Right Now.

 I now have long days now with almost zero commitments or responsibilities other than basic housewife stuff. And that’s kind of hard for me. I worry about being alone. I worry about being a useless member of my community. I worry about being so wrapped up in my nothing life that I won’t notice that there are other people in this world. So I did what I’ve done before. I asked God to send me some kids who needed me. It was almost an accidental thing, not something I spent any time contemplating, and  then, after I whispered those words, I wondered if I would regret them. I’ve asked God to send me children before, and they haven’t always been who I’d imagined them to be. Once when I did that, I ended up becoming a school teacher at an independent school in rural rural rural rural Saskatchewan, which, honestly, was not a plan I had ever envisioned for my life, although I did end up rather loving it. And now I did it again.  

And just like that, four little girls came knocking on my door. Actually, I really wasn’t expecting that to happen, and certainly not so soon; I really am so faithless. And this time, its been exactly what I wanted. So far. Also, I guess there was one other child-who-is-not-a-child scenario that was probably also a result of my wanting to be useful: my mil ask me to  accompany my 19yo brother-in-law (who is struggling with living with both diabetes and fads, a combination no kid should ever have to deal with) to a doctor appointment one day. Which wasn’t exactly what I wanted. Much less glamorous and fun than a group of little girls. But that’s not what I was focusing on. And that was only one day. Back to the little girls. 

These girls have been at my house often before. Last fall and winter they’d run out to give me a hug or a high five as I walked home from school, but they didn’t come over a lot then becos, after dealing with a room full of kiddies all day, I really didn’t have enough mental or emotional energy left for them. In spring, when their school abruptly shut down, they spent some afternoons in my backyard social distance gardening with me. Two of these girls went away for the summer, but the other two brought their baby brother to see me, and one of them liked to put this little brother in a stroller and accompany me on my daily walk. But they never came that often, and becos the weather was nice they would soon be off to another adventure in another deserted part of this town. 

But now these girls have come and found me again. Every day after school. ‘We came to see you,’ they say and smile sweetly at me when I open my door. 

They are fascinated by whatever project I am working on. They fell in love with the apple juice I was working on making several afternoons. 

Yesterday they admired the scrunchies I had just made. I had a different plan for those, but their admiration made me change my mind, and I gave them each a pink velvet scrunchie. Coincidentally (or not?) I had made the exact right amount -one for each of them. 

Today they returned and told me their friends at school had admired their scrunchies and couldn’t believe they were homemade.  T also had something else to tell me: ‘I just feel very special to have gotten this from [you],’ she said. ‘I feel like this is from God, that He gave this to me from you.’ That’s when I made the connection of my request for kids to love and those daily knocks on my front door.  

They asked me a couple times to help them make more scrunchies, so I introduced the older two to my sewing machine. They were so proud of their handiwork and couldn’t wait to show it to BTT when he got home. 

These girls often come hungry. ‘Do I feed them every day?’ I asked my husband, secretly hoping he’d tell me I didn’t have to. I’m selfish. I don’t really want to make them sandwiches or slice them cheese every day. Or let them spend half an hour stirring sugar into their own bowl of freshly made applesauce and taste testing about 100 times until they get it perfected. Or watch them eat all my ripe tomatoes before I get a chance to use them and then cut the last big beautiful red tomato into fourths so they all get a piece. His response was, ‘If that’s what they need, then do it.’ So I have. 

‘You’re like a mom,’ they said to me one day. ‘You know how to take care of kids.’ Sadly, it appears like their actual moms don’t always know how to take care of them. ‘I like it here,’ another one said; ‘it’s feels like a happy place. I feel like I could live here.’

  

This last week I’ve wished I could just have one quiet supper with my husband. (That wish actually came true today, Friday. The girls left early.) I’ve wanted to hoard my precious apple juice I worked so hard for instead of pouring out jars-full into blue plastic cups. I’ve wondered when the last time the hand snitching ham and cheese from my cutting board was washed properly. I’ve sighed as the supper I had made for BTT and me disappeared into 4 little girls’ mouths in a couple minutes and I had to make another supper. I’ve crawled on hands and knees to collect each piece of my precious LEGO-from-Sapphire-and-Rosie when the girls had to leave in a hurry and didn’t get it cleaned up. 

Being a servant isn’t always fun. Loving and caring for kids even just for an hour or two in the evening isn’t always fun. But when they ask for a hug before they leave my heart is happy. 

This is what my mother says in reference to needy children or needy people that come into her life: Right now they need me. Maybe they won’t next year or next month or even next week. But now they do. And if I can be there for them, I will. 

I sometimes dread that daily knock, but I know this is not forever. Right now they need me -to feed them, share my precious LEGOs with them, give them a safe and happy place to escape for an hour or two, listen to their school stories, to their life stories, to their stories about their tumultuous families, basically just to love them. And if I can do even one of those things for a sad or hurting child, I will. 

Changes.

A few new things:

• I changed the layout of this blog just slightly. 

• You will notice a new, colourful look 

•I finally figured out how to put a subscribe button on here for those of you who have been asking about that. 

•Posts have been appearing a lot more regularly due to changes in my life (namely quitting my school teaching job and having a slower paced life due to Covid-19 restrictions) 

••••Thank you to all of you who read my haphazard ruminations and also thank you to everyone who has sent me positive messages about them. After sharing this blog sparingly for the first few years, I’ve grown marginally braver with letting other people read my thoughts, but it still scares me.••••

Wiping off Shadows

They don’t come off, these shadows. 

I scrub at them, hard. 

They’re part of me. 

I kind of get used to them. 

They're Forever? 

I’m okay with that. Maybe. 

Their grey bruises my luminescent skin. 

I brush harder; 

They get under my skin.

I hardly notice. 

Their darkness is unavoidable; unless: 

I Walk into the Light. 

This was inspired by an  accidentally wise phrase from my dad: “It's hard  wipe off shadows.” He was speaking literally, but [typically] I had to think about it as a sappy metaphor.

My sister must’ve thought this shadows thought was cool too. Check out her thoughts Here.

Beginning (or at least trying) to Let Go

 Day One of the new School Year that’s beginning without me:

Is it crazy to regret a choice I know was a good one, maybe the best one, maybe not?

Is it selfish to feel jealous or even resentful of the New Teacher, my Replacement, worse yet, possibly my Better? 

Is it useless to resent March (and last March in particular) and its impossible decision thrown at me, us, to make 6 months before the new school year? 

Is it betraying myself to accept that i am not a teacher right now and even be a tiny bit relieved? 

Is it okay to spend a day (or 4) mourning this stage of my life, the stage when I was a Teacher, when I was a valid member of my community, when I was Needed?

Is it optimistic to hope that sometime I will have the chance to return to the Children and the Red Brick School I love so much ? 

Is it okay to cry for the children that are now someone else’s to love? 

Looking, at the trees

I’ve been. Looking, at the trees.  Watching their sudden, flamboyant burst, into neon. Mustard, gold, fire. 

I’ve been.  Musing on these trees. Pretending it’s 3 weeks from now, October, maybe. These same trees are sans their shimmering party clothes. And, now, They’re visible only in their very essence: branch, bark, drab. ( I wonder if they ever get tired of spending half the year shivering without their leafy outfits?)

I, am not an autumn lover; although I recognize and acknowledge the beauties, I mostly spend time whispering sad farewells to the birds who seem to be in a hurry to leave, dreading the loss of the long summer days, missing the sunshine, fawning over my plants that are slowly, and then all at once, curling their shrivelling leaves, and inhaling the pungent smell of their decay. In short: mourning summer. The trees are the saddest and the most dramatic symbol of fall, though. I’ve always thought about the leaves: they  work so hard all summer: to stay green and healthy, be a haven to any bird or child or animal who lands among them, shade the ground beneath them, feed insects and birds and animals and people, and then, suddenly: one day, the tree decides to stop giving 

 them life, they have no choice but to merge into the brightest shades in the rainbow before dropping and withering to nothing. I know these leaves have been linked to life, death, the whole human experience, by more writers and lecturers than I can know of, and it’s a nice thought. But what if there’s another way of looking at it. 

Forget the leaves’ POV, Think about the tree: basic green, then party clothes, then nothing, over and over and over, year after year after year; are people like that? Do I have seasons, every year/month, 5 years/months, 2 years/months? Or maybe that’s me every week; this thought is sort of strange, a new one to me. Are there times in my life where I’m routinely green, growing, feeding, sheltering, shading and suddenly something snaps, I get really bright, maybe good bright: extra generous, full of kind words, glowing with goodness; maybe bad bright: anger often, anxious, cruel. And then I am exhausted, and wilt and all those bright leaves fall away. And I rest, empty, drab, with only the bark and branch essence of myself, the real me, with  no leaves to hide behind, getting ready to put on all those green leaf traits again. Maybe humans aren’t as routine as trees; maybe this doesn’t happen to us as often as it happens to them, But maybe it does, Happen to us.  

The Classic Hamburger: one chicken-eating wife’s story of tackling and conquering this favourite summer beef dish

      I married a hamburger lover. I was a girl who, til then, avoided red meat at nearly all cost, not becos of any ethical or health quandary, but becos I really hadn’t eaten a lot of it in my life and I really didn’t like it much. When I said “I do,” I really wasn’t thinking about mastering the art of cooking beef. Or moose. But that’s one of the things I’ve done. My husband likes to bug me about eating chicken, so I know he understands the sacrifice I’ve made. (And, to be fair, he knows how to eat a delish chicken recipe and be happy.) But I will be honest: I still sometimes make hamburgers and let Brent eat them all, making my meal, instead, of the sides I serve with them. On the other hand, I have actually learned to enjoy hamburgers, roasts, and other classic beef dishes. And I have also, slowly and through much trial and error,  learned to cook them in a way that we both enjoy. Don’t ask me to make a perfect roast beef though. The only roast recipe I’ve really mastered involves a slow cooker and eating it over tortillas. But that’s a story for another day. Today’s story is about: 

The Classic Hamburger

I don’t remember the first time I made hamburgers after I got married, I just know they failed and I determined to find another recipe. I don’t remember the second time either, but those failed too, and again I decided I had to find another recipe. And recipe after recipe I did. Some with more eggs, some fewer; some with panko crumbs, some with cracker crumbs, some with Parmesan, some with no crumbs. Every time they fell apart into miserable little chunks while I was cooking them or cooked up into mile high mountains that weren’t conducive to sticking Inside a homemade bun. I was about to give up; I even asked BTT what I should be doing differently and I think his answer was, “ask my mom.”  I don’t think I actually ever did that but I have helped her mix them up a few times since then and asked her for tips as we worked. The one thing she told me that shocked me was: leave out the onion. So I stopped putting chopped onion in my hamburgers. As I observed her, she also mixed everything together very well, much longer and more thoroughly than I would have done. And she kept it simple. Eggs, salt + pepper, oatmeal. And she never measured. A woman after my own heart. I won’t say that my hamburgers have been perfect ever since, but after learning those few things I have been able to improve them. So. Here’s the recipe I use:

The Classic Hamburger:

2lb ground meat: beef or moose (our meat of choice), or a mixture of beef and pork or chicken 

1-2 TABLESPOONS ground pepper. 

1/2-1 TABLESPOON salt 

2 eggs 

2-4 fistfuls of oatmeal 

Mix well. Really well. Form into palm sized patties, or to fit your bun size. Keep in mind that, depending on what kind of meat you are using, they may shrivel slightly while cooking. 

Grill, broil or fry and serve with buns, between a few slices of lettuce, or, BTT’s favourite, between two thick slabs of jalapeño jack cheese. 

A few notes: 

 *once I’m done mixing all the ingredients I smell the mixture; if I can’t smell the pepper I add more, continuing to add until I can see the flecks of black in the red meat and the scent of pepper rises above the smell of raw meat.  This is actually something I leaned from my father in law: when cooking red meat (especially the wild meat we use most) the more pepper, the more delicious the end result. 

*the oatmeal: I know a fist Is a really lame unit of measurement becos all our hands are different sizes. What I do is slip my clean hand into my oatmeal bin, scoop up a handful, then dump it into the bowl. To me, the amount is transient. Some people like lots of it in their burgers; some don’t. Sometimes if I’m making burgers for more than just us I add more oatmeal to make the meat go further. Yes, I really am that cheap. The most important thing is that, once you’re done combining it all, your meat mixture is slightly sticky but not at all runny.

*these are fantastic to keep in the freezer. Ideally I make a large amount at once and then pull them out to either grill or else fry in my grill pan as needed.  I love the fact that if we have nothing in the fridge for lunch BTT or I can easily pull these out and fry them up quickly before he leaves for work. I like to throw them, together with a little water, into a cast iron pan under high heat and cover them for a couple minutes to thaw. Then I remove the lid and fry until each side is slightly browned. I can even do this half asleep. 

*my young brothers-in-law tell me that they always brush bbq sauce on while grilling these burgers to take the flavour over the top. I’ve never done it but that’s probably why it tastes so good when they do the grilling. 

*BTT’s favourite burger topping:

1/2 hour before you’re ready to eat slice up a pile of onions and sauté with lots of butter and a sprinkle of salt on lowest heat. I also Include sliced mushrooms and/or green or red peppers if I have them on hand to add another layer of deliciousness. Serve on top of or beside burgers. 

*My favourite burger topping:

fresh jalapeños  or Pickled jalapeños  or fried jalapeños or, better yet, all the jalapeños 

*and one last way to bring your burgers to over-the-top delish: create a mixture of chives, cream cheese, shredded cheese (cheddar/mozza), and salt/pepper (add seasoning salt/red pepper flakes if you like) then form your hamburger patties around a spoonful of this. This process can be a little tricky but it is a fun project if you have a little extra time and you want a little extra deliciousness in your burger. What I do is flatten a sphere of the hamburger mixture in my palm and then place a small amount of cream cheese mixture in the middle of that. Roll the hamburger around the cream cheese to create a filled hamburger then gently flatten the finished burger to uniform thickness. 

 

Three

Years. And tonight the tears fall cos I suddenly feel a visceral pain tighten around my heart. Hot tears fall for these 3 long years worth of You we’ve missed. Three years of little girl hugs, of little girl laughs, of being able to comfort and love you every day. 3 years is so long. But also it feels like yesterday that I hugged you goodbye and left with tears in my eyes. 

Some say a picture is worth 1000 words. But I’d trade the few precious pictures I have of you for 1000 words exchanged with you. I wish I had a do over of the 5 years I knew you. Not becos I regret a single moment of loving You, but becos I would give almost anything to still have You. 

Three. Years. And when a friend and I commiserate about losing a Sister, or, in my case, Two, both our eyes glisten with tears and our voices kinda choke to a stop as we still try to adapt to our lives sans Sisters.