family – Page 3 – BethSings

Waitin’

Angel ornament made in 1995 by my daughter, Sarah from pine tree that stood in front of St. Aloysius Church. The trees were ‘repurposed’ by the kindergarten classes when our new church was built.

Kraslice ornament from trip to Prague in 2011. The eggs are a sign of blessing. I brought back a dozen and only lost one in transport.

One of two of my mother’s antique surprise balls that she had as a child…c. 1920-1930’s. One of my favorite ornaments since childhood.

004 — Each year for twenty years the Sisters that lived at St. Aloysius, the Daughters of Jesus gave me a dove Christmas ornament. It was bittersweet to put those ornaments on the tree after they returned to Spain. All but one of those lovely ladies are singing in the heavenly choir. Each, in their unique way, taught me about peace…and that ‘God is crazy about me’.

006 — We decorate our tree the third Sunday of Advent – with one exception. The year my daughter was born she was baptized on the first Sunday of Advent. I wanted my son to feel a part of the process so he and made the ornaments then decorated the tree with baby’s breath and lavender. It was one of the prettiest trees I remember.

008 — This ornament was a gift from a long-time friend, colleague and member of a prayer group we’ve both belonged to for nearly twenty-five years. It is from the Cathedral of St. Joseph in Baton Rouge and not only reminds me of a place that has become my home but also of other “homes” and the dear friends along the journey: Monroe and Shreveport.

Waitin waitin
I’ve been waitin
Waitin waitin all my life.

That light keeps on hiding from me,
But it someday just might bless my sight.
Waitin waitin waitin

William Bolcom ~ from Cabaret Songs Volume 1

010 — My first ‘adult’ ornament. 1980. It’s always the third ornament on the tree after my mother’s surprise ornaments. From longtime friend Diane Statham.

002 — New ornament this year from ‘first friend’ and blood sister. Most call her Terri but she’ll always be Leslie to me, a gift.

No big secret that I enjoy traditions especially when it comes to holidays. Traditions are what keep us connected. Some years I’ve considered getting new ornaments but those decorations are a walk with friends. Priceless.

Today, as I made Christmas Eve gumbo, surrounded by these ornaments, waiting for family to arrive I remembered the wonder and delight I felt as an expectant mother. Not unlike Mary and Joseph’s expectant waiting.

Waiting in the midst of traditions. Gifts of grace. Reminders of blessings traveled and will continue to travel in peace and joy.

Merry Christmas!

Finding Crème Brûlée

It’s been nearly a year since I began this photo-journal blog adventure. It started as a thank you to my adult children after last Christmas: to my son Patrick for his thoughtful gift, a new camera; to my daughter Sarah for her advice as a photographer and blogger. Each time I’ve held the camera my life quietens in prayer for them and for what surrounds me; for those–near and for—who I keep close. It has been a wild ride….filled with fun and adventure. At fifty-five that seems appropriate.

Like most people, these weeks before Christmas are busy with mundane balanced with preparations for the coming holiday. I learned long ago to take an inventory of values and expectations during this season. Traditions are important. . . well, at least to me they are. Name the day and time, keep it. Stay in the moment and enjoy it. All of that was very helpful raising two children. Keep It Simple Silly

Over the last week I’ve been preparing my daughter’s bedroom for a holiday spruce up. The renovation was a long-time coming. This transformation seemed to erase her childhood in my mind. With a few strokes exuberant, innocent hot pink became crème brûlée. She’s an adult. It was time.

As I was moving furniture, etc. I found what I thought was memorabilia that Sarah had been saving. Not so much! Mostly empty bags from shopping excursions she and I had taken together over the years when she had been home during holidays and summers. Lovely memories. At the bottom was a HUGE box.

My daughter has lived on her own for the past six years–all over the world. I do have some of her things in storage but I couldn’t imagine what was in it. I saw the box, smiled and laughed out loud.

Sarah had been studying in Prague, living there for a year. At the end of the year I joined her in Prague to pack up her apartment, travel a little then back to the states. There was a year’s worth of life to collect. Her suitcases broke; we bought new ones in Vienna. The image of our parade of suitcases on the tiny streets of Salzburg still makes me smile. On a cold, wet June day we decided to ship two LARGE YELLOW boxes back, praying clothes, books, worldly possessions would find their way home. Neither of us could part with the boxes. Seeing them reminded me of adventures with both of my ‘children’….and the promise of future adventure….for them and for me. It is, after all, our tradition. . .

With those memories hot pink became crème brûlée. In a way, isn’t life like those layers of paint? It’s comforting to know somewhere in me is a shade of pink rose bud layered with green gingham checks. We move on taking pieces with us. . . keeping it simple.

Here’s to tradition…no expectations. You’ll never know what you’ll find.

Start Your Engines

If Autumn is the best season then November is the pinnacle. Colors change, days get cooler, holidays.

The week of Thanksgiving I enter my fifty-fifth year. Maybe because my mother died young, I see the importance of celebrating birthdays….friends and family….mine, I enjoy celebrating quietly. Aging has turned into something far different than what I thought I saw my parents and grandparents doing when I was younger. Fifty-five always sounded like a speed limit.

The best piece of advice I was ever given about growing old came from a friend, Louise about fifteen years ago. ‘Become a crone,’ she said. ‘Not the withered old hag in fairy tales but the deeper meaning. An archetypal figure, a wise woman.’ That sounded interesting. Those kind of women I’ve known my entire life: my grandmothers, the neighborhood ‘mothers’ growing up, and of course, my mother. They all lived life with style and grace.

In our family, I was surely loved but never a princess. A strong-willed child with thankfully stronger-willed parents. Difficult adult choices were made less so because of the lessons they taught me.

After a car accident two months ago, my thoughts of were filled gratitude. Every day is gift. These were certainly thoughts that were familiar at significant life moments: births, deaths, graduations, moving. The wreck just gave me food for thought. Carpe diem. Seize everything with love…and seize carefully.

Traveling at fifty-five I see the treasures of family and friends, some have been companions on the journey for 25, 30…even 50 years. There have been lapses in some relationships. There may be miles between some of us. I’ve learned that miles and time aren’t a measure for family and friends…and certainly doesn’t diminish my love for them.

“They say there’s a heaven for those who will wait…..”

A nice sunrise. A lovely sunset. Friends and family to share life. Thanksgiving. Billy Joel could’ve been right about us Catholic girls. Fifty-five. Start your engines.

Simple Gifts

Beware the barrenness of a busy life. ~ Socrates

Three weeks ‘on the go’. Fun-filled adventures.

In the time I’ve missed the quiet, the camera click, waiting for a sunset, resting in ‘the moment’, simple moments with friends and family. Autumn reminds of me that. A homecoming of sorts. Time to settle in and nest. During the summer I made hard choices about future projects. The autumn ran away with those choices like a race horse. I allowed it.

Last weekend I traveled to my hometown for the first time since July. It’s good to touch base with those people who share collective memories, love you no matter what. Driving back, my thoughts drifted to the idea of unconditional love…. my parents, family, dear friends, my children.

I can only hope that I’ve been as generous and accepting with those special people in my life….my family, friends and students. . . and beyond.

The road leads us many ways in a busy life…some days the path is straight, some days…not so much….the gift is finding the simple way and loving through it.

First you make a roux….

A good base. Any good cook knows it’s the foundation. Parents and teachers too.

Last Sunday morning was the first really cool day we’ve had in South Louisiana. Gumbo weather. I couldn’t wait to hit the kitchen. To me, making gumbo is a spiritual experience. It keeps me ‘in the moment’. Reminds me of where I came from, where I am, where I’m going. Well, like I said….it starts with a base….’first you make a roux’.

I didn’t realize until I moved to South Louisiana but gumbos vary by regions. My mother’s family came from Mobile. Questions about using tomato (I don’t) or okra (I do) never occurred to me. My mother and grandmother never used a recipe. I learned from them. I still use my mother’s ‘roux pot’.

The first gumbo has become an October tradition just as surely as the smell of sweet olive on a crisp afternoon or selecting the perfect pumpkin. I make gumbo throughout the year but there’s something about that first one on the first cool snap….feels like home….

Wednesday my daughter texted, asking for the recipe for ‘Campfire Stew’. Another family and Girl Scout tradition. The week had been filled with ups and downs but those moments had nourished my spirit. Today I’m making Campfire Stew. It’s not over an open flame like we did when I was a Girl Scout with my friend, Leslie or as a leader with my daughter…or camping with my kids….but in the cooking I’m linking all of those together….yesterday, today….and a promise for tomorrow…..

October….

Yes, “first you make a roux”…then you sit back and enjoy….feels like home…

Satisfied

“Satisfied!”

This week I was reminded of my grandfather. He’s been on my mind since the summer. A man who’s simple approach to life, wisdom and humor served him and his family well during the Great Depression, two World Wars. He was never at a loss. Anytime you asked him how things were or how he was….his reply?

Satisfied.

I was in Boston a few months back helping my daughter with a film project she was finishing. It had been relaxing time cooking for these creative artists, their lives filled with promise. During the days there I thought about how grateful I was for the resources and time my parents and grandparents had invested in me and my brothers. I hoped they knew how much we appreciated their generous spirit. We always had what we needed and then some. We were given opportunities to explore and develop our talents. The story of our lives were written by love and hard work.

On my last day I saw one of the sets for the first time and got my answer.

The room was wall-papered in pages from an old dictionary…..on the desk of the vintage-style room was an antique typewriter not unlike one I had in my closet at home, an heirloom from my grandfather. When I went back to take a picture….the typewriter had been moved for another shot but I was……

Satisfied.

Too often today we’re looking for magic, highs, eternal youth or for what might be…. instead of being

Satisfied.

with what is….

My grandfather was an adventurer..through books and people. His life experiences led him from days of horse and buggy to seeing a man walk on the moon. He was not a well-educated man yet the wisest man I’ve ever met. He knew the value of everything, including a handshake and the warmth of the sun on your face. He was not unique in his generation.

Satisfied.

I look at my own family. Two adult ‘children’ who are content in their lives. I remind myself that my parents and grandparent walked similar roads. Theirs were different times, perhaps…..but in this…..we are the same….

Satisfied.

Simple Joys

I am still determined to be cheerful and happy, in whatever situation I may be; for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends upon our dispositions, and not upon our circumstances.

Martha Washington

I woke up this morning to two of my favorite things. Neither one can be captured on film: the first cool autumn day and the smell of barbecue cooking. Simple joys.

Coffee was made. I went outside to breathe it all in. Autumn air mixed with the fragrance of the barbecue wafting from across the street. A church event later today. They had been cooking all night. Simple joys.

Twice this week I was asked how I thought people our parents and grandparents generation were able to handle their affairs with such grace. They were faced with war, financial crisis…all sorts of issues but never seemed to make it into the ‘hot mess’ that we do. Theirs were generations of private people. I understand the balance of that…

….they valued family and friends, saw work as a part of life. Embraced growing older. Each simple joys.

This morning, autumn’s hangs a welcome sign…. a simple joy. . . for my time and all time.