Red Envelope Day, March 31, 2009

Facebook is an amazing tool. Through it I have been able to stay in touch with family and friends who live far from me. In an instant I can "chat" with them, see their posted pictures, and hear what is going on in their lives. Through it we can connect with our communities in ways we never could before, we can become fans of scattered causes and attend "events" that would be impossible to attend given cost and distance restrictions.

Red Envelope Day is one such event. I don't even remember now which one of my friends "invited" me, but I do know that since the day I responded, I have been waiting for today. I prepared my envelope, glued it shut, and added a stamp...and waited for today.

Today we could join across the miles to be a part of something much bigger than ourselves. They asked us to address an empty red envelope to the President of the United States..and on the outside write...."This envelope represents one child who died because of an abortion. It is empty because the life that was taken is now unable to be part of our world."

They asked us to mail them out on March 31, 2009, "Red Envelope Day" as a sign to the President that life is precious, that abortions are murder, and that we really do still care for the life of the unborn. So from all corners of the country our envelopes have made their way to Washington, DC to the doorstep of the President. Little red envelopes, on their own, perhaps no grand deal....but one by one, they have added up to thousands sent and that is quite an event!

Strange sort of celebration at first blush. But in the end of it all, we know that Jesus does love the little children, that He died for all the little children and that He Lives! for all the little children.

And THAT message of His salvation to all of His children is the best Celebration of them all!

Like Father...Like Son

Children are like kites.

You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground.

You run with them until you’re both breathless

...they crash - you add a longer tail

...they hit the rooftop - you pluck them out of the spout

...you patch and comfort, adjust and teach.

You watch them lifted by the wind and assure them that someday they’ll fly!

...Finally they are airborne, but they need more string and you keep letting it out.

With each twist of the ball of twine, there is a sadness that goes with the joy
because the kite becomes more distant.

Somehow you know that it won’t be long before that beautiful creature will snap the life line that bound you together and soar as it was meant to soar--

-- free and alone.

And how wonderful it is to watch our children soar!

When Steven was five months old he began to intermittently suck on his fingers in this peculiar way. Peculiar to me, because I had only been a thumb sucker, as had my siblings. I guess it never really occurred to me that children would do otherwise. Apparently, we were from a generation without pacifiers...a community of thumb-suckers :)

At first, we grabbed the camera at every opportunity, to catch him being cute. As had become our custom, we took him to get "official" monthly pictures. We would display the newest pose on our walls and send copies to the relatives to ooh and ahh over...that was back before the days of instant email and jpegs, we used to actually mail a photograph.

Now with myspace, facebook, smileboxes and blogs....we have more electronic shots and fewer hard copies laying around the house. Which is neither an altogether bad, nor a completely good thing. On the one hand when our computer crashes, we must set about to restore all the lost files, and on the other hand we can access the shots across the miles without the worry of dog-eared corners :)

I took him in for his "official" nine month photo at the JC Penney's Studio at the Tacoma Mall. Imagine my delight when under a cowboy hat of red...right in the middle of the "shoot", he went for his favorite fingers.

The photographer tried all of her tricks to get him to stop the distraction. But I asked her to please take the shot, for us it was the perfect pose. Oh, he grew out of the phase soon enough. In the midst of pictures with bears and balls, trophies and silly faces, this moment in time has stood the test of time.

A simple trip to the mall...and a sleepy little boy.

That little boy in a red cowboy hat grew up to be the father of my first grandson. And one sweet day, 26 years later, in a room filled with the Ohio sun...without even knowing it...Blake struck a perfect pose.

Important moments

"Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved.

The real milestones are less prepossessing.

They come to the door of memory unannounced...and simply never never leave.

Our lives are measured by these."
--Susan B.Anthony.

Every day we get 1,440 of them, we set our clocks by them, catch the bus by them, and count down the day by them...they are minutes, and the longer we live, the more precious they are.

But it really isn't the minutes that I celebrate. What I love about the day are the moments, and every day there are countless of them:

...When the lilacs set their first bud...when the snow begins to melt...when you find a penny on the ground (see a penny pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck!)...when the first star appears...and on...and on...and on it goes, from the moment we wake until the last little sleepy eye closes.

It's good to be reminded that though we prepare for the big things, fill our calendars with them and mark our years by the passing of them...what really makes up the sum of our life are the moments of celebration that fill our day, and catch us by surprise.

Go out of your way to invest in making a new friend, and you will find they have become a treasured old one.

Take the time to pick up a magazine~even if only to look at the pictures ~ and soon you will have a new pasttime to fill those minutes spent waiting in any number of places that the day takes you...from appointments, to plane trips, and sometimes even waiting to have your named called for jury duty :)

Listen for the birds first song of the day, watch for the first blossoms on the apple tree, wait for mailman to bring you the day's greetings...there are countless moments of celebration just ahead of you...wait for them...watch for them...

...they are the moments worth celebrating!

Treasure the moments that find you, your journey is your treasure in the making!

USAT

The engraving stands for:
United States Army Transport

Pretty simple isn't it?....nothing grand, or fancy, and yet somehow it has survived.

It very well began it's life with our family in Anchorage, Alaska shortly after Mom & Dad were married in 1949. From there the boxes were crated and moved to the Presido in San Francisco, California...then to Ft. Mead, Maryland....on to an international move to Munich, Germany, back to the states with a year at Ft. Belviour, Virginia...and on to what would become our final military post.

As we packed up the station wagon, and hooked up the trailer for our cross country move back one more time to the Presidio in San Francisco, California, in all the packing and unpacking, it was still there.

There were treasured dolls, bikes, games, and books, that did not survive my childhood or make the final weight limits for the military move. Those treasures were left behind and given to friends, such was~and possibly, still is~life as a military family.

When Dad retired from the US Army and we packed for the last time to move, for one last time...we were finally civilians...on our own now...free to go when and where we pleased, when we unpacked in Puyallup, Washington...it was there.

Sometime later, after the we kids were grown and gone from our childhood home, Mom and Dad "downsized"...and the fork became mine. Mom brought it over to me one day and handed it to me, unceremoniously simple. She simply stated, "It's yours now."

I don't really know if there were ever any other USAT forks. I asked mom once, and she had sort of lost track if there had been...I guess in the raising of a family, forks aren't high on a priority list :)

There were a couple of other pieces of "mess hall" silverware that survived the journey...there is a serving spoon, as well as a teaspoon in my kitchen drawer, but neither of those pieces held the charm for me, like this particular fork.

There are other forks in my kitchen...forks that match a pattern of silverware lined neatly in a tray in the kitchen drawer, forks from my my mother's silver set that graces our table on special occasion meals. There are plastic forks, and mismatched forks, but this is MY fork :)

This is the fork I reach for, look for and search for, when a recipe calls for me to "stir in with a fork" any number of ingredients. This is the fork I use when I am making the crust for pumpkin pie, tea rings for Christmas, or scones on any given Saturday. On any ordinary day, for any ordinary purpose, any number of forks will do.

Whether the kitchen is a hive of activity, or I am the solitary chef...the stage for celebrating has been set. This is the fork that declares by my using it, "This occasion is a Celebration!"

Yes, THIS is the fork I reach for...look for..and will actually search for. This is the fork of my childhood.

Some day I will tell you about my favorite plate :)

Happy St Patrick's Day!

My grandfather was Edward Connelly, born on October 5, 1894, in Green Isle Two, Sibley Minnesota. He died almost a year after I was born on June 4, 1957, in Puyallup, Washington. He was an Irish Catholic. I never knew him.


My grandmother, Elizabeth Anna Lustman was born on April 30, 1894, in Glencoe Minnesota. She died when I was 14 years old, on April 30, 1971, (yes, she was exactly 77 years old) in Puyallup, Washington. She was a German Lutheran. I knew her...I wish I could have had the time to know her better.

How they ever got together in the first place, living in a city divided by ethnic and religious lines, is a love story all it's own...but for today, when all the world is Irish, I am glad that this piece of art is a piece of my heritage and now hangs in my family room. Their love story is for another time. Today is a day for celebrating all things Irish...linens, china, shamrocks...and blessings!

May God grant you always...A sunbeam to warm you, a moonbeam to charm you, a sheltering Angel so nothing can harm you. Laughter to cheer you. Faithful friends near you. And whenever you pray, Heaven to hear you.

May you have the hindsight to know where you've been. The foresight to know where you are going. And the insight to know when you have gone too far.

May those who love us, love us; and those who don't love us, may God turn their hearts; and if he doesn't turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles so we'll know them by their limping.

May God give you...for every storm a rainbow, for every tear a smile, for every care a promise and a blessing in each trial. For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share, for every sigh a sweet song and an answer for each prayer.

May you never forget what is worth remembering, nor ever remember what is best forgotten.

May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past.

May the sun shine all day long, everything go right and nothing wrong. May those you love bring love back to you, and may all the wishes you wish come true!

May the strength of God pilot us, may the wisdom of God instruct us, may the hand of God protect us, may the word of God direct us. Be always ours this day and for evermore - St. Patrick

And perhaps the best loved Irish blessing, quoted and posted, and made into cards...

May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of his hand.

Blessings to you and all those you love :)

Tiny Treasure

My mother was a registered nurse. For my childhood years she was "mom". Tending to her five young charges at home kept her busy enough...sewing, cooking, and stretching dad's paycheck was more than enough to fill her days.

When I was in high school my mother went back to employed work as a Nurse, a position that was complete with uniform and name badge...and a paycheck ~ which, in the early days went for household bills and in later years was generally used to purchase yards (and yards) of fabric.

It was not one of the bright and shiny nursing homes in the city, in fact, it was probably one of the oldest facilities in town. It began it's life as the city hospital and was "repurposed" when the new hospital in town was built on the hill. My mother thrived there :)

My sister's first job was as a nurses aid with mom~she went on to become a registered nurse. My first job was as the weekend dishwasher when I was in college~I did not go on to become a chef! Still we all saw something special about being in that small "family" of care givers.

My mother loved the residents in that rickety old facility...she loved singing her quirky little songs with them, telling them silly stories, and caring for them with dignity in the final days of their life. She would visit with family members and give them the confidence that their loved ones were not abandoned there, and they would call her their "angel." It was a good place to be.

My mother did many things very well. One of those things was to gently remind her resident friends of the changing seasons by changing the pin she wore on her uniform lapel. It's a simple thing really, but when you no longer mark off the days by appointments on the calendar, and one season runs lazily into the next, what sweeter way to make note of the passing of time.

My mother wore many pins, none of great worth, but all of great value. She wore pins that signaled the beginning of the Western Washington Fair, a daffodil for the spring, a smiley face for the summer, but among all her adornments...a red sleigh for Christmas and a plastic shamrock St. Paddy's Day pin were her favorites.

If pins could talk, and sometimes, through the magic of the day, I think they just could ~ this one would tell of the smiles that were seen as mom sang her Irish tunes through the halls of the nursing home. For the residents that have gone home before, and for this daughter that longs for those yesterdays, that tiny treasure remembers her well!

Jean Eveline Connelly Cottrell

Here she is...Jeannie with the dark brown hair :)

She was born on September 18, 1924, in Glencoe, Minnesota, to Edward and Elizabeth Connelly. The baby in a family of five children, she has three older sisters: Ruby, Alice and Myrtle, and one older brother, LeRoy.

Through the perils of the Great Depression, the family moved from Minnesota to make a home in Puyallup, Washington...but not without sacrifice.

It became necessary for the two oldest girls to remain in Minnesota with extended family and to finish schooling while the "little ones" were packed up for the journey to the unknown city. Like so many families, the course they thought their life would be taking, was now forever interrupted and changed. With nothing but the hope of work, they arrived to the new home.

Jean didn't realized she came from a "poor family"...she delighted in the simple pleasures of life and understood the reality of making ends meet...of making do, or doing without. She went on to graduate from Puyallup High School and St. Jo's School of Nursing and began working as a Registered Nurse...finding work in Alaska, she too, left home. She told me that in those days young women were either teachers or nurses, and she didn't like school that much.

I wish I could have known her when she was young...but by the time I came into her life, many years had passed.

She married Julian Stearns Cottrell on November 25, 1949, at Immanuel Lutheran Church in Puyallup, Washington. Together they had five children: Daniel Edward (named after her father), David Harry (named after his father), Mary Elizabeth (named after her mother), Beverly Jean (named after herself), and Thomas Jay (named after her husband).

She loved to smile, and sing...off key or on ~ actual words or words of her own making. She always made time to listen, to stories, to jokes, and to dreams. She taught her children the value of hard work, she modeled for them tenderness, and patience; and she gently led them by example into the life they would need to go...and in the end of it all, truth be told, she simply loved life.

The closer the calendar pages turned to March 17...the more her Irish came out. All things Irish were celebrated in March...shamrocks, dinner of corn beef and cabbage, cream puffs tinted with green food coloring all the while the music of old albums of old Dennis Day floated through the air.

I know that everyone is Irish on St. Patrick's Day...but how blessed am I, that this lovely little "Irish lass" grew up to be my mother :) I am Beverly, and I proudly carry her name.

My mother went Home on Wednesday afternoon, April 24, 1996...I like to think that somewhere on the streets of Heaven, my mother and father are resting in perfect peace, with families now reunited and the struggles of this life long since past.

I can picture her now as she holds her grandson, Paul Michael, by his hand, and together they skip through that beautiful city singing just whatever song she pleases while her Irish eyes smile.

Today was one of those days...those quiet rainy days. Nothing grand or out of the ordinary to do, but such a wonderful day to do nothing.

But the nothing soon gave way to the everything...and I found myself in the middle of a wharehouse parking lot, dodging raindrops, and joining in the celebration of the rituals of ordinary Saturdays.

Together we wander the aisles, looking for the bargains, the surprises, the "must haves", and the "can't do withhouts"!

We collect our portions and return home to place our bundles on pantry shelves, in garage freezers and a lucky few ingredients make their way straight to our ovens...and just like that we are home, back where our day began.

We see again those precious faces that were our very reason for venturing out into the world of gathering and lifting, coaxing and manuevering groceries from well stocked shelves to trunks of cars.

Home again...what a simply grand celebration!

The calendar is filled with them...little boxes, neatly arranged in rows of seven. Every year we get 365 of those little boxes...and every four years we are handed the gift of one more. We measure our life by them. We mark them off...by minutes, and hours...weeks, months, and...years. They are the days...the celebrations...of our life!

Some of our celebrations are grand events. We run to the store and purchase just the right gift, to wrap and beribbon, and tuck away until the exact right moment when we can present our treasure that will surely touch a heart and make a memory. Then we look forward to our next opportunity to repeat the process...sometimes with dreading, but most times with joy.

Whether we want them to or not, the calendar makers will keep track of the "big" days for us. Yet most of our celebrations are far more quiet, and personal. The dates in red letters that we add to our calendars. There are no rows of cards waiting for us to happen upon because Hallmark hasn't found the market for them...yet. Still, these personal moments...oh, these are the quiet moments that when added together make up our life!

In every day there is time for a Celebration!