The Epic Battle

I grew up playing outside from morning til night. Even playing in the rain was fun because our street was severely lacking in storm drains, so when it rained the least bit, we had a river from curb to curb. Wading in it was fun. And it was also a treat to watch my brother dress up in matching cammo rain poncho's and introduce my oldest daughter to floating home made gutter boats.

We didn't need fancy toys. The world opened with only a bike, a few baseball cards, and some clothes pins. Nothing was so cool as to cruise up and down the street on your bike when it was outfitted with the cards clacking against the spokes as the wheels turned. I'm pretty sure mine always sounded like a Harley. I guess I've always been a biker babe at heart.

The thing that was always in abundant supply with which to play was water. It was before the days of "save mother earth", and "if it's yellow let it mellow". Water was cheap and easily available, so water fights with the hose were a regular occurrence. It wasn't unusual to surprise whomever might be doing the dishes in the kitchen with a good spray through the screen. And since the spray nozzle on the kitchen sink hadn't been invented, it was kind of hard to retaliate. 

The fun in our house didn't stop when we grew into adulthood. In fact, it became even more creative when we brought our own kids home for a visit. My children will never forget watching Bunns trap me in the corner of mom and dad's kitchen to drool on me. I was in my 30's, and I've never laughed so hard. Not only at my little brothers creative retaliation, but at the looks on my children's faces. I think that's when they started to 'get' what fun with the uncles REALLY was. 

It was during such a visit, with both brothers and their families, that one of the most memorable water battles EVER occurred. I don't remember who started it; though I'm sure it was one of the brothers. Someone (probably Ming)  broke out a big bag of water balloons, and got it started in the front yard. It didn't take long for our children to join in, but they were small enough that they all attached themselves to an adult for safety. The sight of my niece tucked in behind Bunns, and peeking around the corner of the house to see if anyone was standing there with a bucket waiting to soak them was priceless. 

We got tired of chasing each other from the front to the back yard, so started launching the balloons over the house. The sky rained water bombs and it was absolutely awesome! By then the neighbors from up and down the block had heard the laughing and commotion, so brought their lawn chairs and lined the sidewalk across the street to watch. 

The battle went on for quite some time, and eventually we ran out of balloons. But the next door neighbor, Jerry, who was a fireman, came to the rescue. He had a stash of surgical gloves in his garage and broke them out to take the place of  balloons. There is nothing better than watching a glove spin and tumble through the air as the fingers fill with water and the fingertips stretch out and bulge. They hold an amazing amount and make an impressive splat when they reach their intended target.

But not all the projectiles made it over the house. Some stopped short on the peek of the roof, and for a couple of years, the detritus of rubber baked in the sun. Dad never really loved us climbing around on the roof because it was kind of hard on it. At least, that was the excuse we used for not cleaning up after ourselves.  So we just left it up there as a reminder of a great day. I love my family.

Ascribe to the Lord the glory due His name;

Worship the Lord in holy array.

The voice of the Lord is upon the waters;

The God of glory thunders,

The voice of the Lord is over many waters.

The voice of the Lord is powerful,

The voice of the Lord is majestic.

Ps. 29:2-4

Before rubber covered the roof

Wheelbarrow rides - another kind of "fun with the uncles"

Monday's Grace 7/29/2013

I'm so thankful for this wonderful tool for keeping up with family, friends, ministry, and household stuff!

For the sake of my brothers and my friends,

I will now say, "May peace be within you."

For the sake of the house of the Lord our God,

I will seek your good.

Ps. 112:8-9

Linking up to:

GraceLaced Mondays

Indians Road Trip

The Indians left Cleveland on July 10 to do a little sight seeing!

Photo by Hannah Shafran

They like riding shotgun

They stopped in to see Mimi. She looks a little confused, because she has no idea why she's holding Jacobs Field to get her picture taken

They got to visit The Bear at Michelle's house, and then..............

They got to visit the Zoo!!

They found a new friend

Brent showed them the goats in the petting zoo

 Eli took them to lunch

But the Dino's were the hightlight of their day!

You who ride on white donkeys,

You who sit on rich carpets,

And you who travel on the road, ------- Sing!!

Judges 5:10

Monday's Grace 7/22/2013

The beginning of this week brings with it a reminder of God's grace in the everyday. This morning, I'm enjoying the privilege of having books in general. And especially the greatest Book of all.

I LOVE to read. Especially on rainy days like today.

What a gift it is to be able to have so many Bibles.

My favorite reading material

 The greatest love letter of all

For by grace are  ye saved through faith;

And that not of yourselves;

It is the gift of God,

Not of works, lest any man should boast.

For we are His workmanship,

Created in Christ Jesus unto good works,

Which God hath before ordained 

that we should walk in them.

Eph. 2:8-10

Linking up to:

 GraceLaced Mondays

The Challenge

I grew up in a fairly traditional home where dad went to work, and mom stayed home and did stuff. My mom wasn't terribly interested in the domestic part of "stuff" but managed to keep the family running. She would have preferred a career to staying home and raising us, but was quick to say that she was really thankful  we had all come along when we did. I was usually cleaning her kitchen when she made statements like that, so perhaps that was the impetus for her flashes of insight.

Anyway, one of her weekly tasks was to do the grocery shopping. She never made a list and the results were random buys and several trips to the store in addition to the big weekly trips. It was a common occurrence for one of us kids to be sent to the store around the corner to get whatever she had forgotten. If we wanted dinner, we happily did it, because the meal was usually on hold until we came back with the missing ingredient. 

It was always an interesting process to unload the groceries from the Rambler, carry them into the kitchen and begin to unpack the bags to put things away. Somehow, my older brother, Ming, managed to be on the kitchen side of the table and was responsible for the "putting things away" part. It always amazed me how much came out of the bags and how little actually made it to the cabinets when he put himself in that position. He liked to eat, and was smart enough to put himself front and center with easy access to the good stuff. 

We didn't really care about sugar in food then; or preservatives, or artificial sweeteners. Quite honestly, our favorite foods were packed full of those things. Mom kept bottles of Diet Rite cola in the refrigerator and I remember it leaving a funny aftertaste, but we drank it anyway. She was good at making an effort to keep some kind of treats in the kitchen. There was always something for dessert as long as Ming didn't get to it first.

His penchant for devouring whatever passed by him pushed mom into taking some drastic measures when it came to food. She knew that if she was ever going to get any of the good stuff, she was going to have to resort to hiding it. 

Her favorite food was Hostess Ding Dongs, and we never saw them actually come into the house, but she managed to come up with one at night for dessert. She hid them all over the house. I remember finding them quite by accident in the liquor cabinet. I never drank, because that stuff was nasty, but I thought the bottles were pretty cool looking so every once in awhile, I'd open the buffet in the dining room just to look at them. Some of the bottles had clear glass caps that also held liquid, so that if you turned the bottle over, it would fill the cap. And when you turned it back the right way, bubbles would go up into the cap as the liquid drained back into the bottle. I was so easy to amuse.

My friend, Mona, introduced me to Ding Dongs. I remember her mom gave me one after lunch one day, and I loved it so much, she actually pulled out another one and handed it to me. I loved her, and I think I was a continual source of amusement to her. Things that her own daughter would take for granted would send me into fits of enjoyment and gratitude. Like I said, I was easy to amuse.

When I opened the liquor cabinet, and saw the box of Ding Dongs, I counted myself truly blessed and grabbed a couple to devour immediately. I wasn't about to tell the brothers where I found them either. But I think mom kept a count because the next time I got in there to snag one (or three) they were no longer there. 

It became a challenge for us kids to find what she'd hidden. And it became a continual frustration to her when we found her stash and promptly ate it. Ming and Bunns went ahead and consumed the treasure when fate led them to it, but I was always careful to leave one in the box because I figured if I did that, she wouldn't notice that I had gotten in there. Not only was I easy to amuse, but evidently, I wasn't very smart either. 

Keep deception and lies far from me,

Give me neither poverty  nor riches;

Feed me with the food that is my portion,

That I not be full and deny You and say, 

"Who is the Lord?"

Or that I not be in want and steal,

And profane the name of my God.

Prov. 30:8-9

Monday's Grace 7/15/2013

Grace is not getting "more than we deserve", it's getting what we don't deserve at all. Focusing on the grace we experience in our lives is such a great way to start each week. God's grace is evident in the breathtaking and heartbreaking moments alike. Take a look each Monday to see if God's grace in my life will get you thinking about it in your own.

Today, our home is littered with the evidence of grandchildren. We call them "littles" and we're so thankful for ALL of them.

Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord:

And the fruit of the womb is His reward.

As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man;

So are the children of the youth.

Ps. 127:3-4

Linking up to: 

Gracelaced Monday's

10 on 10 Road Trip!

At points, we nearly washed away, but it was a successful trip nonetheless!!

An early start called for breakfast in the car

I think I should do a little dusting!

Photo by Debbie Burke

That screams "balanced meal" to me!

Photo by Debbie Burke

Community Bible Study

Photo by Michelle Clapham

Speaks for Itself

Photo by Michelle Clapham

You just never know what you'll see in some of these small towns!!

Photo by Michelle Clapham

This was kind of the story of the day

Photo by Debbie Burke

So, I spent the day at my friend Sue's. And "somehow", Jacobs Field "found it's way" into my bag. Oops. So, it must travel! Periodically, I'll be posting the "Indian's On The Road" to track it's experiences before it returns home.

Photo of Michelle Clapham's leg, by Michelle Clapham 

A nice dress just isn't complete without Under Armor

Started the day munching in the car, and ended it the same way. But at least this time I wasn't alone!

And I had help with the photo's because I WAS DRIVING THE CAR!!!

Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;

And in your book were all written

The days that were ordained for me,

When as yet, there was not one of them.

Ps. 139:16

Linking up to: A Bit of Sunshine

Foot Prints

I grew up in a mid-century tract house, in a middle class neighborhood in southern California. The house looked like most of the other houses in the plan; boxy and on a small lot. When they were built, I think fences were a part of the package, and as they aged, most of the wood basket weave fences were replaced by block walls, and changes were made so that each house became more and more distinguishable from it's neighbor. 

When I was 6, my little brother joined the family, and shortly thereafter it was decided that eventually we would have to add on to the house because we would really need the extra room. I. WAS. ALL. FOR. IT. When little brother, Bunns, started using a crib, my folks, in their infinite wisdom, decided that he should share a room with me. I don't  know why I was the lucky one. Probably because he was closer in age to me than to older brother, Ming. 

And so, I spent a couple of years being awakened each morning by a glass baby bottle to the head. It was before anything made from plastic was common, and pretty much all that was available were glass bottles with black caps. I saw one of them in an antique store recently. It still had it's original rubber nipple. I think that was a safe assumption because most of the nipple was rotted off and what was left was kind of a crusty sticky mix. 

Anyway, as my little brother aged, and he committed some kind of infraction, mom would just send him to his room. But by then, Ming, and I had learned to tightly close the doors to our rooms when we left for school, because if we didn't, Bunns, would wreak all kinds of havoc in our spaces in the name of "playing." So, when he was sent to "his" room, he entered the back hall to find all doors but the bathroom closed, which left him no place to go. I think that usually hit him harder than actually being disciplined for some wrongdoing. Most days he would re-emerge and tearfully tell mom "I don't have a room!" 

That finally tipped the scales and the time had come to add on the "bonus room" over the garage. We were the first two story house on the block and since it just soared straight up from the ground with no breaks in the walls, it really stuck out in a neighborhood full of ranch style homes. Dad built in some temporary walls upstairs to give my older brother a space up there, and little brother was moved from my room to the room next door. I was once again able to sleep without fear of concussion upon awaking.

After the addition was completed on our house, it needed a new coat of paint. We never hired anything out, because dad could do just about anything he put his hand to. Actually constructing the addition was a little too much job for him, but he did all the finish work inside as well as the painting outside. Mom loved green. She claims it's her favorite color because it's the same color as money. So it was decided that the outside stucco should be painted a mint green with a dark green trim. Most of the houses in the plan were fairly brightly colored, so that combination actually made it blend right in.

I was fascinated with the painting process. Previously, the cottage cheese texture stucco had been white, and now it was a whole new color. I wanted to help so badly but was never handed a paint brush. I managed to remain underfoot for most of the day. Until my bare feet took a wrong step and ended up in the roller tray. Mint green paint splashed up my legs and even covered a fair amount of my fanny. Uh oh. 

Needless to say, I panicked and ran down the sidewalk toward the street. My dad was behind me trying to get me to stop, while my mom just screamed out of frustration at what I had managed to do. I was not the most popular kid in the family at that point. 

Dad managed to catch me, and get me cleaned up, but by the time he was finished, my sweet little green footprints were nice and dry on the cement sidewalk. Latex paint with soap and water clean up was still a thing of the future, so the legacy of my "helpfulness" lasted well into my high school years. Occasionally, I would go out with a scraper or wire brush and try to erase the evidence of my panicked dance down the walk, but not much touched it. 

My hieroglyphics eventually wore away, only to be resurrected in a memory quilt assembled for my parents some time later.  Little brother managed to include them in the square he contributed. Of course. 

But He knows the way I take;

When He has tried me, I shall come forth as gold.

My foot has held fast to His path;

I have kept His way, and not turned aside.

I have not departed from the command of His lips;

I have treasured the words of His mouth 

more than my necessary food.

Job 23:10-12

Our childhood home under construction; with Ming and my dad

Several years later in the backyard

Learning Polish

I went to school for the first time as a 5 year old, when my mom packed me up in the Rambler station wagon and delivered me to Francis Scott Key School  to meet my teacher, Miss Hackamack. She was really pretty, and excellently and dutifully oversaw our half day plays. That's really all kindergarten was in those days. A lot of art and recess with some music thrown in. My favorite activity was painting at the big easels and in my opinion, it didn't happen often enough. To this day, I still love the smell of tempera paint.

But my first day in real school started when I was 6 years old and I entered the big brick building next door to Francis Scott Key. A large chain link fence ran the length between the two schools and each tried to pretend the other didn't exist. It was in that large brick building that I met my first real live teacher. She was wearing a long black wool garb with a huge rosary hanging from her belt and she had two points on her head. Her outfit had starched white material that totally hid her head and neck so that only her face peeked out, and she had boots on. Those outfits had to be a real drag on 90* days.

My teachers name was Sister Emmaline and she was as sweet as the day is long.......... at least for the few days that she lasted. I think Sister E was about 100 years old when the 66 children in my class showed up at her door;  most of us crying. 

One day when I walked into the classroom, Sister Emmaline was no longer there and had been replaced by a lay teacher named Mrs. VonEtchon. As soon as the bell rang, Mrs. VE proceeded to recite the litany of rules for the classroom, and then she demonstrated how quickly she could navigate all those rows of desks to take care of any infractions. I remember the wind in my hair as she sailed past me. And the sound that the pointer made when she smacked it down on some poor unsuspecting kids desk. 

The tears quickly abated under Sister Emmaline's sweetness, but all eyes overflowed under Mrs. VonEtchon's baleful glare, especially when she told us that we had ruined Sister Emmaline's health. She had steel gray hair that matched her wool jumper, crooked yellow teeth, and she wore sensible shoes. The better to catch us with, I guess. I felt really sorry for my friend Gisele, when I found out Mrs. VE was actually her grandmother.

Anyway, first grade was merely the the beginning of a  long school career under the tutelage of various and sundry nuns and lay teachers. They all had their strengths and weaknesses, and I applaud every one of them because having spent time at the front of a classroom myself, I'm not sure how it is that I not only survived as a child in such huge classes, but also learned how to read and write so well.  True, there were grueling homework sessions every night that lasted several hours each, but I still give them a lot of credit. 

Early on in my schooling, the principal, Sister Theogenia, decided that we needed foreign language classes. I would love to have been a fly on the wall in THAT faculty meeting when she informed the teachers that one more responsibility would be added to their list! But as it turned out, only a couple of the nuns would be responsible for the language classes, because only a couple of them were qualified to teach them. Sister Theogenia had decided that the most  practical language for us to learn, in Southern California, with the huge Spanish speaking population, was Polish. Yes. The nuns would be teaching us to speak Polish. 

Sister Theogenia was a thin woman, and seemed fairly intelligent and attractive  under her glasses with blue lenses. I never heard or saw her lose her cool, though she was known to drag boys down the long hallway by their ears. And it was in her infinite wisdom that Polish was the path we would take. I think it lasted a grand total of about a week. And it was the shining moment for my second language, for all I ever spoke after that was Spanglish, the tongue of SoCal survival. 

And thou shalt love the Lord thy God

with all thy heart,

and with all thy soul,

and with all thy mind,

and with all thy strength:

This is the first commandment.

Mark 12:30

Felician Sisters