by jphilo | Jul 13, 2015 | Family
The second week of Family Camp in the mountains of the Idaho panhandle is now in full swing. I’ll be leaving early this coming Wednesday, but before that happens, have a gander at the views to be found every where.
Here’s the view from the porch of the cabin (pictured above) where I’m staying:
And here’s what I spied out the side window one hot afternoon. It’s been very dry here, so we think this doe was desperate for food:
These pictures were taken on my morning walk. The scenery is hazy because of a fire south of here on the other side of the lake. It finally rained this past Saturday, so the mountains are easier to see today:
If it weren’t for the Man of Steel waiting in Iowa and sweet corn season, this Iowa girl would have a mighty hard time leaving all this beauty!
by jphilo | Jun 12, 2015 | Family, Reflections on the Past
Tomorrow the Man of Steel and I are taking Mom to a family reunion where many cousins will gather to catch up on each other’s lives and to reminisce about our parents and grandparents. As we talk, the realization will come upon many of us, myself included, that we are becoming more and more like our parents and our stalwart grandparents, Vernon and Josephine Hess. This Fantastic Friday post from June of 2009 offers a picture of what that means.
A few years ago my older sister, who hit fifty long before I did, said she was getting more like our Grandma Hess (our mother’s mother) every year. “Maybe it’s happening to you,” I thought, “but it won’t happen to me.” I was so wrong! Since turning fifty almost three years ago, I have developed some strange quirks that can be traced directly to Grandma. The most notable of these traits are:
- A growing belief that oatmeal deserves its own food group, should be eaten for every breakfast and added to all baked goods.
- A penchant for big, flower-patterned, cover-up aprons.
- Snoring.
- The habit of spitting on a tissue (though Grandma used a hankie) and using it to wash the dirty face of any child related to me.
- Wintering over my geraniums, rooting geraniums, planting geraniums in my garden, etc.
- Ditto for asparagus ferns, vinca vines, and philodendrons.
- Not wanting to spend money unless it’s really necessary, and nothing is really all that necessary.
- A need to check my flower gardens every day, pick flowers for bouquets whenever possible, and put the flowers in the vase (see photograph above) that belonged to Grandma’s mother.
- Thinking the best way to celebrate any winter event is to cram everyone into my house and serve a heavy meal.
- Thinking the best way to celebrate any summer event is to have a family picnic.
Some of Grandma’s traits I haven’t picked up yet and hope the Man of Steel or my kids chain me to a wall before I do are:
- Taking all the sugar, creamer, catsup, mustard, and any other condiment packets, along with as many straws and napkins that will fit in a purse, from restaurant booths.
- Buying cheap clothes, worthy of wearing at my own funeral, at Crazy Daze and putting them in the back of the closet until the big day arrives.
- Belching.
- Watching Lawrence Welk every Saturday night.
- Knowing the life story of every entertainer on Lawrence Welk and relating them to my grandchildren.
- Asking my kids to cut my toenails when I can afford a podiatrist.
- Requiring kids to wait thirty minutes after a meal before they go swimming.
Unfortunately, a few years ago I would have told my family to chain me to a wall if I snored, spit on a tissue or wore a flower-patterned apron. So I’m probably doomed to pick up a few more Grandma quirks every few years. But if the Lawrence Welk oddities come last, I’ll be eternally grateful.
A-one, and a-two, and a….
by jphilo | Jun 8, 2015 | Family
Since the news broke that Fred Hoiberg resigned as head coach of the Iowa State Cyclones basketball team to lead the Chicago Bulls, I’ve been surprised by how many people have asked how the Man of Steel is dealing with the news.
I had no idea so many people knew about the Man of Steel’s obsession with interest in Fred, a native son of Iowa and ISU basketball alumni and legend, affectionately referred to as St. Fred around here.
During the most recent Wednesday with Dorothy, Mom broached the topic shortly after I arrived. “What’s Hiram have to say about Fred Hoiberg leaving?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.
“He’s handling it better than you might think,” I assured her.
“How’s that?”
“He’s decided to become a Chicago Bulls fan,” I explained.
She snickered.
We moseyed out to play Rummikub in the activity area. We’d finished one game (she won) and were setting up for another when she asked, “How’s Hiram taking Hoiberg’s decision to leave the Cyclones?”
“Well,” I smiled, “he took it pretty well. In fact, he’s reading up on the Chicago Bulls and ready to be a fan.”
She chuckled.
I won the next game of Rummikub, she won the one after that, and then we went to Applebee’s for supper. While we waited for our food to arrive, she looked at the poster advertising the Applebee’s Hoiburger on the wall. “Wonder how long they’ll keep serving those,” she mused. “Is Hiram all cut up about Fred Hoiberg leaving the Cyclones?”
“Actually,” I said as the waitress brought our onion rings, “he didn’t miss a beat. Just announced when the new NBA season begins, he’ll be a Bulls fan.”
Mom giggled.
I blew on an onion ring and offered a silent prayer as I took my first bite. Thank you, God, for the Man of Steel, Fred Hoiberg, and for using them to make this Wednesday with Dorothy a day one of us will never forget.
by jphilo | May 22, 2015 | Family
The Man of Steel cut down the dying crab apple tree outside our bedroom window 6 years ago. But the memory of its beauty and my sweet, laughing children remain fresh in my mind, thanks to the post below. I hope it makes you smile.
Earlier this week, the crabapple tree that guards our bedroom window began to flower. Yesterday, in the soft, warm breeze, it began to sluff off it’s blossoms petal by petal in a slow and lovely dance. They looped and twirled and floated along until the west wind set them, ever so gently, between the waiting blades of green, green grass.
I watched them dance, fresh and pink, and thought of my children. One May day years ago, Allen and Anne stood beneath the tree while Hiram shook the branches and petals rained upon their hair and shoulders. Our children danced, their hands raised high to catch the soft flood. Hiram’s mother, here for Mother’s Day, laughed as she snapped picture after picture. Finally the kids, tired and sweaty, flopped onto the greenish-pink, trampled grass.
The tree is dying, has been dying for years, was dying while Hiram shook the branches. All that’s left is one large limb, and we know that this year, after many seasons of procrastination, the tree must come down. “But wait,” I asked my husband, “until it blooms again, until after the petal dance.”
Yesterday, when the breeze arose, I took my mother-in-law’s place behind the camera and took picture after picture of the petal dance. If you look closely, beyond the wind-shaken branch, you can see them falling, – tiny, hazy, pink raindrops. And I think if you are still enough, patient enough, then perhaps you will see what I do: two precious children, arms raised high in a springtime dance, so happy, so young, so loved.
by jphilo | May 15, 2015 | Family
This post that first appeared in May of 2008 speaks for itself. Uncle Ralph, you are dearly missed.
On Sunday, the swiftness of death and the uncertainty of life touched me twice. Mom called after lunch with the news of her brother’s death. His son had called Saturday and said Ralph was failing. “Within a week,” he said. We thought we had a few days.
But Ralph didn’t mess around. He died like he lived – fast and full-steam ahead. The swiftness of his passing surprised but didn’t shock us. After all, he was in his late eighties and had lived a good life. Once we received funeral details, we crowded a trip to Minnesota into the upcoming week’s plans and moved on.
In the evening, my husband and I helped at a graduation party for our friends’ daughter. During the festivities, word came that a tornado had destroyed a high school in Parkersburg, where the uncle and aunt of the graduate teach. Next we heard seven people had died in the storm. Then word spread that some of the deaths occurred at graduation parties. No one said the words, but we read them in one another’s eyes. It could have been here. It could have been us.
This morning I walked down our road. The grass glittered, washed clean by gentle rain in the night. The birds sang. The trees swayed gently in the breeze. The first iris bloomed in the ditch. The lilac branches drooped under the weight of blossoms at the height of beauty. Tomorrow, they’ll begin to fade. If the wind comes up, they’ll be gone.
I did the only thing I could in the face of the fading beauty of this life and the swiftness of death to come. Today, I smelled the lilacs.
by jphilo | Apr 17, 2015 | Family
This post from 5 years ago caught my eye while searching the Gravel Road’s archives. Why? Because this April our family is celebrating the birth of a grandchild, I’m attending a conference in Virginia right now, and I’m looking forward to a book release on April 27. Events as momentous as the events of April 2010 which included…well, you’ll find out as you read this week’s Fantastic Friday post.
Yeah, that’s me in the back row with the oh-no-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into expression. The other two are my brother and a cousin. There’s another cousin kneeling in front, but I can’t get her to show up. (Sorry Nell!)
When the good people at Discovery House Publishers emailed on April 13 to say they accepted my proposal for Different Dream Parenting: Raising a Child with Special Needs, my response was similar to the one in the picture. It was the day after we returned from our son’s wedding so my energy level and brain functions were nil at the time.
Needless to say, it took awhile for the news to sink in. Once the old brain cells revived, my first response should have been of the whoop-and-holler-of-joy variety. But no. It was more of the what-have-I-gotten-myself-into and why-did-I-think-I-could-write-a-book-on-this-subject variety.
After a few calming breaths and some positive self-talk, the panic subsided, at least until I printed off the chapter summary that was part of the original proposal. After reading the plan written last December, panic returned, along with self-doubt. I felt as poorly trained and utterly inadequate for the task at hand as I had each August of my twenty-five year teaching career.
But over the next several days, God calmed me down, patted my head, and held my hand. Every Bible passage I read was about how God prepares his people for his work. Every book I opened contained valuable resources. Visions of experts and parents I’ve met in the past few years – many since Different Dream was released – came to mind.
“Write them down,” a voice whispered inside my head. “Make a plan.”
I started a list of people, books, websites, and organizations. In minutes, the list was two pages long. Their expertise matched many of the subjects to be addressed in my book, though a few holes remained. In the next few days, previously unknown experts appeared on my radar screen. The timing was uncanny.
The voice in my head was clear and insistent. “You’re not in this alone. I’ve spent my life preparing you to do this. You take the logical next step and leave the rest to me.”
Living by faith. Writing by faith. That’s what I’ve gotten myself into.
Let the adventure begin.
