And now......IT'S SPRING!

Sing out for spring - and that is exactly what seems to be happening here in the Foothills! The delicate mauve of crocuses or crocii to be exact, the joyful songs of robins as they push and shove for position and no doubt to catch the eye of some "sexy lady robins" - why do they make me think of Barry White?  No deep rumbly bedroom voices there - but for enthusiastic song, for a trill inserted among the 'cheery-up cheery oh' of those red chested Romeos - there really isn't much comparison!

Full of Chinese from the local dining establishment, we decided a nice evening drive was in order - so off we "motored" through feild and vale - okay actually it was onto a gravel road near town - to see the spring sights, and listen to the frogs.  Mais ouis, I said frogs - spring peepers to be precise.  Oh okay science boy, that may not be the proper genus and whatever, but if you have enjoyed a spring on the prairies, then you know why we drove out, found a slough, turned off the car and just sat there - windows and sun roof open, the buzz of some early rising bees still sending out scouts to see what was in bloom, and listened to the chorus of peepers! A sound that in my mind, if it had a colour, would be brightest of green - that is how 'spring like' they are! I have never seen one - even as a kid, I'd sneak up to the edge of the water (read puddle, ditch, slough or dugout) and try to locate even one of this little singers.  And although it was obvious to my ear, that this singing miracle frog was some where very near by, just when I was convinced this was going to be the lucky day I saw one in full song, they would all stop.  Dead stop.  Not a peep, not a reep, not a squeak - nuttin'.  So finally, I think I gave up on trying to see one - I think that was last year.  But I digress - as I tend to - the frogs were in fine voice tonight, and as we sat there, hubby said "I heard a meadowlark!".

Now over the years it is I who hear the first meadowlark, it is I who rushes into the house yelling in an excited tone that yes, yes, I heard the first one each spring! And this year? HA!!! I blame the noisy crazy robins, or the pair of overly vocal geese that at that exact moment chose to do a fly by honking like big-rigs overhead.  My friends, in the spring of 2012 I was not first. 

But perhaps there is some justice to hubby hearing that first series of strong, vibrant, fearlessly cheerful sound! So stricking with that brilliant yellow chest, and strong black v neck...sitting on fence posts or down in the tall grass no doubt doing their best Barry White to attract a mate.  Isn't that what spring is all about? Rejuvenation? The joy of life - listen to the thrilling or dare say it optomistic call of spring birds - they really do seem to rise up to the challenge of performing, competing not only for territory but for mates and in my mind, for the right of being 'the first' of the season.

Is there a better way to cheer oneself than to share in the joy of first spring songs? Like the Psalm says, it "doth good like a medicine."  And to me and to my darling husband, it see healing taking place every day, joy returning to our hearts - it's spring and the sun is shining, things are returning to normal, memories are growing fond and deep and we can again laugh and have fun together!

So without sounding like a big soppy mush, let me recommend a belly full of chop suey, a good travelling partner, and a slow drive in the evening sun where the destination is to sit quietly beside a feild and hear the sounds of pure joy.  Frogs, meadowlarks, and all the spring creatures which I think tonight were sent specifically to encourage us to get on with life and not miss a single moment of joy!

Until we meet again .... joyful noise!

A brief note on grief.

“Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees, and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.”
― Brian Jacques, Taggerung

Lost: one Mo-Jo. Reward for it's return. With apologies to song writers all over.

If you believe what you read in the papers, and on the 'net' it's apparent there are a lot of doomsday end-o-time kind of people out there.  Books and movies about 2012 - the Mayan year of great change - point towards December 12 2012 - or 121212.  The end of the world as we know it?  Hmm makes me want to put on a Bare Naked Ladies album! Or is it?  In my mind it's more of a march onward through life - as in Hup one two one two one two....

They tell me life is a journey, not a destination.  I so firmly believe that is true! Allow me to wax philosophical for a moment or three: Where a person ends up on the road of life is nothing compared to what one does while on that road.  Which way did you choose - the old straight and narrow or long and winding? And why is this blog full of Beatles lyrics?  Hmmmm points to ponder!

But seriously - and this has been a serious year so far - life can throw even the most ardent traveller a loop just when you think you've recovered from the last crisis.  For example, this year, New Years Eve saw yours truly doing the Joe Cocker imitation of "get by with a little help from my friends".  Let me illucidate.

 For those of you who get all squiggey about personal details, and soul baring pain, maybe today's blog isn't for you. Fair warning.  

The end of the year brought me spasms - not of joy or sorrow, but actual spasms! To be honest the first one was such a surprise I was convinced that it was a stroke! Well, since it was my right side, my menno-logic said noooo it's not a stroke - but what the heck! My arms, toes, fingers, legs and all muscles on the right side contracted for about 2 seconds, no matter the position I was in and making me look like Joe Cocker doing his solo! Very weird! Didn't hurt, but was disturbing for sure for anyone who was with me who hadn't been briefed.  Uhuh.    So off to the doc, the chiro, the massage therapist - only to discover after several dozen vials of blood (ok maybe 4 but I'm a wimp!) that I was low on magnesium! Who knew?? Apparently my fall diet of bread, cookies, meat of all demoninations and noodles didn't have enough of this vital mineral! Enter brocolli, spinach, pumpkins seeds and halibut!  Adding a supplement daily didn't hurt either - so three days after  the culprit was identified, Joe Cocker left the building!

Add that to $1400 worth of firewood magically appearing after two trees blew down during an epic windstorm onto the neighbors house and had to be removed by a licenced tree trimmer (wallet trimmer is more like it) we were a bit in shock! Eeeep that was not in the January budget - but what the heck we can survive! At least our house didn't burn in a massive prairie fire like 5 other folks that day!

All these are minutia compared to the horrible and sudden loss of my youngest step-son this March, m husbands son Bryon.  How awful it is for a father to lose a child - to have to say good bye to a boy who is going to be 30 in two weeks but who will never reach that age.  Who has struggled with diabetes since he was eight, and who, because of not having his breakfast after his shot of insulin, and falling into a sleep he'd never wake from - has been taken from us. 

The pain is so strong.  I think the hardest is watching a spouse who has lost their joy, who's heart is ripped apart every day.  This is where the small issues of day to day life become even smaller.  Who cares that the car isn't washed and the house isn't spotless?  These things are so trivial  and inconsequential in comparison.  But we continue to attend to these chores to keep life normal.

As a wife, I remain as strong as I can - and draw on our faith, family and friends to carry us both through.  As humans we have to deal with our grief, and the grief of those we love.  Yup it's a process, and not a clean and fast one - it's messy and it takes time.  But we don't quit, we don't give up - we trust in our God and keep moving forward.  As they say, life goes on.

Marching as it were, one foot in front of the other, one two one two one two.  And that is how we in our house, and in the houses of sons will make it through this leg of the journey!

Lost passwords - into the Oh Cr@p Zone!

As often as I've wished, nay pined to blog in the early year, alas all efforts have been thwarted.  Terrorist actions? Subterfuge? Alien invaders?  Alas the reason is simple - as simple as I.  Tis age.  Marching onward, my post 50 age has impacted my memory. 

Life was not so complicated in the long long ago - there was no need to memorize and enact several security clearances in the form of a password.  Or secret log in name.  Or super secret code with vague questions to remind you of the now long forgotten secret password.  Questions framed to jog a memory lead to more confusion.  My first teacher? My favorite pet? My first out of country vacation? Why not ask me what was my favorite blankie or first out of body experience? These are all about as meaningful as...well as my password.

And if the selection of the password was my choice, why on earth did I choose something so obscure, so mundane, that no amount of forehead slapping would reveal to me what it was!  I just couldn't recall - and for some unknown reason I hadn't entered my secret password in my super secure vault on my Blackberry!

Now the Blackberry, or BB to those in the know, is a great way to store all your secret passwords.  It's a vault whose gates hide the passwords to my phone, my computer, my bank account, various other bill accounts and my Kobo.  What tho would happen if my super duper secret deluxe password, the one and only that I use to open this repository to all things Marlean were lost in the O Cr@p Zone! THIS WOULD BE A DISASTER OF EPIC PROPORTIONS! So in order for this massive failure not to take place, I have my code of codes, the big secret squirrel one that is forever embedded in my mind.  And so far - it works!

Unless you get into the safe deposit of all things password-related and can't remember that damn password.  Which eventually I did - after using a variety of combinations of names, places, numbers and upper/lower case.  Phew!

The reward dear reader is my ability to re-enter the sacred world of the blog - that calm, clean, undemanding place where I am able to blather at leisure on topics that range far and wide.  From my pet cat to pinterest...it's all here waiting to be let out, released as it were with the one secret password to my life.

Thank you my friends! Good evening.....

Oratory of the Ornaments - A Basement of Baubles and Bling

Sitting on the couch early January putting away Christmas tree decorations - I asked myself "when did we start journaling our lives by what we hang on the tree?" 

From years ago I have what were likely inexpensive at the time plastic - or maybe something pre-plastic? baubles that I have come to treasure.  Yes they are old, not flashy; they don't blink or make sounds, and many are hung on the original butcher string that my mom used to hang them on the old tree when I was 5 yrs old - but I love them all the same. 

As I search through our tree for all the stuff I had so much fun hanging almost 2 months ago - it occurs to me that I definately have my favorites.Yes I have named them - you mean you don't??   Oh the Onions and Disco Ball are pretty, but there are leaders in this pack.  The Golden Lantern - a strange open beaded structure - with fake candle which inadvertently pops out each year, and string and wire home made hanger.  I used to imagine it was magic, that the light would shine out to Santa who would come and deliver wonderful presents! I still catch myself staring at it, and day dreaming about sleighs and snow and ..... but I digress!

Then there is the Stag in the Silver Pear - who swings inside, hanging there forever leaping off to somewhere? It was my absolute favorite - and I know my little fingers forever poked and moved it to show the little deer leaping inside - his silver antlers defining him as Santa's best! O the imagination of children.  And if you know me,  you gotta believe I had a humdinger of an imagination when I was a kid.

Those were what hung on the family Christmas tree, along with the fragile glass balls that broke when you walked by them, when I first realized that Santa may have delivered the toys, but mom and dad wrapped them! Laying on my tummy and peaking into the kitchen under the bedroom door as my brothers and sister slept, I saw Ma and Pa on sitting cross legged playing with the airplane, the Easy Bake Oven and toys spread all around them! I can still feel shivers of excitement knowing that I'd peeked!! And after the pandemonium of opening gifts, we'd all pile into the car - something big and American made - and plow through the prairie roads to grandpa and grandmas.  It meant a new comb, clothes, socks, oranges and hard candy.  Ah yes, piling 4 sugar crazed kids into a  car to head out in the snow for an hour drive - what a treat that must have been for my young parents (gasp!)

And now I pack up the schmoopy decorations - the ones my hubby and I have gathered over our past 12 years together - "First Home", "Our Christmas Together", "The Two of Us" - commemorating years, moves, new homes, and the wonder of two people who love Christmas.    And I mean LOVE Christmas!  Each one is put back into its own box, all meaning so much to me that sometimes I get all sniffly when I see them.  Hey yer reading from a woman who drags the tree out of the basement on November 12th.

Our poor old tree - purchased on Vancouver Island, the prelit darling is tall and full - but alas, like many folks as they age, "the lights don't go all the way to the top" any more.  Yes indeed when first it was twinkling in the living room awaiting the balls and ribbons and garland - all lights indeed were shining forth as it were.  Then one day late November Mac says - did ya know yer lights are out? WHAT! How can this be? With Griswaldian attention to detail I checked - he checked, we both checked - plugging and replugging, switching bulbs - but it was not to be.  A dark lightless gap had appeared mid way up the tree - leaving a power outage which implied no one was home.  Closed until furthur notice.

Thank goodness the hardware store was open.  The strick yet efficient salesperson quickly dispersed any illusions of replacing one burnt out bulb - "We don't carry them - you'll have to buy some LED lights".  Rats! So on went the short but brilliant white string of LED lights - and now Hubby says next year we'll replace all the lights on O Taunenbaum with new ones.  Why do I have a sense of many hours of snipping off old wires, trying to attach new wires with teensy weensy straps and an end of heading to Costco for a new tree? THAT isn't positive thinking at all!

Yes the outdoor lights are now rolled and tucked into their respective bunks, the house is returning to normal (It's dusty and needs a vacumm - that's as normal as my house ever gets!)  A huge wind storm early in the year has robbed us of our two mature green ash trees - and left us with a cleanup bill and a pile of logs - which we've given to a friend as a large labour intensive birthday gift! The leftover Christmas baking is safely tucked into the deep freeze, the turkey has been converted to soup, and the BEST EVER Christmas cake is waiting for a cold winter night to come out and warm us.

Even the angel has had it's day - and the one that graces our tree comes from my hubby's youth.  She's petite, no fibre optics or massive wings - but she shines and glitters - occassionally at a bit of a slant - and makes me feel that all is really going to be okay in the world.  She is always the last packed, the first unpacked.  I haven't given her a name but she looks like a Mabel to me.  She watched over us for another loving Christmas.

I feel our house is blessed and look forward to what the Lord has planned for us this year - good, bad or ugly - how we respond to events beyond our control will determine our joy and sorrow.  This I know in my heart of hearts.  We are safe and warm, and have a loving circle of family and friends.  And that, along with Mabel and my old ornaments, sustains me until next Christmas.

Now it's time for a cuppa and some of the shortbread I stashed in the cupboard! Have a wonderful new year, stay filled with faith and pray for some snow!

Mennonites and many notes

How surprised was I to find that I could still bake.   This wonderous discovery came when I boldly searched through our kitchen bookshelf, filled with dozens of volumes that the Macster has collected over the years.  Ahh but lurking in the far corner was my grease spattered, coffee stained and dogeared favorite of the past 38 years - my Mennonite Treasury of Recipes.  A book so cherished, so beloved, they named it a Treasury.
The front cover was lost years ago in a move, or perhaps it was the time I tried to make 'never fail' pie dough.  Those ill fated words belong right up there with 'you can't miss it' as you drive off to be lost lost LOST in a maze of Edmonton streets.  But I digress.

My long suffering Treasury of Recipes still credits the contributors with the old style wife names - like Mrs. Henry P Friesen, or Mrs. J.J. Dyck.  Occassionally a proud Agatha or Sarah was included - but more modest females were known more by their husbands name.  Was that the original 'representing'?  These were the women who could sew - make an apron, use if for years, then convert it to the most efficient clothespin holder known around! These aprons were awesome - big pockets for hankies Granma used to deal with snotty noses or scraped knees when we grandkids were around.  Soft, warn over the daily dress, I still remember the way my grandma's apron smelled - like outside and  soap and Avon....that was my granny Marie!

Grandma was a real Mennonite cook too - she would whip up a batch of vereniki in a flash. Served with cream gravy, made in the cast iron pan that she'd fried the homemade smoked sausage in...mmm mmm.  All done on a wood stove - the big ones with the hot water reservoir.  I can still recall the scents, the sounds of forks scraping those big cream coloured plates, and me as a skinny kid having a vereniki eating contest with Grandpa.  Smooth warm cream gravy, fat pockets of "glums" and a shake of salt and pepper - heaven on a plate! I think my record was 7 that day.  And it got the approval of my grandpa whom I adored - my big, bald, wonderful grandpa with his thick Russian accent - I am pretty that is where I got my bullheaded streak and occassional stubborness.  Yes, occassional. 

So when I looked for Christmas cookie recipes tonight, it made me sort of homesick for family and comfort food. Mennonite food.  I saw a cookie recipe where the flour portion was defined as 'enough flour to make a stiff dough' and the oven temp is shown as 'hot'.  These are recipes for women who meet in small groups and discuss the weather, the church bulletin and making cookies from 14 cups of flour.  Mrs. Jake Leiding could tell with the soft poke of a finger if something was 'done' or if it needed a few more minutes.  Cholesterol was not a word heard while eating dinner.  No sirree! With apron at the ready, Mrs. Pete Peters could feed a crowd in a heartbeat - whether a table full after a day of harvest, or an MCC conference where Borcht for 12 dozen was called for! 

A bit daunted, and feeling out of practise,  I was feeling unworthy of  the Treasury and slunk over to The Best of Bridge.  Modern, glossy, with mouthwatering photographs of wonderful creations.  Let's try this instead! I found the Jewish Shortbread recipe - no explanation of why it was of that denomination, certainly as un Mennonite as I could imagine, but hey, finely ground walnuts baked into short bread deliciousness? Sounds doable to me!

On with the oven and out with the Macsters Cuisinart - a lovely kitchen machine - far above the title of gadget.  A few on hand ingredients, some rolling of the dough into little finger sized ropes  (like making little plasticine dinosaurs)  a rip of parchment paper and ding! Lovely little crescents of sweet delecate flavour...mmmm yes and I made them! And miracle of miracles - they were as good as I'd hoped.

And now, dear audience, to finish the never fail pie dough story.   I may have mastered the short bread, but the pie dough - to this day it eludes me. My first effort was many, many years ago - using the Treasury as a guide: I added the cold water, used a fork to blend, floured the counter top and worked the dough - and worked it and worked it and instead of the smooth, warm, soft pie dough I tried to create - a hard, stubborn monster was born. The dough, not the cook!

I learned a lesson that day - not an especially important lesson but a lesson none the less.  You can't add more water to already made pie dough.  And if frustrations overtakes, and you throw the offending dough ball against a fridge door -  it will stay there.  For hours.  Or until someone walks into the kitchen and reaching for the fridge handle exclaims "what the hell is this?"

I've never been known as a gal who quits.  Well perhaps at times it's a case of not knowing when to quit.  Pie crust attempts followed over the years - crusts that defied the strongest of teeth; tortierre that eluded all but those armed with jackhammers and chisels; and tarts who's shells were like those of a clam. Pleasing to the eye, but inedible to the end.  Saskatoon berries in a chastity crust. OK I admit it - I was stubborn as an ox, insisting I could bake.  I like to think Grandpa would have been proud of my persistence, tho perhaps not so much with the end results.

For now I'll stick to cookies! Attention to ingredients, careful measurements, not leaving the kitchen when cookies are in the oven (very important), and remembering to let them cool on a wire rack - it's something I can do with a high probability of success.  Jewish shortbread turned out great - surprising me and the hubby with their sweet taste and melt in your mouth texture. 

Lulled by false sense of achievement I have to ask:  Am I kidding myself that after 50 years I just might have what it takes to open the Treasury of Recipes and like Indiana Jones grab onto those jewels of my youth? Syrup Kuchen, Portzelky and Pfeffernuse? Well I'll never know until I try!

I used to have one of Grandma's old aprons, perhaps I'll go search for it.  I have my family females and menno-girlfriends who can offer guidance as I, Mrs. J. MacArthur nee Friesen, reconnect through a river of rich cream gravy to my Mennonite heritage. 

Na yo, let's go!

The best laid plans, and all that jazz

A celebratory weekend was in store - weeks of 13 hour days at the salt mine, several long Saturdays at the office crunching the numbers, sharpening my pencil and pulling it out of my @$$ and finally FINALLY my budget was done.  Hit send - taaadaaaaa.  The weekend is here!

Ahhh yes, sleeping in, long lazy breakfasts over tea and the newspaper, perhaps a crossword.  Bliss.   The forecast - sunny, cool and windy, perfecto for a weekend of pajamas, naps, and catching up on a few chores - at my pace. 

But what ho??? Indolence Interruptus!!! Alas and alack my best laid plans were not to be - so Saturday was a work event for the Hubster. We are off in the trusty Kia headed north to a farm trade show.  An Ag show - lots of tractors, belt buckles, and green and yellow toys.  Uhhhhh okay.  A hat over the mop, run a quick brush thru the teeth and off we go.  5 hours on the road, 4 hours of tromping the trade show displays and a belly full of KFC and we are home! Housework??  Harrumph so I got a sinkfull of breakfast dishes washed and a load of laundry done - that counts right?

Well there's always my beloved Sunday - often reknowned for white tornado like cleaning, a frenzy of vacumming, swiffer blazing, dust bunnies cowering in fear! Up and attem - hmmm I need a shower, but say wha? "Hey" my beloved offers over his famous oatmeal "we need a break, why don't you whip up some sandwiches, throw in the thermos and we'll go for a drive!! See the sites, look for coyotes and elks..." Initial enthusiasm quickly cooled as I got into the "sandwich making" mode.  Now it's a known fact that I'm a sucker for a compliment and when my true love batts his baby blues and says "but you know sandwiches always taste better when you make them" my resolve to be a non-productive housewife crumbles. So, armed with my trusty "bad hair hiding" ball cap, a bag o sandwiches and the Stanley full o coffee, off we go. 

It was a nice drive.  The sun was shining, a couple of deer and one daft raven, and we came home.  And of course, what is better on a Sunday when you are now fully in "unproductive" mode, after weeks of grueling office work than... that's right - a NAP!

A nap is one of the great gifts of the working class on a weekend.  Turn the phone off, the furnace down, get undressed (it's a proper nap, no snooze in the chair event) and climb under the covers - lulled to sleep by the purring of the cat, and the even breathing of my hubby.  In terms of behaviors, naps are, in my humble opinion, a worthy weekend event. 

Or so one might think.  But not today.  Nope, it was November 13th and it was a perfect day to put up Christmas lights.  Yup.  Cold enough to let you know it was soon to be winter, warm enough that there wasn't any ice and sunny enough to see what we were doing.

In an effort to avoid a "|Grizwaldian episode" each year the Christmas lights are carefully put away - rolled not tangled, with hangers and such.  We hauled out the totes, and started to unpack.  Hmmm the initial review of the situation.  Plug in end identified - check.  Ladders hauled out and at the ready -  check.  Power drill - got it.  Extension cord - yup.  Zap straps - tons and in assorted lengths.  We were ready! 

As the sun dipped below horizon and the last v of geese  flew overhead, after the last shout of encouragement from the neighbors "DON'T FALL OFF THAT LADDER" drifted off with the the chill wind - we were done.  There's that special moment when you stand with yor mate in the street in front of your home, admiring the twinkle of lights - it's the official launch of that most blessed of holidays.  As we stood arms around each other,  I was quietly taking it in, and counting our blessings.  A warm safe home, a loving family, a wonderful spouse, a great country - what more could there be?

"So honey," came the words "Whatcha making for supper?"