A lot of you know that I try very hard as a writer to dwell on the good stuff in my life which has, by God’s Grace, been abundantly given to me.

This past weekend was one of those times and I share it with you because my heart is in danger of bursting open with joys. Somehow among all seven of our daughters a decision was made to take their Mom on a daughter/mom weekend to Washington DC. Good move girls.

It was not the perfect accommodations, or the glorious food, or the beauty and history of the city that made this weekend so special. It was the moments of seeing these sisters interact with appreciation of each other that has existed since they left the farm and faced the world with confidence and excitement. Different paths, different goals, different methods, but with that same respect for each other that was our absolute family foundation.

There were more than a few stories and remembrances and at least one toast, to the man who loved us all unconditionally. And as always, the spoken regrets that he wasn’t still here to love us still. We stay happy, and benevolent, and strong in his honor, and that brings smiles to our faces instead of tears.

I will talk about one of our outings to the Kennedy Center for a revival production of Oklahoma that gave us a lot to discuss with each other , and had Sarah’s husband looking for a fire alarm to pull. You might be interested in looking up some of the reviews. Just more memories, I tell the girls, just more memories!!

Corrie ten Boom once said, “Memories are not the key to the past, but to the future!” Dear family, you can relive those special moments ten thousand times, if you wish. Thank you for them.

I heard a word yesterday in the Senate’s interviewing (or interrogation) of Judge Jackson’s possible appointment to the Supreme Court of this nation. A word so powerful that it may have not only changed a life, but perhaps will have an impact on a whole nation.

I was moved as Judge Jackson described her personal angst in her arrival at Harvard University and Law school as to whether she fit into such a place. And in a chance encounter with a perfect stranger, who may have seen the fear and worry on her countenance, she heard , “persevere.”

Persevere, Ketanji Brown Jackson.

I sit here in my comfortable recliner, warm, fed, healthy, and shamefaced by the very reality of my circumstances. As I dressed myself this morning in my favorite black jeans and a favorite sweater, I failed myself as a compassionate, aware human being.

As my arthritic fingers failed to push some relatively small buttons into their corresponding button holes, I let out my favorite expletive several times, in frustration. Then I walk into my living room and turn on the TV!

The first thing I see is a little Ukrainian girl lined up at a train station trying to escape, expressing to the reporter that she had lost her toy train, and all of a sudden, her face lit up in a smile, saying, “Oh, there it is!” Children in this world should never have more than a lost toy to worry about. I’m shamefaced.

Shamefaced as I slather butter and a fresh, plump tomato on my English muffin,

Shamefaced as I push a button on my Keurig and out comes a steaming cup of coffee.

Shamefaced as I step outside for my morning walk in a calm, beautiful neighborhood, with a faint smell of an errant skunk it’s only problem

Shamefaced that I plan to go shopping later on today with a list of things to buy without any concern that what I seek will be there and I have the money to buy them

Shamefaced that my greatest worry is what this human crisis does to the cost of gas and consumer goods for my cost of living.

Forgive me, God.

Someone paid me a visit yesterday, and delivered untold joy to my life. This young man, and I call him young because he is the age of my girls, came to see me and tell me, thanks!!

His words, “ Ms. Blose (he called me that, and it was ok because to me he was that same young boy with whom we interacted many years ago). “ I know I never thanked you as a kid for the way you treated me growing up, and I let Mr. Blose pass without thanking him either, so I didn’t want that to happen again.”

EmailingHe proceeded to tell me instant after instant when we impacted his life in a positive way. I won’t relate them here as they are too private and precious to do so, but I told him I would absolutely tell our daughters the stories of their Dad and add to all the good memories they treasure.

Why am I telling this story? It certainly is not that Bill and I were paragons of virtue, but to remind me and you readers that in our simple encounters with others who cross our lives, that generosity and respect might impact those lives in untold ways. It certainly did with one who got a chance to express it

I’ve never been much of a practitioner of New Year Resolutions, probably because I’m not much of a keeper of New Year Resolutions.

Sitting here today in contemplation of all that last year brought. And vowing not to let it color the hope and excitement of a brand new slate, I keep coming back to what our remarkable clergy tell us at church.

As much as I want to doubt them, every now and then I get it!! That message is, because of Christ, we live a life of abundance, not scarcity. We need to set our bank accounts aside and look at the abundances of our life.

One thing this pandemic has forced is an appreciation for the important things that make life worth living, like a hug from a loved one, face to face and personal conversation with our friends, and the importance of all the front line folks of society who bore the blunt of helping us navigate this new existence.

An abundant life calls us to bring forth our very best selves…those selves that look to give rather than receive. A life of abundance means that we each possess a well of goodness waiting to be tapped for our brother.

Here is to a year of abundance of love, hope, and sharing. Happy New Year.

When our normal lives have been swept asunder under the wrath of an invading scourge of the pandemic, what do we do, where do we travel, with whom do we gather? I know this has been our family’s norm for almost two years now.

Now I have been somewhat accepting of this, but when it starts affecting Christmas again, I protest!! This morning I put on my pink Christmas shirt that my sister made me at least 25 years ago. I have donned that shirt every Christmas Eve every year, but this year, I look all festive, and no place to go!

Now there are somethings that should never change at Christmas, including my shirt, like a feast of ham and sweet potato and green bean casseroles, egg nog, and chocolate fondue, pecan tarts and peanut brittle, and a bit of oyster stew. We need grownup grandchildren, upon visiting Grandma, looking to see if their special ornament on their special grandchildren tree, is still there!,

We need Christmas carols, and cantatas, and someone somewhere singing, Mary Did You Know. We need Bing Crosby with White Christmas, and It’s A Wonderful Life, and Charlie Brown’s Christmas. We need the Grinch to remind us that even the hardest hearts can change. We need Rudolph to tell us that the “bullied” can sometimes save the day!

We need Christmas pageants with shepherds and wise men, we need candles lit everywhere to remember Christ’s bringing light to the world. And we need reminding that, as a dear former pastor reminded us, that God tore open the Heavens to send salvation to the world, with his omniscient knowledge, He touched our hearts with the perfect gift, a baby!,

God Bless Us, Everyone.

This family of ours loves a celebration, and it doesn’t take much to set us into a frenzy of joy! So the absolutely phenomenal wedding of my grandson, after he and his bride postponed their nuptials for a year due to the pandemic, gave us such a chance once more.

It was a spectacular occasion and we were treated like royalty in our participation, and I will savor the occasion for years. But, there was a side event that stole my heart’s attention that had little to do with the wedding venue. That was a tour of the National Aquarium with two little great-grandchildren, ages one and a half and three and a half.

The three year old took a more knowledgeable approach, having been schooled by his parents as to what he would see or touch. None the less enthralled, but very much in conversation with his parents about the displays, he looked up at his dad once, and said “ I love you Dad”. I assume in appreciation for being taken to the aquarium.

But the 1 and a half year old little girl blew us all away with her first glimpse of the first window of fish..her joy was palpable, as she ran to the window, mouth and eyes expressing the awe she felt. It didn’t stop with the first window. Each display brought a similar reaction that made us grownups a bit more appreciative of our own adventure.

The whole point of this blog by this eighty-three year old great-grandmother is this. Sometimes at this age, the wonder of the world becomes faded in the diminished experiences of life itself. I caught that wonder again this past weekend through the eyes of children. May it always be so.

When your weekend guests bring you apples and you already have apples, what do you do? You make apple butter. Simmering apples in my slow cooker, the aroma sends my mind spinning back to the utensil for making apple butter was a copper lined kettle over a wood fire.

The farm of my childhood had the remnant of a ancient apple orchard that still had quite a few trees still bearing a variety of apples whose names elude me, but whose bounty was gathered thankfully every fall by my family. Some went immediately to a cider press to fill a wooden stave barrel where the apple juice would eventually turn to vinegar, after going through a tasty period of sweet cider.

Excess apples were stored in a bin in a root cellar and remained crisp for most of the winter months. They were our after dinner snack, along with popcorn, as we sat around the radio anxiously listening for news from World War II. Gabriel Heatter’s greeting of “There’s Good News Tonight” became his catch phrase and we rejoiced as our brother Joe was in the Pacific theater. Abbott and Costello, Amos and Andy were welcome amusement when the world had little to laugh about.

So, this effort of mine seems a bit mundane in comparison to those days, but the aroma is undeniably the same, and once it is spread across my toast, the essence of that long ago family time will warm my heart once more.

I have a distinct blessing this morning of taking care of my 3 year old great-grandson for a few hours. Once again there are toys scattered over my floor, snack and milk at self-service, and the joy of hearing him call me “Grandma.”

But the real parental revisiting came from our visit to our development’s park. On the walk down there, we were hailed by construction trucks who took the time to reward a little boy who waved at them with a loud blast of their horn which sent him doubled over with laughter.

Now, the park jungle gym is not age appropriate for a little one….I had to lift him up the first step to the slide apparatus. Tentatively he approached the first slide, backing away when he looked down. I said, “I will help you” and took his arm as we inched down the slide. Safely down, he ran around to climb up again. This time when I reached out to help him, he pushed my hand away and went down by himself. Much applause from said Grandma.

But this is parenting at its heart. Always ready for a hand out or up, but the joy of parenting is when they push it away!!!!

Oscar Wilde once said, “I think God, in creating man, somewhat over estimated his ability!” Boy, there are many days I agree. As we fumble and stumble and blame each other for every faux pax in our dealings with others, Wilde might be right.

But the fallacy of such thinking is that God never intended we do this alone. That is the real answer. We are just too stubborn, prideful or ignorant to rely on the one true help.