A Healthy Diet

My brothers and I were probably some of the luckiest kids in the world growing up. Mom didn't like anything fresh. Even though we lived in Southern California, we never had fresh fruit or vegetables, fruit juice or much of anything else of redeeming value. In fact, even though the house I grew up in was surrounded by orange groves, I never peeled an orange and ate it until after I had married and been transferred out of California. 

Mom grew up in Kansas until she was in high school, and she was kind of a product of her upbringing. Her mom like weird food and handing out some kind of wonder pills that used atomic energy to clean out ones intestines. Meal times with gramma were always interesting. So, in many ways, my mom did her best to be totally different from her own mom, and when you couple that with her extremely picky palate, and a hatred of any domestic tasks, our own diets were interesting too. Boxed and canned were the way to go. 

We actually grew up eating spam and canned peas, a lot of slightly burned things, because she liked them crunchy, and a semi truck load of Hamburger Helper. We never complained. It was quick, easy and dependable, and mom didn't mind doing it. Dad drew the line at T.V. dinners, so it was all good.

The best part of our kitchen, though, is that mom could be counted on for fun food. She liked chocolate and soft drinks. So, guess what WE got!! That's right! There was always desert. Always. And I'm very thankful none of us ever struggled with weight. Breakfast was usually the best. Dad often walked to Winchell's Donuts around the corner on the weekends. They were so good and such a treat! And the rest of the week, mom could be counted on to provide sugar cereal. All the biggies: Trix, my personal favorite, Cocoa Puffs, Cocoa Krispies, Sugar Pops which we counted as a vegetable, and Apple Jacks. That's right. That was our fruit. Are you noticing a trend? Processed, filled with sugar and preservatives, and we all turned out fine. Perhaps we should re-think our views on food.

But the one food that could be counted on to create dissension was Lucky Charms. "Frosted Lucky Charms, they're magically delicious!" Yeah, now the tune is stuck in your head too, right? The only problem with Lucky Charms was that one of my brothers would usually get to the box, eat all the marshmallow pieces and then leave the oat-y part behind. Any time you heard "Dang-it!!" coming from the direction of the kitchen, you KNEW someone had opened the Lucky Charms, only to find they had been beaten to the box, and all that was left could be considered almost healthy. And when they started putting that rainbow shape in the mix, the insult was doubly harsh.

Our family still appreciates a good dose of morning sugar on a regular basis. But I don't buy Lucky Charms. It's just not worth that sense of loss when the oats outlast the marshmallows.

Yet He commanded the clouds above

And opened the doors of heaven;

He rained down manna upon them to eat

And gave them food from heaven. 

Man did eat the bread of angels;

He sent them food in abundance.

Ps. 78:23-25

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"

Nicknames

My mom loved unusual names.  I think it was because she wanted exceptional children. She probably knew that we weren't going to be anything extraordinary, but at least our names could be. Mom and dad didn't really agree on what to name the children. Older brother was named after my dad, and he was okay with that, but my name, and my little brothers name kind of came out of left field. Mom loved them because they were so unique.  

In his quiet way dad protested, especially with my name. He called me by my middle name for quite a while. He might not have been able to verbalize it at the time, but I think he knew that my name would be a challenge. I was an unattractive child, with buck teeth, glasses and a speech impediment. Needless to say, I've never loved being the center of attention, and my name is a MOUTH FULL. If I had been thinking, I would have changed it when I turned 18. 

When asked for my name, I usually give "Martha Stewart." It worked well for me when I used it as a laser tag identifier and beat a bunch of teenagers. I must have been channeling my inner felon. But when I called and ordered pizza and gave that name, the kid taking my order actually hung up on me. Uh....... hello?

Anyways, dad was the master of nicknames. His family was always twisting names around, and it continues as the family grows. His sister was named "Sarah", but everyone knew her as "Sally." Dad was always called "Norky", and my mom hated it. He called us kids by nicknames as well. Some were just terms of endearment and it was always kind of a treat to hear him use the same names for our kids that he used with us. 

One of the funniest nicknames my dad ever used was for his boss. Dad was a dental lab tech for an orthodontist named Dr. English. He was a short guy with big hairy arms and sausage like fingers. Dentists didn't use gloves at that time and I'm sure you can imagine what it was like to be a child sitting in his chair. Dad always referred to Dr. English as "Stubby". Stubby seemed okay with it.

My older brother was 10 years old when little brother was born. He was so excited to have a brother instead of another sister. It didn't really matter that they were separated by so many years. Older brother picked up one of his nicknames because little brother couldn't say his name. It always came out "Mingy". So the rest of us began using it as well. "Mingy" became "Ming", which became "Emperor Ming" as he got older.

My little brother was tagged by our cousin, Chris. We vacationed in Mammoth every summer and one year, Chris came with us. Little brother was about 2-ish and loved to run around without his diaper. It was quite a funny sight  and the nickname "Buns" was the obvious choice. We all spell it differently. Mings' spelling of choice is "Bunz", whereas mine is "Bunns". I think Buns himself prefers to ignore the fact that he was even given such a nickname.

We used to just shorten his given name, but it always sounded like we were saying "Grunny". I think little brother should be thankful for "Bunns."

Be kindly affectioned one to another 

with brotherly love;

In honor, preferring one another;

Romans 12:10

Eugene Price

I grew up in a part of the country that was outdoor playing weather 360 days of the year. We went out early and stayed out until the street lights came on. We drank from the hose……….. No, it’s not just something cute on facebook, we really DID drink from the hose. And there’s something really special about the taste of water that’s passed through a garden hose. I also lived with perpetual stubbed toes because I never wore shoes. My toes finally cleared up when I got a job and was required to wear shoes to work. No. I didn’t grow up in West Virginia.

I was raised in an era where you spent most of the time playing outside with the neighbor kids and all of us walked or rode our bikes to school together without a second thought. “Go out and play” didn’t mean go play in the fenced back yard. It meant go out pretty much wherever you wanted to go and play. You knew mom would yell for you when she needed you.

I had 3 pretty good friends in our neighborhood. Carol, Sandy, and Mona.  Interesting that I spent a lot of time playing with them, but I don’t remember us playing much as a group. Maybe because Mona was a couple of years younger. But she was an “only”, and I really liked her. We did a lot of fun stuff together. The first time I ever saw snow was with Mona. Her dad had a dichondra lawn and my favorite thing was to pull the tops off the stalks in strips to make roads through the grass for the matchbox cars. Mona’s dad was NOT a happy man when we had been playing cars on his front lawn!

I had two brothers, too. My older brother was nicknamed “Mingy” and the younger “Buns”. Mingy grew up to be called “Emperor Ming”, and also picked up other names along the way. “Squats to pee” was my favorite. Anyway, Ming’s favorite thing to do was to tease the neighborhood boys. He always had a creative way of finding their weak spot and tormenting them with it. And so we come to Eugene.

Eugene was my friend Carol’s older brother. They didn’t have nicknames in their family. And Eugene was a little bit quirky. I remember he would spit a lot when he talked. That’s really about all I recall about him personally, but I’ll never forget what Ming used to do to him.

You see, Eugene had a very weak stomach. If you said the word “barf”, he would. And so he became a target occasionally for my brother. I’ll never forget the day when Ming spit on the sidewalk and Eugene promptly threw up.  Yep. Ming spit again with the same result. And I’m pretty sure that summer, Eugene lost a lot of weight.

Eugene and Ming were actually friends. I guess friendship is just a little twisted when you’re 11. I often wonder what happened to Eugene. His family moved away when we were still kids. Perhaps they had an inclination that Ming would eventually become “Squats to Pee” and got out while they still could. 

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.

Prov. 17:17

 

Other Pursuits