't shift in the pouring. 

I also know that her pie shells were definitely NOT of the frozen variety.  Crisco pie crusts were the rage of the day.  That recipe (and the recipe I have alongside the pie recipe) is:

Crisco Pie Crust

1 1/3 cup flour

1/2 t salt

1/2 cup Crisco

3 T ice cold water

Combine flour and salt.  Cut in Crisco.  Sprinkle with water, 1 Tablespoon at a time.  Toss with a fork.  Work dough into a firm ball.  (and the rest you'll have to take from there!  Google and YouTube are great resources!)

And that's all I've got.

Maybe when you're feeling nostalgic you'll try out this recipe.  If you, like I finally did, don't want to try the fancy designs or give up on trying, you can always use chopped pecans or pecan pieces. Just place them on the bottom of the unbaked pie shell and then pour the goo on top.  This is a very forgiving method of just making a yummy pie.  Please note that it's always best with a little "cream" (what Granny called ice cream) on top!

Dressing Up

As Ira was leaving our house after the Christmas celebration, he asked me if I liked his new shoes. They were some fancy black leather dress shoes. He said he'd bought them on E-bay and had paid only 20% or so of their original price. (Because of a bank merger in November, Ira transferred from a bank branch in the outskirts of Fort Worth to a another branch close to down town Dallas. That's a dress-code change of almost cowboy to suited executive.)

Then he talked about purchasing some long-sleeved dress shirts off of E-bay. These shirts didn't have button cuffs but needed cuff-links. Kelley had purchased some vintage cuff links (again) off of E-bay. I got the bright idea of looking in PeePaw's stuff to see if there were any cuff links Ira would be interested in.

These are the ones we came up with:

The tractors in this cuff link and tie bar set have "International" branded on them. My grandfather, Roy Ragsdale, (We called him Pampa.) owned and operated an International Harvester and Oldsmobile dealership during the depression, World War II and afterwards. My dad worked for him a while--and had stories to tell. I really don't know if these jewelry pieces date back that far (and I really kind of doubt it), but that makes them of far more interest than just a random tractor cuff link/tie bar set.

These cuff links are a ruby red. I don't know the story behind them. All the schools my dad attended and/or had long-term affiliation with had purple as the primary color. (San Saba-Purple; ACC-Purple; University High School-Purple) I have some recollection of my dad wearing these cuff links, but don't know any story past that... Maybe ruby because his and mom's anniversary was in July... or maybe someone bought them just because they were pretty or on sale. I think you can be sure that they weren't purchased on E-bay!

...and these.... These are just some tie bars that Ira decided to take with him because he thought they might go with some cuff links he already had.

Then Ira and I had a discussion about how it was hard for him to even imagine PeePaw dressing up. Made me stop to think that the man Ira knew as PeePaw had been retired and worn not much of anything but overalls for about 20 of the less than 30 years that he had know him. But there was a day that Ira Conner, as a public school administrator, dressed in a suit coat and tie every day for work. I somehow suspect that Ira Spies will be a bit like his name sake and after his working-career is over with will revert to whatever the equivalent of overalls will be...

Love (loved) the Iras in my life!!

Old Things Used in New Ways...but for the same reasons...

Back around 1971, my mom, dad, my friend Pat Kenner and I made a trip to Hot Springs, Arkansas. It was one of those "4 days and 3 nights in our lovely resort-give ya $50 to spend-just gotta listen to our 30 minute sales pitch" 'free' vacations ... (My dad was one that just loved to string the sales person along...get him to thinking he had a sale for sure, only to say no at the last.)

One of our little jaunts into town included stopping by at an estate sale. I had no idea what an estate sale was. We just sat in some red velvet covered chairs and they showed some trinkets, furniture, jewelry, etc. and an auctioneer did his thing. Well, surprise of all surprises, my Dad bid on and bought my Mother a diamond ring! Pretty cool!

But this barely-turned-17-year old girl was not to be outdone! I wanted a diamond ring, too! I had been working at Safeway for a whopping $2/hr. (and yes, that was a whopping sum back in those days...) By golly, I was going to try to buy me one, too. And I did. My ring was quite a bit like Mom's, but was--brat that I was--just a little bit bigger, and therefore, better, of course!

I did enjoy wearing my ring (and wore it constantly during the few years that I lost the solitaire diamond out of my engagement ring and the time when it could be replaced)...but I'm sure I didn't enjoy it as much as my Mom enjoyed wearing hers. She wore hers all the time until she literally wore it out. (The gold in the band wore thin and broke, therefore causing one of the little side diamonds to fall out.) She also let Stephany wear it between the time that Donnie proposed to her and when he could buy her an engagement ring. The ring had quite a romantic significance during it's tenure in the Conner household...

But the romance in the life of mom's ring lives on past her...

On December 23, 2010, Ira and Kelley Cook became engaged. It was the culmination of their Christmas date-week. (I'll let Kelley and Ira tell their own version of that special week.) Prior to the actual engagment, they got to "open" their stockings. Inside Kelley's stocking were these two gifts:






The ring is (yep, you guesses it) Mom's ring that's been repaired and coated with whatever you coat rings with to make them have a silver color rather than the yellow gold that it is originally. The earrings are made out of the two biggest diamonds of my ring. Isn't that a lovely addition to the story? I would be happy to hear some more lovely, romantical additions to this saga up in Heaven. Nice reunion, I'm thinking....



(PS--Sorry I didn't think to get/ask for "before" pictures...)

Hot Caps

I'm here at home at 11:30 on a Tuesday morning. It is 20 degrees outside and we have snow flurries. You guessed it: A Snow Day! (Actually, it's more of a sleet/ice day.)

My sweet little, hard-working, organic-farming husband worked so hard last weekend for this:



What you're seeing here is 102 broccoli, 25 lettuce, and 25 spinach plants all tucked neatly under their "hot caps". (Plus an abundance of onion plants--for all but you, Chris!)

Last year, Bob remembered that his grandfather had used "hotcaps" in his garden and did a little internet research and found a site that sold them. He used them last year and was able to plant early, avoid freeze and frost damage, and harvest a bit early. He tried it again this year: Planted on a day in late January--the 28th-- when the the temperatures were close to 80...and then the next week (whoops!): well, we're expecting a low of 9 degrees tomorrow night... Hmmm....will the hot caps be "hot" enough?? We're gonna have to wait and see!

The "story" behind all of this?

Well, I was visiting a bit with Aunt Ruby (that's Gwe-Gwe's [Bob's mother] sister) last spring. I had just assumed that Bob's grandfather from which he had the memories was Opah (Bob's mom's dad). But, it wasn't! It was Grandpa Spies.

Turns out that Grandpa Spies made part of his living by selling produce to the stores in town: The earlier you were able to harvest things like broccoli, lettuces, and tomatoes, the higher price you could expect. So, I'm thinking Grandpa Spies was quite progressive in his thinking and his risk-taking...way to go Grandpa! Hope it works in Glen Rose, Texas in 2011, too!

I hope to find a picture of Grandpa Spies to add to this post...

An addendum:
Bob added his additional memories: He said his Grandpa and Granny Spies had this little business after their "retirement". They sold their farm in Carmine and moved to Brenham where Grandpa farmed the lot and 2 others (about an acre in all) and sold his produce to the grocery stores. The "hot caps" were his ticket to being one of the first to be able to deliver fresh, home-grown tomatoes to the stores.

Bob also added that while his Grandpa and Granny still lived on the farm, his Grandpa had a "giant" broiler house. (How big is "giant" to a kid?) No need to wonder any longer why Bob Spies has this drive to raise chickens and garden....

A New Season

The first day of Autumn was ushered in this week.

This official declaration of a season change prompted a call to the florist shop. I ordered an arrangement of silk Fall flowers for mom and dad's grave. "So what?" you say.

This is a relatively new ritual in my life. As I was growing up, I honestly don't think we EVER visited a family member's gravesite just to visit or to decorate it up. If another family member died, we might meander over in the cemetery to see where another family member was buried, but that was it.

But when we buried Dad here in Glen Rose and Mom came to live with us, we'd go every now and then to visit Daddy's gravesite. For that one year that I was able to take mom, we'd take a small seasonally appropriate silk arrangement each season.

As I'm reflecting about it right now, I'm not quite sure how Mom felt about it. I would just suggest our going, and of course, (Those of you who knew her personality so well understand completely!) she would never say, "No, I don't want to." I can imagine her being OK with going, but feeling a little guilty (?) because Daddy would never have expected her to or maybe even approved of our going. He was very matter-of-fact about death. Dead was dead. Dead was gone.

To put that in a bit more of a perspective, he did have both a sister and a brother die while he was still a kid. But I've been told (by Mama) that he never even looked at his own mother's dead body. I think people worried about him because of that. I've been told that psychologist say that kind of behavior is an indication that a person never fully accepts that the loved one is gone. I don't think that was the case with Daddy. He accepted death and dealt with it very matter of factly. He never felt a reason to apologize with dealing with emotional issues in the way that suited him best. ...and, yes, sometimes his way of dealing with things was a little less than considerate of the ways that others dealt with them.

In contrast, Bob's mom (and her sisters) had a completely different take on visiting gravesites of family members. She would visit Bob's dad's grave on or around every significant holiday with flowers. Parents' graves would be visited regularly, too.

Anyway, all that meandering to say that I've kept up the little exercise of placing flowers on the grave of my mom and dad each season this past year. My reasoning? It just seems a respectful, peaceful thing for me to do. (and I know that the proximity of the cemetery to the house definitely is an issue!) Even though it's not physically Bob's mom's gravesite, the flowers are for her, too. I may never travel to Houston to put them on her actual plot, but these flowers evoke good memories of her, too.




This little seasonal exercise helps keep the circle of life in perspective for me, too...not in a sad way, just an "in-awe" way. (Ever heard of the Seasons of Life?!) We are expecting to welcome 2 new babies into our family within the next 6 months! What a blessing to be a part of their heritage!

And, yesterday, as I went out to place the flowers, I could see where a new grave had recently been dug. That helps to keep me aware that as I have many reasons to rejoice, there are others in this world--in my very community--that are hurting. I want to be Christ's heart and hands to reach out to them in all seasons.

Flower Fix

The date is August 23, 2010.
It is my first day of full-time teaching after taking off for a year and a half to care for my mom and recoup after her death and the death of my mother-in-law.
About half way through the day, the secretary brought me this:



Gotta share the story with you:
About 8 years ago, I had to move from my comfortable little job of Content Mastery teacher into a not-so-comfortable job as 3rd grade classroom teacher. (Actually, I guess the phraseology should be that I got to make the move; but believe me, I just wasn't feeling it!)

Even though I was very stressed about this change, I did not feel that I had any right to complain about it. My prayer had always been that I could stay out of the classroom (and away from the extra demand of time and expense that it requires) as long as I had children at home. I was reassigned the summer after Jodi graduated from high school. Kind of hard to respond (outloud anyway) with anything but, "Thank you, God!"

After watching me agonize day after day, night after night, and weekend after weekend over my job and all the responsibility of getting those 3rd graders to pass the TAKS test, my sweet husband came up with the perfect Christmas gift. He arranged for the local florist to deliver flowers to me at school every two weeks for the remainder of the school year. Oh, how that brightened up my day and life! (and probably his, too!)

I suppose I showed my appreciation adequately, because he then gave me a Mother's Day gift of flowers for the Fall. He has continued to arrange for my "fix" of fresh flowers to be delivered to me at school each subsequent year, interrupted only by my time at home.

Yes, I enjoy the flowers. They remind me of a beautiful life outside of school. And I love it when people ask me about the flowers. I get a chance to brag on my sweet, thoughtful husband.

Love you, Bobby!

Poofy Woofy

If ever you get a card or letter from me, and especially if you're family, it might have these mysterious letters at the end:
pfu,wpfy

There's a story:

When my Grandmother and Grandfather (my Dad's mom and dad--Ada and Ernest Conner) lived out at Wallace Creek, my Grandmother wrote us a letter every single day of the week. I honestly don't remember NOT getting a letter on a day that the mail ran. As my Daddy read the letters aloud to us or as I tried to read them, (I found my Grandmother's handwriting difficult to read.) there was always one very predictable part. Every letter ended:

"Love, Mother
Pray for me. I pray for you."

My Grandmother continued to write letters as long as she lived in San Saba County. (She moved to Waco, where I grew up, and lived in a trailer house on my Uncle Arvin's property the last years of her life. Then my Daddy would talk on the phone to her every day and go eat lunch with her very often during the school year. Letters then would contain old news!)


A picture of Granny with Rachel and Ira in 1980


Anyway, as our children began to leave home, I remembered my Grandmother's tradition and thought it one worth carrying on. My intentions started out good. I would try to write Rachel every day when she went to ACU. I think I actually did a pretty good job of keeping the mail coming. Because there were 5 of us still at home, I changed my closing to "Pray for us; we pray for you." I got lazy after a while and shortened it to "pfu, wpfy"

Rachel was very sweet to open up and read all the mail. One day when she was reading a card, a friend glanced at it and saw the strange letters at the end and wanted to know what "Poofy Woofy" meant. Rachel explained, after she finally figured out from where the strange question originated.

Unfortunately, I haven't kept up the steadfast tradition of my grandmother for all my children. Now there are cell phones, e-mails and texts. But when I do write one of those rare letters or cards and it includes those little letters, I think of Rachel's little funny and the steadfast faith and love of my Grandmother.

Even if you don't choose to embrace the "Poofy Woofy" tradition, I do hope that you'll carry on the prayer tradition. Remember to keep your family constantly in your prayers and tell them that you do!

Pfu, wpfy!

One Year Ago...

One year ago today Bob and I were making final preparations for a trip to, Washington, D.C. Neither of us had ever been, the kids were after us to get away, and we wanted to do a last "fling" before we "nested" ourselves in for Mom's last days. A reason to celebrate: About 6 weeks before, Mom's prognosis for her Stage 4 lung cancer (which had been diagnosed the previous November) had changed from a couple of months to a couple of years! ...good doctors, good medications, and a gracious God....

I resigned from my first grade teaching position and we were readying ourselves to live the next few years to their very, very fullest.

So, part of our preparations for our departure included getting Mom nestled into Glen Rose Medical Center Nursing Home (where she had previously stayed after a bout of pneumonia for a while). She would enjoy those "hotel" accommodations for about a week while we enjoyed ours in the Eastern United States.

So, late the evening of August 12, 2009, only after being home a couple of hours after spending several hours getting Mom settled into her temporary quarters, I received a phone call from the GRMC-NH that my Mom had fallen and that they had taken her to the emergency room at Glen Rose just to check things out--just to be on the safe side.

Seems like my very-independent-Mama had decided to put herself to bed (She didn't want to bother anyone.) and had slipped and fallen while trying to get a pillow situated and getting her Sonic Diet Coke within reach. (Yes, she, too, was an extreme fan of Sonic's drinks! --and another trivia fact: Southwest Airlines refunded all of our air fare!)

The ER examinations revealed that Mom had indeed broken her hip. Dr. Julia Hutchison was her doctor here and she recommended that Mom be sent to a facility that had a pulmonologist--a place that was able to monitor and treat all her lung conditions as well as her fracture. So we took her to Cleburne's hospital so that she could receive the special attention she needed while getting her orthopedic issues cared for.

(I will just go ahead and say that we were not very satisfied with what went on at the hospital in Cleburne. Most of it boiled down to communication issues, I think. I did receive the satisfaction of voicing my concerns to the president of the hospital board...and it reality, I honestly do not think that any of this would have altered the final outcome of the 10-day journey we would make with my Mother.)

With that said, Mom's surgery did not occur until Sunday, (Yes, they did surgery on Sunday!) a full 4 days after her break. During those few days of waiting, though, it was determined that Mom's heart was functioning at only 25%. Evidently, she had suffered a heart attack at some point, of which we were not aware. We were actually mentally prepared (or as much as you can be) for her not to make it through the surgery; or at best, to never be able to be weaned from the ventilator.

God was good. She made it through surgery like a champ and came off the ventilator the very next day. The respiratory therapist worked with her and got her auxiliary O2 levels back down to an acceptable level. A local (Cleburne) oncologist from Texas Oncology had visited her and she had resumed her Tarceva therapy. Her brothers and sisters were able to come from San Saba and visit with her in the ICU at Cleburne...(I need to get the picture of all them together that Joe took on his phone...) Things were much better than we had ever hoped for.

Then, this is where everything gets a bit fuzzy. She was moved to a regular room (a separate bad story...) in the wee morning hours of Wednesday, August 19 and things started sliding-downward like crazy. She was having terrible trouble breathing and was very anxious. (We were told it was the emphysema-type thing, where one could inhale, but had difficulty exhaling.) She was dosed with Ativan and the auxiliary oxygen levels kept increasing. They were staying in the double-digit range.

So, then, (why?--I asked hospital personnel then and later, too.) it was decided to transport her back to GRMC-NH via ambulance-type transportation on the evening of Thursday, August 20. Of course, a mobile unit is not set up to transport people at that high level of oxygen use and had to stop mid-trip to hook her up to another O2 tank. Bless his heart, the respiratory therapist at GRMC practically met us at the door to care for Mom. I believe his name was Scott. He had come to love Mom through her stay in the hospital during the Fall of '08.

Nursing homes are not equipped to handle people with that high percentage of O2 delivery, either, in case you wondered. Scott sent her back to the ER at Glen Rose later that evening where she had to receive a tracheotomy. The decision was made to transport her to Harris Methodist (Texas Health Resources) in downtown Fort Worth. (We were not going back to Cleburne!)

At the ER in Fort Worth, it was determined that Mom had pneumonia and was septic. With the added issues of her remissive lung cancer and a low heart function rate, a move to the Palliative Care Unit was deemed the appropriate step to take.

We kept her on the trach until all family members could get to Fort Worth to say their good-byes. (Children, grandchildren, and siblings were able to be there.) I don't remember exactly when everyone got there and when the trach was removed, but Mom hung around and listened to music and "danced" with us in her sedated state until around noon on Saturday, August 22, 2009. (Laura Story's "Mighty to Save" brought a wonderfully humorous story into our lives...maybe I'll tell it later.) Then she began her dance with Jesus and my Daddy.

Mom, we miss you, but can't really be sad for you. Thank you for loving us and for helping us realize we need to fully live each day, to find joy in each breath and to love as each day is our last. I'm not sure I ever literally danced with you here on Earth, (Church of Christ influence, maybe? :) but I'm imagining our Heavenly dance. Nice.

School Days, School Days

Some of you young 'uns may not know the song:

School days, school days,
Dear old Golden Rule days.
Readin' and Writin' and Rithmatic,
Talk to the tune of a hick'ry stick.
I wrote on your slate, "I love you Joe!"
When we were a couple of kids.

(Hmmm...I'm kinda like Conner. "They usually rhyme, Boo Boo!" Don't know if I'm missing something or not and really don't want to look it up right now. It's not important to the story.)

But yesterday was my first day of my 19th year of teaching. I "got" to go to New Teacher Orientation because I missed last year to stay home with my Mama. And blessing upon blessing, I was rehired and hopefully will be able to finish my career at Glen Rose Elementary.

The interesting thing about all this (or at least to me), is that I was rehired into basically the same job that I was hired to do 18 years ago: Special Ed and Content Mastery. A perfect job for some pretty near perfect times.

But as the school industry goes, I always knew that a possibility existed for me to be moved into a regular classroom. (For you who are not familiar with all this, MANY more after-regular-school-hours are required for that kind of assignment.) I just prayed that if it did indeed happen, it would wait until my children all graduated from high school and left home. Sure enough, the summer after Jodi graduated, I got "the call". I was moved into a 3rd grade classroom (the first year that the state of Texas required students to pass the reading portion of the TAKS test to be promoted to the 4th grade! ...a little pressure there!)

I did get through that year and survived. Because 3rd grade was being moved from the Elementary campus onto the Intermediate campus, I requested a reassignment to first grade. I remained in first grade 6 years. They were very hard years, but enjoyable. How can you not love 6-year-olds? I always said that they would be learning in spite of me if not because of me, just because they're in that eager-to-learn stage of life.

Anyway, I consider myself very blessed to be able to go back to work at a lower stress job (at least I anticipate it to be!) I honestly never expected to be this happy about going back to work!

But I want my story to go back even further than me.

My Mom and Dad were both teachers.

I was always told that my Daddy started coaching/teaching at North Junior in Waco the year I was born. As I'm trying to put a date to it, since I was born in July, I'm really not sure if he started in 1954 or 1955. I gotta hope that it was 1954, because that sure would have made things easier for them financially. I don't know how long he stayed at North Junior (I could research it, but probably never will.), but he then moved to University High School and was the football coach and then Assistant Principal there for all my growin'-up years. Then(the aha of my story)he was moved back to North Junior as a Principal and remained there until they actually closed the doors of that school. He was able to return, if not to the actual job, at least to the place at which he started his teaching career!

Just to fill you in with the bare bones of the remainder of his teaching career, I will tell you that after North Junior closed, he was moved to University Junior High School as the Principal, but didn't stay there long before he retired. I think I'll follow in his steps and choose to retire if I get moved from my starting place again! I believe that Daddy was in the teaching profession for 33 years...and every one of those years was in the Waco Independent School District. Pretty much unheard of for coaches and administrators these days...

Mama not only taught all 33 (or 35) years for the Waco ISD, but she was even on the same campus: Kendrick Elementary. Do I hear "Amazing"??

My sweet brother, Donnie, is an educator, too. I'm thinking that he's quickly approaching his 30th year...if he's not already there. ...and Stephy, his wife, is a school nurse. (Stephy's mother was also a teacher in Hawaii.)

I believe my grandmother, Sadie Ross Ragsdale, was trained as a teacher, too, but I'm really not sure on the details of that.

So attention to the beginning of school days has long been a focusing factor for this family. Things have changed. I doubt teachers had inservices about the best uses for slates and how to keep students from writing "inappropriate" messages on them...but I am very sure they didn't have multiple days about how to use all the technology available!!

"The same, but different."
from Cherry Pies and Lullabies
...a story with which I became familiar as a first grade teacher...

Goodness and Mercy

Funny how if you're not in too big of a hurry, memories can flood your mind. My memories are good ones this morning. Granbury Church of Christ publishes a daily devotional email 6 days a week, and I try to read them every day (but in all honesty, miss about as many days as I succeed).

Today I did get to it. It's scripture focus was Psalm 23. That's a familiar passage, I know, but just in case you're a little fuzzy, here's the last verse of that chapter:

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life;
And I will dwell[a] in the house of the LORD
Forever.

My Daddy had 2 blue heeler dogs. Their names? Goodness and Mercy. Why? "surely Goodness and Mercy shall follow me...." Wish I had a picture.

My Daddy had many funnies like that.

The Frog Prince

I found Lydia's frog prince hiding in Ira's room this morning.



(Sorry the pictures are a little fuzzy. I had a difficult time photographing it while minimizing the glare from the lamination.)

This frog came to live with Lydia sometime during her Senior year of high school. Her frog's "speech bubble" says: Our God is a consuming fire. Heb. 12:29.

I am not sure how it all started, but she began to put the label off of every piece of fruit she ate on this poster. It started off with the common fruits like lots of oranges and apples. Then it became a game to find unusual looking labels on exotic fruits.



As she worked through the summer as a life guard at Glen Lake Camp, she continued to "feed" her frog. Then there was a rush to complete the poster before she left for ACU in August. She met her goal; I took the poster to school and laminated it and it decorated her dorm wall.

There were other posters. In fact, I think she kept one going all during her undergraduate years. On subsequent posters, though, she had a brother, sisters, parents and grandparents saving stickers for her. With very few exceptions, Lydia actually ate every piece of fruit represented by a sticker on this frog.

Silly as it may be, this Frog Prince represents a very special, fun time in a pretty chaotic time of our lives. Thanks for making me smile today, green froggy, and for prompting me to tell another story!

Incredible Journey...

On June 21, we received an email from our church that someone had contacted them with a matter that might interest us. This is that forwarded email:

NAME: Stephen Reilly
DATE/TIME SENT: 6/20/2010 3:18:41 PM
MESSAGE:
This is a long shot. I found some family photos that were discarded at a
local storage. It impressed me that the photos were a complete set of
school photos, perhaps lovingly assembled and labeled by a parent or
grandparent. Alas, there was little to identify the family other than the
marriage of one of the daughters, Jodi Lea Spies, at your church, July 30,
2005. Other children in the photo collection are Joshua Conner, Caleb
Conner, and Ira Spies. I believe the photos may have been collected by Mr.
and Mrs. Ira Conner, at 600 W. Roy, Waco, TX 76706 (apparently
grandparents) , but there is no working number for them. Perhaps the
photos were intentionally discarded, but I was concerned that they might
have sentimental value for family members. Thus, I "rescued" them was I
discarded by own trash at the storage facility. Sorry to bother you with
this. Stephen Reilly, email or 716-3057

I knew that this "trash" was generated as a result of our marathon clean-out spree last Thanksgiving week (4 1/2 train-car sized dumpsters were filled and numerous trailer loads were made to a storage unit awaiting a massive garage sale that a Waco church would be having in the Spring for its youth Summer activities)at my Mom and Dads house; but whether or not we had intended to discard these particular items, I did not know..But I did know that if these pictures and newspaper clippings had survived all this and were trying to find their way back home, they deserved another look.

So after contacting Mr. Reilly, he very kindly mailed the bundle to me.



Upon opening the package, there was no doubt that the pictures did indeed chronicle the lives of the grandchildren of Ira and Oleta Conner, the children of Donnie and Stephany Conner and Bob and Bonnie Spies.



My intent was to divide the items into stacks for each of the grandchildren and then disperse each stack accordingly. But a few days went by without me doing it. So, when Rachel and the boys came for "The Land of the Dinosaurs" (a musical held at the Texas Amphitheater here in Glen Rose) last weekend, Rachel and I went through the items and divided them appropriately.

As I supposed, the pictures consisted mainly of school pictures and newspaper clippings of which there were numerous copies. But there was one fantastic find that I felt made the whole venture worth it:



This was the card that Ira had made for his Peepaw when he had his first knee replacement surgery(out of 5!) back in the Spring of 1990. (I believe Ira was in the 4th grade.) This card was the topic of many conversations and the source of much laughter for my Mom and Dad up until the very end of their lives. Please notice the dog with Peepaw's knee bone in its mouth. It complete the picture of the sterile operating room quite nicely, doesn't it?

Thank you, Mr. Stephen Reilly, for taking the time and effort to return these to our family!

33 Years Ago...

On this date 33 years ago I was walking down the ailse with my Daddy.


Being the football coach that he was, he kept asking me if I was sure if I wanted to do this. "It's still the 4th quarter; we can still kick a field goal and get outta here!" He had me laughing and crying at the same time. That's why I love this picture. It shows emotion. ...and look at my Daddy's boots!

Before this day and before I met Bob, I used to always believe that a girl would always have some doubt about getting married and and the assurance that it would be a forever marriage....after all, the divorce rate was high; people changed. But I also very vividly remember thinking and saying out loud that day 33 years ago that I was sure this was right. I had no doubt that we would have a forever marriage.

And by the grace of God, it has been and is a forever marriage.

I love you, Robert Wayne Spies.
Thank you for making me your wife.