Resolved

Inasmuch as heretofore, the undersigned has declined to enumerate a list of resolutions for a new year, this document shall signify a change pursuant to resolutions for the year of our Lord 2018, it being the month of December.

Resolved: Having for a few years heretofore chosen a word of focus for the year (the word for 2018 being “joy”, the word of choice for the year 2019 shall be “majesty”, as pertaining to the awesome majesty of God.

Resolved:  Having a number of years heretofore read the Bible through annually using the ESV Daily Reading Bible with daily passages from the Old Testament, the New Testament and the Psalms, a challenge in addition to this for 2019 shall be the reading of the Bible in 90 days according to the 90 day Bible reading plan from Graceful Abandon.

Resolved: To throw off the tyranny of the “shoulds” and “oughts” and seek to live in the freedom of being who Christ has created and called me to be.

Resolved: To pray more diligently and to develop a plan whereby the requests being made known are not only dependent on my memory, but are in some manner organized and accessible.

Resolved:  To make better use of my mornings.

Resolved:  To add more movement throughout the day and to spend time outdoors each day whether little or much.

My Christmas Traditions

My list of Christmas traditions:

Putting up outdoor lights the day after Thanksgiving weather permitting

Putting up lighted greenery sway on balcony railing, also the day after Thanksgiving

Making Christmas cookies starting with Oatmeal Strips (not a traditional Christmas cookie but very rich and our personal favorite that is only made at Christmas time)

Putting up miscellaneous Christmas decorations, including the wooden scrollwork pieces from Barry's brother, Brad

Making more Christmas cookies
Taping Christmas cards up on the wall as we receive them

Making Mother's Chex Mix

Singing Christmas carols at church

Making fruitcake with dried cherries, dried cranberries and golden raisins

Starting to figure out a gift list (my best ideas come late)

Thinking about sending Christmas cards and Christmas e-cards

Getting a tree, usually by my birthday

Putting the lights on the tree (Barry)

Putting the ornaments on the tree, unbreakable ones on the lower half and more fragile ones at the top because of young grandkids and cats (Candy and Carrie)

Finalizing gift list and ordering, shopping and sometimes making

Making more Christmas cookies

Sending packages to Florida and Colorado, usually right at the deadline

Brother's dinner with Barry's brothers and wives

Christmas Eve or Christmas day with Ben, Sarah and kids

Opening stocking gifts Christmas morning

Eating breakfast

Reading the Christmas story as a family

Opening gifts to each other

A quiet Christmas evening

And two silly traditions that are all my own:

Listening to “Grandma Got Run Over by A Reindeer” all the way through just once during the season

Watching “The Preacher's Wife”

And one very dear to my heart tradition:

On Christmas Eve morning I listen to a broadcast of the “Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from the chapel of King's College, Cambridge. The nine lessons come from Genesis, Isaiah, Luke, Matthew and John presenting the arc of the gospel story from the fall of man to the coming of the Messiah. Each lesson is accompanied by two carols sung by the choir and at times the congregation. The service always begins with “Once in Royal David's City” as the choir processes into the service. The first verse is sung acapella by one boy. All the boys in the choir practice for that solo with the final selection being made just before the processional begins. It is thrilling to listen live, to hear that lone voice begin singing, to hear the Scriptures being read, ending with the passage from John 1:1-14, “In the beginning was the WORD, and the WORD was with God and the WORD was God. Praise be to God.

Two Very Special Christmas Trees

I do not have a lot of specific memories of Christmases growing up.  I do remember Christmas as being a special family time with a tree and presents and the Christmas story from the Bible and sometimes special church events.  But two Christmases—or two Christmas trees to be more exact—spring to mind immediately when asked for a Christmas memory. 

After we moved from Long Beach to Hesperia when I was in fourth grade, my dad drove 100 miles to work as jobs were scarce in the high desert.  The only major employers were the Kaiser-Permanente cement plant in Lucerne Valley and George Air Force Base in Adelanto which provided some civilian jobs.  The region was sparsely populated and many were retirees.  But over time the drive to the better paying job “down below”, over Cajon Pass into the LA Basin, took its toll and was not worth the paycheck.  And so began his 5 year quest for a career in the high desert community which culminated in his becoming a firefighter and paramedic with the Hesperia Fire Department.  Those five years were comprised of a series of short term jobs, hard work and struggles to make ends meet.   

Of those five years, two Christmases stand out.  There was money to purchase at least one gift for each of us, but no money for a Christmas tree.  The first Christmas, out of desperation, very late on Christmas Eve, after all the stores and gas stations had closed, my mom picked up one of the leftover trees that would be thrown out when business resumed the day after Christmas, brought it home and decorated it.  Better than a Charlie Brown tree, but not a beautiful tree, to us it was wonderful.  The second unusual Christmas tree was also the result of a too limited budget.  A row of very tall cypress formed a windbreak at the back of our yard.  Their column a Christmas tree shape and when decorated was pretty impressive and to us wonderful.

ular shape did not suggest much in the way of a Christmas tree, but after my mom and dad cut one down, trimmed off the bottom to fit the ceiling height, and interspersed some of the trimmed branches in the lower half, it took on

As a parent (and grandparent) now myself, looking back, the sacrifices my parents made to provide not just needs, but also special things amazes me.  Their love for us and their hard work, even when the urge to tune out must have been overwhelming, made our lives special.  And our Christmases, whether adorned with much or little were very special.    

A Reflection on Doughnuts

Doughnuts have been used as a coping mechanism probably as long as they have been in existence.  I, too, use doughnuts as a coping mechanism when faced with situations which threaten to undo me, to dissolve my usually calm demeanor into a puddle of tears whether from sadness or joy, from feeling overwhelmed or even just sentimental.  However, my use of doughnuts is quite unconventional.  Here is how it all began…

In early 1997, my husband, Barry, and I bought a convenience store.  It was situated way out in the county and owned by an elderly couple who wished to retire.  The premises were as careworn as the owners and in desperate need of updating.  The asking price was a bargain even with the need for new gas pumps, a canopy over the pumps, a renovation of the front of the building and a fresh coat of paint on walls and concrete floor.  A company was contracted to replace the gas pumps and install the canopy.  Family, friends and newly hired employees did the grunt work of refurbishing and painting.  Barry’s connections to the local restaurant community through his HVAC/refrigeration company guaranteed access to good used equipment which he would install himself.  A three year stint as a deli manager while in his 20’s gave him the know-how to stock and manage the sub and sandwich part of the store.  Add the groceries, the VHS movie rentals and an ATM machine and we were set.  Oh yes, don’t forget the doughnuts—a whole case full every morning, Monday through Saturday.

We stocked a very good doughnut product that came in pre-fried and frozen.  The doughnut “maker” would arrive between 4:15 and 4:30am to be ready for the 5am store open.  Saturday opening was an hour later and we were closed on Sundays.  Specific numbers of doughnuts would have been taken from the walk in freezer and placed on trays in the walk in cooler the night before.  The first order of business in the morning was to fire up the commercial convection oven and ready the work space.  Oven mitts, cooling racks, powdered sugar, cinnamon sugar, glaze, white icing, chocolate icing, white filling, crème filling, raspberry filling and so on.  The easiest and first to be done were the rings and twists.  They were either dipped in cinnamon sugar while hot or glazed or iced when cool.  The filled doughnut shells were cooled, then filled and then glazed or iced.  Each day had its list of how many of each type were to be made.  Usually the store opened before all the doughnuts were finished, so waiting on customers was added to the list of duties. 

When all was complete and the doughnuts were arranged on their trays in the glass case, the clean up began.  The unused glaze, icings, fillings and the sugars had to be put back in their respective buckets and lugged back into the walk in cooler.  The donut filler machine had to be dismantled and cleaned.  The bowls and utensils had to be washed and stored.  The counters had to be washed, the sink cleaned and the floor mopped.  At this point it would be between 8 and 9am depending on the quantity of doughnuts made. 

When the Mennonite woman we had hired moved away, my dad took over the doughnut shift and loved every minute of the process.  First, he was a morning person.  4:15am arrival?  No problem.  Secondly, he was very methodical and liked being able to determine his own routine and way of doing things.  He was also a people person who enjoyed interacting with the customers and even forming friendships with the regulars. 

Unfortunately, even the best employee for the job has days of sickness or vacation.  And I was the fill-in.  My dad did have some sick days, colds and what not.  Then he had hammer toe surgery which meant about six weeks of doughnut duty  Ugh!  I am not a morning person.  I do not want to even begin to think about getting up at an hour that to me is still the middle of the night.  But duty called.  Working backward from 5am when the store opened, I figured out the shortest possible time to have the fewest acceptable number of doughnuts in the case when the store opened and discovered that if I arrived at 4:45am and didn’t dilly-dally, I could have all the rings and twists in the case and be within minutes of having one of the filled varieties available, usually something that involved chocolate.  Working backward from that, I subtracted the ten minute drive and the time it took me to get dressed, brush my hair and teeth and put a light layer of mascara on my too light eyelashes.  I found that if I laid my clothes out the night before, I could set my alarm for 4:25am and make everything work.  The big problem?  I hated pretty much the whole ordeal.  Handing doughnuts to the customers was nice, but I was otherwise on auto-pilot, wishing I was back in bed. 

We sold the store in 2005, so specter of doughnut duty is no longer part of my life.  However, to this day, while most people have pleasant, sugary thoughts about doughnuts, mine are not.  I can enjoy eating one, and have even made some for Fastnacht’s Day, but when I am not partaking, the thought of doughnuts is one of misery.  I have found over the years since that the thought of those early morning times is enough of a hard reality to break whatever mental cycle I am in.  Don’t want people to see me cry at a wedding?  I just say “Doughnuts, doughnuts, doughnuts” in my head over and over and can enjoy the ceremony dry-eyed.  Upset at something someone said to me?  The same—“Doughnuts, doughnuts, doughnuts”.  A sad scene in a movie?  More of the same.  Too much on my plate and/or dropping the ball?  A doughnut memory is all it takes to get me back on track.  Something scary in the news?  Doughnut memories keep my thoughts from running amok.  Sound cynical?  Perhaps.  But for this HSP (highly sensitive person), it works.

Making the ordinary extraordinary

It is easy for our lives to devolve into a refrain of the ordinary and humdrum.  The same chores, the same work, the same people over and over dulls our thinking until all that remains is plodding one foot in front of the other, a taking of things for granted and perhaps even self-pity.  What can make the ordinary extraordinary?

SURPRISE

A birthday which no one has seemed to remember explodes with excitement when those gathered for a surprise party shout “Happy Birthday!”.  An unexpected visit or phone call or note in the mail lifts our spirit and helps us see the world with new appreciation.

KNOWLEDGE

The ocean in its vastness appears to be only endless water and wave until we learn about its creatures, its coral reefs, its deeply hidden treasures.  A skyscraper in the city will fade into the background if we pass it every day to work, but reading a book or seeing a documentary about the designing and engineering of that same building can give us new eyes and that same building then causes amazement.

KINDNESS/COMPASSION

A kindness is shown to us when days are dark and suddenly the world is full of colors again.  We show compassion to another and the wonder of living is restored.  Perhaps it is realizing that there are others with us on the hard road of life.  Perhaps it is the looking outside of ourselves that brings the transformation. 

CHILDLIKENESS

A sense of wonder is usually lost as we mature and age, as responsibilities overwhelm.  Sitting with a child, seeing and hearing as they see and hear can strip away the consuming weight we have allowed to burden us, and allow again the appreciation of the beauty around us.

THANKFULNESS

As Thanksgiving Day draws near this month of November, a deliberate meditating on those things for which we are thankful will lift our minds and hearts from the ordinary to give thanks to God for all that he has given us, all that he has done for us and all that he is day by day, year by year, decade by decade.  And those things are truly extraordinary.

Joy (a haiku)

It Seems Like Just Yesterday...

When one hears the phrase “It seems like just yesterday that I…”, what completes the sentence brings one directly up against the realization that each life is hastening on to its appointed end and for most that plays out in the perception of days running into each other, going by faster and faster with no hope of any slowing.  For me that would have sounded something like this: 

It seems like just yesterday I was playing in the desert with my sister and brother chasing horned toads and raking magnets through the sand to collect iron filings.

It seems like just yesterday I was graduating from high school—followed by It seems like just yesterday I was graduating from college.

It seems like just yesterday I got engaged for the second time (the first was a huge mistake.)

It seems like just yesterday I was touring the Thousand Islands on my honeymoon.

It seems like just yesterday we bought our first car, Plymouth Gold Duster.  (Loved that car.)

It seems like just yesterday I was 7 months pregnant with our second child and moving into our first house with the help of my parents.

It seems like just yesterday we bought a 1952 Packard.  (Loved that car too.)

It seems like just yesterday our daughter was having her first open heart surgery—or her second.  (Both successful.)

It seems like just yesterday our oldest daughter married and moved to Florida—or our oldest son married and moved to Iowa—or our youngest son married and moved to Minnesota.

It seems like just yesterday we started Knerr Heating, A/C and Refrigeration.  (And now it’s almost the end.)

It seems like just yesterday that we moved my parents from California to Pennsylvania to live with us.

It seems like just yesterday my mother passed away from a hemorrhagic stroke after suffering from Alzheimers.

It seems like just yesterday we were building our house in Kennedy’s Valley while living in the basement.

It seems like just yesterday I heard my first screech owl in the middle of the night and thought someone was being murdered out in the woods.  (Not true, just sounded like it.)

It seems like just yesterday we had a very noisy bear raid our bird feeders after a dry summer and fall.  (Also in the middle of the night.)

It seems like just yesterday my Dad was diagnosed with Lewy Body dementia.

It seems like just yesterday my dad passed away from the effects of the dementia, 65 years to the day after he was discharged from a military hospital and given 6 months to live.

It seems like just yesterday Carrie and I did a road trip to South Carolina or Florida or Canada.

It seems like just yesterday I was canning tomatoes and tomato sauce in my new pressure canner—oh wait, that was just the day before yesterday.

For most of my adult life the phrases “It seems like just yesterday..” or “How time flies” were part and parcel of my existence.  Living in the moment seemed an impossibility.  Four children, a house, animals, a business (or 2 or 3) conspired to keep life very busy and very full. Though never one to keep a written to-do list or journal or date book, I carried a mental list of current and future to-do’s in my head which propelled me forward through time faster and faster and faster. 

Caring for a parent with Lewy Body dementia as the primary caregiver changed all that.  If I had still had children at home or a job outside the home the effects might have been muted.  And my experience may be an anomaly.  I have no one else’s experience with which to compare mine.  The day to day and moment to moment care of my dad especially during the latter stages became, without thought or intent, an exercise in “being in the moment”.  Unlike Alzheimers, in Lewy Body dementia there is little of the past.  For my dad, hints of past memories mingled with fiction read or seen on TV.  Hallucinations of tiny little men marching through the glow of the night light or fixation on the enemy’s plot to kidnap his “girlfriend” from the building where he went to day care once a week or the paranoia that brought feelings of everyone hating him became much of his reality.  When engaged in physical activity such as making his bed, or sweeping the deck, the hallucinations and paranoia would recede for a while, but were never far away.  The future was an uncertain timeline without hope for a cure or a return to normalcy.  The end stage of Lewy Body can come suddenly and end quickly as was the case for him.  And without the past or the future, there was only the present.  A present vigilance against harm.  A present vigilance to meet physical needs.  A present vigilance to provide emotional support however futile it may have seemed at the time.  A present vigilance to be a loving family of which he was a part, even when there was little recognition by him of that fact. 

In living those days, weeks and months moment by moment, the inexorable hurriedness of time fell away.  A new habit was formed that remains.  Each day is a new day of 24 hours, neither longer nor shorter, in thought as well as reality.  Yes, there are memories to tie me to the past and yes, there are thoughts of what is ahead, of appointments to keep, of phone calls to be made, of birthdays and weddings, of family and friends aging, of seasons to prepare for and enjoy, but through it all is the measured beat of the clock ticking moment by measured moment, not racing, not hurrying, just being.  And that is a wonderful gift.