by jphilo | Sep 11, 2015 | Family
A favorite post about one of the best days ever for this Fantastic Friday. Hope you enjoy the memory as much as I enjoyed that lovely day!
Yesterday morning, I was tapping away at my computer when the doorbell rang. Surprised, I headed for the kitchen and spied the Hy-Vee floral delivery truck. “That’s weird,” I thought. “Who would send flowers to me?”
The friendly Hy-Vee delivery man waited at the door. “Does Jolene Philo live here?” he asked.
“That’s me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Special day for you, is it?”
I thought a minute – no birthday, no anniversary, no windfall on Wall Street – before it hit me. “Well, my first book is being released today.”
“Congratulations!” He held up a finger. “I’ll be back in a minute.” And he was, carrying a huge balloon bouquet up our rather long sidewalk.
I went partway to meet him. “Thank you so much.”
Then, as I grabbed the bouquet and turned toward the house, he held up a finger. “We’re not done yet,” he said.
Surprised, I hurried into the house, set down the bouquet and ran outside in time to meet him halfway down the sidewalk and grab the second bouquet. “Thank you so much.”
He held up a finger. “We’re not done yet,” he said and headed for the truck.
By the time we were done yet, the two of us had met our exercise quota for the day, and he’d delivered five very large balloon bouquets from Mom, my sister’s family, my brother’s family, and my Le Mars relatives. The kitchen was full to bursting, and having seen the Pixar movie Up not to long ago, I was a little bit worried. (How come my son didn’t have “house uprooted by helium balloons” on his worry list Sunday night?)
But I was more flabbergasted than worried. See, I don’t come from a gifty family. Now, we’re darn good at birthday cakes, because birthday cakes are dessert and our family is exceptionally gifted at consuming desserts. And over the years, we’ve gotten better at saying “I love you,” sending birthday cards, and the occasional hug. On the other hand, no one will ever engrave “Our beloved celebrated special events with hoopla and flair” on our tombstones.
So I stood in the kitchen for a long time staring at the balloons and wondering what on earth possessed them to spend money so frivolously and where on earth I will put the bouquets this weekend when the rellies – Mom, sister, nephew, brother’s family, uncle and aunt, cousins and their families and my kids – arrive for our Labor Day Reunion weekend.
And then, gone giddy with the scent of latex, Mylar, and slowly leaking helium, I lost my head and did a little happy dance. What else can a girl do when her family says, “We love you?”
by jphilo | Jul 31, 2015 | Family
We’ve had plenty of rain in central Iowa this summer, but the same was not true in Idaho during my visit a few weeks back. They are having the hottest, driest summer anyone out there can remember. So this Idaho post from July of 2011, when Family Camp began with a cold and rainy bang, caught my eye. As did the rainbow on the mountain. Lovely!
As was mentioned in yesterday’s entry, the weather introduced a chilly, wet number on the first official day of camp. Day 2 dawned sunny and cool, but by lunchtime the clouds moved in, turning things chilly again. The showers held off until supper, but we stayed happy, safe and dry beneath the pavilion.
After the meal was over, folks stayed put, talking while they waited for the rain to end and the hymn sing to begin. The sun, on the other hand, didn’t wait for anything. Not even for the rain to stop. It showed up for the hymn sing a little early, and pretty soon our side of the mountain echoed with shouts.
“A half-rainbow!”
“Everybody, look at the rainbow.”
“It’s getting bigger!”
“It’s all the way across the sky.”
“Come quick!”
“Look!”
“Look!”
“Look before it fades away!”
The cries of wonder faded with the passing of the fractured light. But a bit of magic, a touch of promise lingered all around, weaved in and out of the music, breathed hope into every heart. We sang with fervor, and our voices lingered over the words of the last song, unwilling to let go of the rainbow, determined to cling to the promises of our faith.
We lift our eyes up unto the mountains.
Where does our help come from?
Our help comes from you,
Maker of heaven, Creator of the earth.
Oh, how we need you, Lord.
You are our only hope.
You are our only prayer.
So we will wait for you to come and rescue us.
To come and give us life.
We lift our eyes up, unto the mountains.
Where does our help come from?
Come quickly, Lord Jesus! Come!
by jphilo | Jul 27, 2015 | Family, Uncategorized
Home. I’m finally home after several weeks of travel. All to see family. All of it good. But I’m glad to be home and in one place again, with time to think and reflect and process the experiences.
And to do laundry.
Because our very precocious and gifted almost 4-month-old grandson proved to be very adept at peeing on my lap. By the end of 6 days of snuggles, the little rascal had soaked through his diapers and every pair of pants in my suitcase.
And that’s saying something.
Because I’m one of those people who throws in an extra of everything. Just in case. And then an extra extra of everything. Just in case the just in case extra of everything might not be enough.
And it wasn’t enough.
Which means I now need to pack an extra extra extra of everything. Just in case. Or–paradigm shift–I could do laundry at the grandson’s house. Why didn’t I think of that before?
I know why.
Because I’m too busy thinking about that sweet little boy who found his fists this week, learned to put them in his mouth, who grasped his rattle for the first time, who cooed and smiled at his grammy, and stole her heart.
And her mind.
So she paid scant attention to the time or the gleam in his little eye that means, “I’m going to pee now.” Which is why every pair of my pants came home pee-soaked and pee-stained.
And I came home happy, exhausted, and utterly content.
by jphilo | Jul 20, 2015 | Family, Reflections on the Past
Today’s post comes from a very distinguished guest blogger, who also happens to be my sister, known to anyone who reads the comment section of this blog as “Sis.” Sis recently wrote this ode to our family vegetable, and gave me permission to publish it here. Reading it makes me as greedily hungry as a hobbit for mushrooms. You?
Some families have distinguished, ancient crests with lots of regal history; other families have members who have accomplished great things which allows their relatives to bask in the glory of all that star-dust; and some families, like mine, have a very real and symbolic vegetable. It is a vegetable worthy of a family crest.
My maternal grandparents, bearing the last name of Hess, lived on a farm near Pipestone, MN where they raised eight children during the Great Depression. Grandma and Grandpa grew most of their own food to feed their large family. The vegetable garden was immense, even after the children left to start their own families and gardens. Each spring they planted a row of carrots and a row of kohlrabi for each of the eight children. The child was to seed the row, thin the seedlings, weed it, then harvest it, meaning he or she could eat the carrots and kohlrabi any time he or she wanted.
These eight children produced 39 grandchildren (I am number 20), Grandma and Grandpa continued the tradition of planting many rows of carrots and kohlrabi for the grandchildren. The grandchildren trained each other to love this veggie. During a summer visit to the farm when I was about 8 years old, my cousin Jean Marie,*** who was age 7 and who lived right there on the home farm, taught me about the joys of kohlrabi. She led me to the kitchen to swipe one of Grandma’s many salt shakers, then we sneaked out to the garden.
“Don’t let Grandma see us,” Jean Marie instructed as she yanked 2 kohlrabi out of the dirt, stripped the leaves from it and broke off the root. “Grandma will be mad if we leave the salt shaker out here. And we are NOT supposed to eat these!”
I took this seriously. I did not want to be in trouble with Grandma.
Then Jean Marie headed for the row of peonies which were large enough to hide both of us. There she demonstrated how to peel the thing with her teeth, salt it, and eat it like an apple. It was a delicious secret treat, crisp, delicate and salty. I wanted another. I crawled behind the peonies to the nearest kohlrabi row where I imitated Jean Marie’s techniques of pulling, leaf-stripping and peeling.
Years later I told Grandma about this. She knew. Of course she knew. She knew all of us did this. That was why she planted them—to get us to eat vegetables. She knew they were sweeter if we thought they were stolen.
If I was to create a family crest it would include the family slogan, “One Mell of a Hess” and include a regal kohlrabi. Like so.
When family reunions roll around, a cousin or two arrive with a bowl of home grown kohlrabi harvested the morning of the reunion, a half dozen paring knives for peeling, and salt shakers. We snack on sliced, salted kohlrabi all day.
***Names have been changed to protect the family members who have not agreed to have their names included!
What would you include on your family crest?
by jphilo | Jul 17, 2015 | Family
This post, written a few days before my daughter’s wedding on July 11, 2010, will forever and always be one of my favorites. I think you’ll see why it is this week’s Fantastic Friday choice.
Four days until the wedding, and what did I find? A dandy patch of Queen Anne’s lace, swaying tall and graceful, in an easy-to-reach spot by old Highway 30 east of town.
The flower lady, also known as my sister, plans to gather the the lovely weed, to use as an accent when she creates bouquets and boutonnières on Sunday morning.
She sees an accent flower, but I see my three-year-old daughter standing on the pew at a long ago wedding. Looking like she’d died and gone to fairy tale heaven, my little girl watches the first bridesmaid glide down the aisle. My little girl leans toward me, her eyes wide, and whispers, “She’s a princess.” As bridesmaid follows bridesmaid, she whispers the same words.
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
“She’s a princess.”
Then the organ music swells, the guests rise to their feet, and I lift Anne into my arms so she can see the bride, lovely in her white gown. My little girl gasps, clasps her hands, and her sweet, high voice floats above the rustle of the crowd and the music.
“Mommy, look. She’s the queen.”
Her voice swirls around the Queen Anne’s lace beside the road, and the memory of her childish face shifts, I see a bride, wearing my wedding dress and carrying a bouquet trimmed with small, delicate white flowers. A sweet, high voice floats out of the past and across the meadow to where I stand beside the road, staring at the patch of wildflowers.
“Mommy, look. I’m the queen.”
by jphilo | Jul 16, 2015 | Family
Since I’m not much for roughing it on vacations, my camp packing skills are seriously lacking. Here are 3 lessons relearned about packing last week.
- Many, many clothing colors are acceptable during a dusty camp week. White is not one of them.
- Remember your swimming suit.
- You know that belt you needed to hold up your pants when you went to camp? Chances are you won’t need it on the way home.
What are your best packing tips for camp? Leave them in the comment box.
