I just put 24 jars of canned fresh green beans on my shelf today. I love seeing all of the jars lined up with their various sizes and colors. It's quite a mosaic, edible art, if you will.
My mom put up green beans every year. I only got to can my own beans with her once before she died, but I remember helping her for years before that. I hated it.
Dad always grew beans in his garden, and whenever she'd have enough to fill the canner, she'd put them up. Sometimes, though, Dad would bring home a bushel from one of the Chevy dealers in the country or he'd go to Huber's and pick them, then we'd spend a sticky evening on the patio snapping green beans and swatting flies and mosquitos until the whole box was ready for the canner. Once I remember Granny helping us, and that night was actually pretty cool. The three generations sitting around, talking and snapping beans. Still, I never really liked it, so I'm not sure why I CHOOSE to do it now, but I do.
Whenever I put the weight on the vent pipe of the pressure cooker, and it starts rocking with the steam, I have flashbacks of being in Mom's orange and yellow kitchen, jars everywhere, beans soaking in the sink, a pan of hot lids on the stove. Mom was militant when she canned, as I wrote about in my post "Snapping Beans." I was canning by myself for the first time this year, and while I wasn't too militant, I did make sure the kids stayed out of the kitchen as much as possible and away from the stove at all costs. They hated the SSSS SSSS SSSS SSSS sound of the canner as much as I did when I was there age.
I wonder if any of them will ever put up food. If they do, I hope I am here to help teach them and revel in their wonder at what they have painted.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
July 19, 2011
There are days in your life when everything changes. Pivotal days when something happens, and you are never, ever the same...the day you meet your future spouse or the day you learn you are pregnant or the day you find out someone you love has cancer. Sometimes these changes come easy and are welcome and, looking back, make you smile to think how different your life is now.
Sometimes they come at you like a brick through your window and land in your lap, bringing shattered glass and splinters, and no matter how much time has passed, you still have the scars and the sliver of wood under your skin that just won't go away.
Today is that day for me.
Today is a day that is seared in my brain like a hot brand on leather. I can't tell you anything about earlier in the day, but I remember vividly pulling in the driveway about 6 p.m. and seeing Kirk talking to neighbors, inviting them in to continue the conversation, and then answering the phone a few minutes later. It was Mr. Kresse from St. X. Kyle was on a mission trip to Appalachia, and the first thought that came to mind was that he had broken something and I was going to have to go get him. Would that it had been that simple.
I remember Mr. Kresse's voice on the other end, measured, quiet, saying, "There has been an accident at Glenmary. All of the boys from St. X are okay, but one of the students from another school has drowned..."
I remember the waves of relief that washed over me in that split second...first, that Kyle was okay, and second that all of the St. X boys were okay. Then I felt the anguish of the parents who were getting the phone call that it was THEIR child who had died. I remember thinking, "How would you make that phone call?"
Mr. Kresse said that some of the St. X boys had witnessed the drowning, but he didn't know who, and I prayed, prayed, that Kyle had not been there, even though I somehow knew it in my heart that Kyle had seen it.
The boys were coming home tonight, he said, and we were to meet them about 11 at the school. A sick sense of dread washed over me. My ears began to ring; my skin to crawl. My heart began beating in my throat. I was singularly focused on fixing it so that Kyle had not seen anything. I started praying, "Please, God, don't let Kyle have been there. Please, God, don't let Kyle have been there. Please, God, don't let Kyle have been there..." And because we had 4 hours or more until they arrived, I went back, explained the situation, and finished the conversation with the neighbors, screaming silently, "Would you please go the hell home???"
About 10, Kyle called from the road. "Hi Mom," he said.
I cried silently with relief, "Hi Buddy. How ya doing?"
"Umm, yeah, okay," he replied.
"Were you there?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, "I was there."
"I am so sorry, Kyle. I have been praying you weren't. Are you okay?"
"Not really," he answered. "I can't really talk now. I'm in a car with the other guys. I'll tell you when I get home. Okay?"
"Sure. No problem. I'll see you in a bit," I said, and when I hung up the phone, I just sobbed.
I drove to St. X early in case they arrived before 11. It was pouring down rain. Lightning. Thunder. Wind. Awful, awful storm that mirrored my anxiety. I waited in the parking lot, praying, praying, praying, watching for them to arrive. I drove from one side of the school to the other not sure which lot they would go to. I ran into Mr. Kresse who said they were actually going to meet over at the Speedway across the street for the shelter from the rain, so I drove over there and waited. I saw other anxious parents waiting in their cars, and we gave each other wan smiles as if to say, "Thank God it wasn't us."
The boys pulled in about midnight, delayed by the rain and the wind. They were all exhausted and hyped at the same time. I hugged Kyle, but not too much, and we loaded his things into the van and headed for home. He didn't talk much. He only wanted to tell the story once, so we waited until we were in the family room with Kirk, and then he broke down and sobbed, telling us the story through his tears. Details would continue to come out over the course of the next year, but we heard enough to know that this day would have a profound effect on us. And it was then that Finoy Lukose entered our lives and changed us forever.
Sometimes they come at you like a brick through your window and land in your lap, bringing shattered glass and splinters, and no matter how much time has passed, you still have the scars and the sliver of wood under your skin that just won't go away.
Today is that day for me.
Today is a day that is seared in my brain like a hot brand on leather. I can't tell you anything about earlier in the day, but I remember vividly pulling in the driveway about 6 p.m. and seeing Kirk talking to neighbors, inviting them in to continue the conversation, and then answering the phone a few minutes later. It was Mr. Kresse from St. X. Kyle was on a mission trip to Appalachia, and the first thought that came to mind was that he had broken something and I was going to have to go get him. Would that it had been that simple.
I remember Mr. Kresse's voice on the other end, measured, quiet, saying, "There has been an accident at Glenmary. All of the boys from St. X are okay, but one of the students from another school has drowned..."
I remember the waves of relief that washed over me in that split second...first, that Kyle was okay, and second that all of the St. X boys were okay. Then I felt the anguish of the parents who were getting the phone call that it was THEIR child who had died. I remember thinking, "How would you make that phone call?"
Mr. Kresse said that some of the St. X boys had witnessed the drowning, but he didn't know who, and I prayed, prayed, that Kyle had not been there, even though I somehow knew it in my heart that Kyle had seen it.
The boys were coming home tonight, he said, and we were to meet them about 11 at the school. A sick sense of dread washed over me. My ears began to ring; my skin to crawl. My heart began beating in my throat. I was singularly focused on fixing it so that Kyle had not seen anything. I started praying, "Please, God, don't let Kyle have been there. Please, God, don't let Kyle have been there. Please, God, don't let Kyle have been there..." And because we had 4 hours or more until they arrived, I went back, explained the situation, and finished the conversation with the neighbors, screaming silently, "Would you please go the hell home???"
About 10, Kyle called from the road. "Hi Mom," he said.
I cried silently with relief, "Hi Buddy. How ya doing?"
"Umm, yeah, okay," he replied.
"Were you there?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, "I was there."
"I am so sorry, Kyle. I have been praying you weren't. Are you okay?"
"Not really," he answered. "I can't really talk now. I'm in a car with the other guys. I'll tell you when I get home. Okay?"
"Sure. No problem. I'll see you in a bit," I said, and when I hung up the phone, I just sobbed.
I drove to St. X early in case they arrived before 11. It was pouring down rain. Lightning. Thunder. Wind. Awful, awful storm that mirrored my anxiety. I waited in the parking lot, praying, praying, praying, watching for them to arrive. I drove from one side of the school to the other not sure which lot they would go to. I ran into Mr. Kresse who said they were actually going to meet over at the Speedway across the street for the shelter from the rain, so I drove over there and waited. I saw other anxious parents waiting in their cars, and we gave each other wan smiles as if to say, "Thank God it wasn't us."
The boys pulled in about midnight, delayed by the rain and the wind. They were all exhausted and hyped at the same time. I hugged Kyle, but not too much, and we loaded his things into the van and headed for home. He didn't talk much. He only wanted to tell the story once, so we waited until we were in the family room with Kirk, and then he broke down and sobbed, telling us the story through his tears. Details would continue to come out over the course of the next year, but we heard enough to know that this day would have a profound effect on us. And it was then that Finoy Lukose entered our lives and changed us forever.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
4 July 2005
 |
| Arriving at the Magic Kingdom. |
It was a very hot and very sticky July 4. We were in Disney World and had spent the very early morning and well into the afternoon standing in line, peeling our legs off of the seats of rides wet with other people's sweat, and spraying ourselves with our fan spritzers looking for some relief. About 2 o'clock, we decided to hang it up and spend the rest of the day at the pool, just "chilling" in the 88 degree water.
We headed back to the room, and it was cool and dark, and the beds were so inviting that we all laid down and immediately fell asleep for about an hour. Around 4, we put on our swimsuits and made our way through the labyrinth of sidewalks to the pool, where everybody was leaving to get ready to go to the Magic Kingdom for the fireworks display. I knew it was the 4th of July and that the fireworks would be especially glorious because it was the 4th, but I also knew that it is traditionally one of the most crowded days of the year at Disney World, and it was really, really hot, and I was happy to just hang out in the water with the kids and relax.
About an hour later, Kyle said, "Mom, can we go to the fireworks too?"
I said, "Well, if you want to, we can think about it, but it is going to be REALLY crowded and we'd have to get out and get ready and take the bus over to the Magic Kingdom and we'd have to get out pretty much right now in order to make it in time..." trying my best to come up with every good reason to stay cool and calm and relaxed right where I was.
"Okay!" he replied. "I don't care! Let's do it..."
And then he uttered the words that made me move, "...because when are we ever going to be at Disney World on the 4th of July again?"
I looked at Kirk, and he shrugged like "what can I say to that?" And since he's always game for anything, I dragged myself out of the pool, and we made our way back to the room where we dried off and got ready and made our way back over to the Magic Kingdom.
I was wrong when I said it was going to REALLY crowded. It was REALLY, REALLY, REALLY crowded, but we were lucky enough to be able to find a small piece of sidewalk to park ourselves and wait until dark. Emily was 3 1/2 at the time, and while she was very, very good, she got bored and she didn't want to sit any longer. I had to think of a way to occupy her, so I started doing "See, See My Playmate" with her. Then we did it again. And again. And again. Then I got Claire and Emily to play with each other. Claire taught Emily another hand game and that worked for awhile, but soon they were bored, and it was still pretty light outside. So I started singing to them, quietly at first, and they joined in.
We sang "Grand Old Flag" and "God Bless America" and "My Old Kentucky Home" and "Yankee Doodle" and "My Country Tis of Thee" and every other old timey song I could think of. Then we sang them again and again. Pretty soon, some people around us joined in, and the singing spread, and we found ourselves on Main Street U.S.A. in front of Cinderella's Castle singing patriotic songs with total strangers on the 4th of July while waiting for the fireworks to start. Talk about magic! And I thought to myself, "Thank you, Kyle, for pushing us to come tonight because when are we ever going to be at Disney World on the 4th of July again?"
I wonder if there is anybody else out there who still remembers a desperate lady trying to entertain her little girls who moved a crowd to sing as one.
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