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DIY Family Calendar

DIY Family Calendar

The latest DIY project at our house is a 3 x 4 foot whiteboard calendar modeled after Mom's Special Calendar. It cost under $30 to make.Yesterday’s post listed 10 ways things have changed at our house since welcoming our daughter, son-in-law, their 1-year-old, and a dog in our house. Despite all the changes, the kitchen is open and serving meals. However, the cooks haven’t had much time to try new recipes yet.

So instead of a new recipe, today’s post showcases a DIY project that involved every adult in the house–the creation of a whiteboard calendar modeled along the lines of the Mom’s Special Calendar I used for years when the kids were home. The new 3 x 4 foot calendar hangs on a wall in the kitchen and has columns for the date, every adult in the house, and an extra column currently being used for menu planning. It cost about $30 dollars, not counting the dry erase markers. Here’s how we did it.

Diy Family Calendar Materials List

1 3 x 4 food sheet of white panel board, available at home improvement stores
1 6 foot and 1 10 foot piece of wooden molding
black permanent markers
dry erase markers
screws
wood tacks

How to Make the Calendar

  1. Clean the panel board thoroughly with window cleaner and a microfiber rag.
  2. Cut the 6 foot molding in to two 3 foot, 1 inch lengths.
  3. Cut the 10 foot molding in to two 4 foot, 1 inch lengths.
  4. Miter the ends of all 4 moldings.
  5. Attach the molding to the back of the white board with wood tacks.
  6. Use a yardstick and dry erase marker to measure and mark lines and columns on the white board. (The board pictured has 32 rows, the top one taller than the others. It has 6 columns, the first one wider than the others.)
  7. Use a straight edge and permanent marker to draw lines and columns. Work carefully to avoid smudging.
  8. Use a stud finder and mark their locations.
  9. Drill holes in the studs.
  10. Mark the location of the holes on the top end of the molding and drill holes in the molding.
  11. Line the molding holes to the stud holes and screw in tightly.
  12. Use the dry erase marker to write the months, names, and anything else that changes from month to month.

 

Some Days 87 Looks Really Good

Some Days 87 Looks Really Good

After a visit in which Mom had dessert first and last, 87 started looking pretty good.When I walked into Mom’s room last Wednesday, she was sitting in her favorite chair reading a book and munching on Russell Stover’s chocolates.

“Did my little brother give you those for Mother’s Day?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied and, with a twinkle in her 87-year-old eye, held out the box.

“No thanks,” I answered.

“Oh, I forgot,” she replied, still twinkling as she flashed a mischievious grin, “you’re allergic to chocolate.” She took another bite. “Yum!”

We played a few games of Rummikub and went to Chili’s for supper. We ordered a fried pickles appetizer, a classic 6 ounce sirloin for her and margarita grilled chicken for me. While we waited for our food, we read the dessert menu to pass the time. When our food arrived, we both ate our fair shares of the fried pickles and dug into our entrees.

After 2 bites of mashed potatoes, 3 bites of meat, and not a speck of her steamed broccoli, Mom laid down her fork and declared, “I’m full.” Then she flagged down the waitress. “Bring me one of those toffee brownies,” she said.

Full as she was, she managed to down the ice cream, the caramel sauce, the hot fudge sauce, and over half of a good-sized brownie. “Mmmm,” she exclaimed and held out a spoonful of ice cream in my direction. “Want a bite?”

Some days, I thought while declining the offer and reflecting on Mom’s agenda for the day–reading a good book, eating chocolate for an afternoon snack, going to dinner with her darling daughter, eating fried pickles, ignoring green vegetables, and eating more chocolate for dessert–87 looks really good.

What My Mamma Taught Me for this Fantastic Friday

What My Mamma Taught Me for this Fantastic Friday

2 days until Mother's Day and 7 lessons from Mom that have made a difference in my life...and I hope in my daughter's life, too.What could be better on the Fantastic Friday before Mother’s Day than a look back at this post from 2013. These 7 lessons taught to me by Dorothea Lorraine Hess Stratton are ones that have made a huge difference in the way I live. Thanks, Mom!

My mom raised 3 kids and taught school for 38 years. She’s a mom and a teacher through and through…still asking if I get enough protein and correcting my grammar during our Tuesday visits. The older I get, the more I appreciate the life lessons she taught and is still teaching me. In honor of Mother’s Day, I’m passing along some of those lessons to you.

Lesson #1: A strong family will be a constant support throughout life.

Dorothy Wayne's kids

As a teenager, Mom babysat many of her nieces and nephews. Those nieces and nephews open their homes to her whenever we travel back for funerals or reunions. Their love and respect for her is a touching tribute to her influence on their lives.

Lesson #2: Every woman should get an education so she can support herself.

Teacher Dorothy

Mom’s 4 year college graduation

Dorothy Masters

Mom’s Masters in Education Graduation

Mom went back to school to finish her 4 year degree after Dad was diagnosed with MS in the late 1950s. She went on for her Master’s Degree in the mid 1960s. Our lives would have been very different had she not pursued those degrees.

Lesson #3: Some school pictures should never see the light of day.

Teacher Dorothy 7

Thanks to this lesson, some of mine never will.

Lesson #4: Sewing = an inexpensive wardrobe

Dorothy pantsuit

Once you know how to sew, you can also be your own polyester fashion statement. And don’t forget, some of the best buys are found in the remnant bin.

Lesson #5: The library is an excellent place to hang out

IMG_5095

Carnegie Library from my childhood, now a Fine Arts Center.

Mom checked out a lot of books and taught her kids to love to read. This photo is a little ironic since I’m selling my books in about the same spot where we checked them out for free when I was a kid.

Lesson #6: Teaching Is More than a Job

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Mom and me at the party thrown by my co-workers when I left teaching.

Teaching is not just a way to support your family. It’s a way to inspire a new generation and help them realize their own potential.

Lesson #7: True love never fails

Dorothy Harlan 86

Mom cared for Dad at home from 1959 when he was diagnosed with MS until 1983 when he required nursing home care. Once he moved to the nursing home, Mom visited him daily, unless she was visiting her kids and grandkids, from 1983 until his death in 1997.

Every now and then someone asks why I drive 45 miles to visit Mom Tuesday after Tuesday. The answer is simple. It’s what my mamma taught me.

Love bears all things,
hopes all things,
believes all things,
endures all things.
Love never fails.

1 Corinthians 13:7–8

Old Stuff for this Fantastic Friday

Old Stuff for this Fantastic Friday

IMG_0737This Fantastic Friday post is a trip down memory lane. First stop is seven years ago, when Mom broke up housekeeping. Second stop is almost fifty years ago. Third stop is the present, with the pictures framed and on the wall, as the new photo above shows.

I’m a sucker for old stuff. And a whole bunch of old stuff found its way to our place after Mom sold her house last March. My original plan was to immediately do some creative decorating with the treasures. But with weddings, one niece graduating from high school and another from college, and a new book contract the original plan got sidetracked.

But in this brief respite, I hope to find time to play with my favorite goodies – three brightly colored, cardboard Disney puzzles. They’re relics from the late 1950s which somehow survived our childhoods in almost perfect condition. How  a miracle like that happened, I don’t know, unless Mom stored them on a high shelf and allowed us to play with them under her watchful eye only after washing our hands thoroughly. If that’s how she did it, we kids must have thought she was the meanest mom in the whole world. However she managed to preserve the puzzles, fifty years later, I am thankful.

Every time I see the puzzles, it’s Sunday night in Le Mars again. Mom and Dad are playing cards with my aunt and uncle in the dining room. My sister, brother, and our three girl cousins are in the living room, watching Walt Disney, eating popcorn, and shooing the dogs away when they get too close to the popcorn bowls.

Walt Disney, the most creative man in the universe, is talking directly to me. He’s dropping hints about a new movie called Mary Poppins, inviting my family to visit a theme park named Disneyland in California. While his attention turns to Mickey and Donald, who are up to their usual hijinks, I daydream about visiting Disneyland and meeting Walt at the gage. Then, I remember that my dad’s in a wheelchair, so even if we could afford to drive across the country, he couldn’t ride the rides.

For a little while, I’m sad and jealous of my sister who got to go on a camping trip to California with my aunt and uncle a few years ago. But I break out of my funk during the commercial. My brother and I go to the kitchen to get more popcorn from a huge Tupperware bowl.

Our uncle stops us. “Hey, Jo-Bo. Hey, Johnny. How would you like to go with us to the Black Hills and Colorado this summer? You girls can break in the new TeePee pop-up camper.” He turned to my brother. “And you and me, we’ll sleep in the trunk of the car every night. Whaddya think?”

My brother and I look at each other. We grin and nod furiously, then run to the living room to spread the good news. Before long, the popcorn is gone. The dogs are scavenging for crumbs. We’re wrestling on the floor with our cousins. Walt Disney’s voice mingles with my parents’ voices and my aunt and uncle’s as they say good-bye and push our protesting cousins out the door.

Every time I see those Walt Disney puzzles, I smell the popcorn and hear Walt Disney saying good night and asking us to come back next week. I remember our trip to the Black Hills and Colorado and see the morning light glowing outside the canvas sides of the Tee-Pee camper. I am jealous of my brother who is sleeping in the trunk with my uncle. I am wading in a mountain stream, building a dam across it with my cousins.

It’s time to frame the puzzles and put them on the wall. They should be where I can see them.

I Miss Your Dad

I Miss Your Dad

Mom doesn't converse like she used to, but last week we had a sweet, substantial thoughtful conversation.In her prime, Mom was a sparkling conversationalist, She easily handled a variety of topics with great knowledge and wit. Her favorites were teaching, gardening, quilting, cooking and baking, reading, history, neighborhood gossip, genealogy, and family.

These days, her unprompted contributions to our Wednesday conversations consist of complaining about her runny nose and asking for tissues, gossip concerning fellow residents, reminders that she needs new library books, smack talk while we play Rummikub, reports of cards and letters received from family members, and stories about either her childhood or mine.

Every week, I try to draw her out a little while we waited for our meals to arrive at Applebee’s. “Did you fly kites when you were a kid?” I asked last Wednesday, which was a very blustery day.

“No,” she said. That was all.

I soldiered on. “Did you ice skate?”

She nodded. “Once. I fell on my butt/”

I persisted. “Did you roller skate?”

“Yes.” She brightened. “I liked to roller skate.”

“DId you skate outside or at a roller rink?”

“At a roller rink. In Pipestone.”

“Your family didn’t have much money. How did you pay for it?” I asked.

She shrugged. “My brother Wayne took us, I think. He was always kind. And my brother Ralph was a good skater. He could even skate backwards as well as I could skate going forward.”

Our food came then, and we stopped talking. But maybe it set her to thinking, because on the drive home, she brought up a new topic of conversation.

“What year did your dad die?”

“1997,” I replied. “19 years ago.”

“That’s a long time,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “Do you miss him?”

“A lot.” She nodded.

“Me, too,” I said.

“But missing a husband,” she went on, “is different than missing your dad.”

“I’m sure it is,” I said. “And in a way, you lost your husband twice. Once to multiple sclerosis and again when he died.”

“You’re right, Jolene,” she said before going quiet again.

It was the most substantial, thoughtful, and sweet conversation we’ve had in months. I looked at her and smiled. She smiled back.

Life Is Good When…for this Fantastic Friday

Life Is Good When…for this Fantastic Friday

A close relationship with extended family members shows the joy that grows in the sharing of our ordinary days.An enduring joy of my life has been close relationships with many of my cousins. Thankfully, my daughter has similar relationships with several of her cousins  and second cousins (Right to left: Lara, Tessa, Anne, Caitlyn, and Lauren). Both the post and the picture make me grateful that these young ladies have one another in their ordinary, everyday lives on this Fantastic Friday.

Life Is Good When…

For the past month and a half, my cousin has been forwarding emails from her daughter, Lara, who is studying in Spain this semester. Lara is four days older than my daughter, and like Anne, she’s a junior in college.

Reading Lara’s adventures has been pure delight. She’s learned to live with cold showers, cook with butane fuel and purchase new fuel when the tank runs dry. She’s been befriended by a family of Bolivian immigrants, eats weekend meals and goes to church with them, and bakes them banana bread. She’s climbed mountains, ridden trains, taken taxies, and to make the most of this opportunity, forces herself to speak Spanish instead of English to fellow students to improve her language skills.

The wisdom of a comment she made in a recent email makes me smile whenever it comes to mind. After Lara describing a busy weekend with the Bolivian family, washing laundry and cooking meals together, she said this. “You know life is good when doing mundane, everyday activities is nice.”

Her insight delighted but didn’t surprise me. She’s part of the pack of girl cousins (Anne, my brother’s two girls, Lara and two of her cousins) who were born in a span of four years. They spend as much time as possible crammed together like puppies, playing games, talking, sharing clothes, writing stories. When they aren’t together in body, they connect on Facebook, joyfully sharing their “mundane, everyday activities.”

I don’t have a crystal ball. I can’t predict the joys and sorrows in Lara’s future or those of her pack of puppy cousins. But these young women already know what Dorothy had to learn over the rainbow and what many people spend their whole life never learn: life’s greatest pleasures are the small things, the ordinary days, and the people who experience them. They have what they need to appreciate the joys and weather the sorrows sure to come.

They’re ready to face the world.