We lived in the country. Not on a farm, but we were surrounded by a Dahlia farm, a poultry farm, a Christmas tree farm and and a celery farm. We had horses and occasionally had a steer or two that we raised from babies for beef. (Calsie I, Calsie II, Daisy and Ralph -- Daisy was not a steer, obviously).
Needless to say, there were occasions when the flies were thick on our back screen door. Every time we went in or out of the house Mom would admonish, "Don't let the flies in." Of course an occasional 10 or 20 would find their way into the house and Mom would go on a search and destroy mission.
She would run through the house with a can of Raid in her hand spraying the offending insect. She had also been known to track them down with a can of Aqua Net. I'm not sure if it was a mix-up or if she thought she could stick their wings together to make them an easier target for her favorite method of extermination -- the dreaded Church Herald.
If you were Reformed, you received the Church Herald in the mail every week. Those of the Christian Reformed persuasion received the Banner.
So every week a new flyswatter made its way into our home. Dad would deliver it with the mail and Mom would place it next to her chair in the living room to be read in the evening. Once it was read, it was rolled up and placed next to the washer -- which was in our kitchen -- and the old one was sent to the burning barrel behind the swimming pool fence. I don't ever remember having a real fly swatter in the house. The Church Herald was the perfect weight and when rolled up, fit nicely in the hand. After a day or two it even retained its rolled-up shape.
Even if the flies didn't have sticky wings from hairspray, Mom's aim was deadly accurate. We could hear her attack from any room in the house. . . Whapp! And then swish, swish as she scraped the remains off the ceiling. Then the kitchen cabinet under the sink would open and she would discard the corpse into the waste basket. Any that fell to the floor were swept up immediately.
Funny how little things can make your remember small details from childhood. We went out for coffee this morning and a fly landed on our table. Mom went after it with a vengeance, but it got away.
"I hate those things," she said to me -- her first complete sentence all day.
"Really Mom? I never knew."
Where is the Church Herald when you need it?
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Generations
Last week I spent some time with our daughter and her family in San Diego.
Her twin sons turned one and she and her husband celebrated with a "We made it without killing each other and are still married" birthday party. The guest list included about 40 adults and their children. I arrived a few days early to help them get ready as our daughter decided to incorporate every party idea she saw on Pinterest. That's fine. At one point in my life I enjoyed throwing parties as well. And she really outdid herself with decorations and food.
I haven't seen our grandsons since shortly after they were born so this was a very special visit. We played on the floor, read books, went to museums (okay, so they are a little young to appreciate art), sat in fountains and played some more.
In between I watched my daughter as she made baby food, entertained her sons, cleaned house and ran errands. I marvel at the woman she has become, and wonder if my own Mother felt the same about me.
Our daughter's children are the great-grandchildren Mom will never know. She has met and played with our three sons' children and somewhere in the recesses of her mind their memories linger. Although they are too young to remember her, she still had the opportunity to read to them, bake cookies for them, and show them where Grandpa kept the candy. Only the two oldest great-grandchildren, however, will remember Great-Grandma as she was -- the woman who could play board games, sing songs and would listen as they practice reading for hours on end.
For the younger children, their memories will be the stories they hear about their great-grandparents. Often times we remember those who are gone with fondness though it is only stories we remember. I never knew either one of my grandmothers, but that doesn't necessarily mean I never knew who they were. I can look at photos of my Grandma Daling and those photos -- combined with the stories Mom told me -- help me know who the woman was. And I hope that is how our grandchildren will remember their great-grandmother.
Mom Update:
After a two week absence from visiting Mom, it was evident I was an "extra" in the company who joined her at our weekly "breakfast with Mom." If there were ever a glimmer of recognition during these meetings, it was gone during this visit. Or mostly gone. When I kissed her goodbye at the end of our visit, she gripped me tightly and held me for a moment. "I'll see you soon, Mom," I whispered to her. She may not have heard. She may not have understood if she did hear, but the thought was there.
Her twin sons turned one and she and her husband celebrated with a "We made it without killing each other and are still married" birthday party. The guest list included about 40 adults and their children. I arrived a few days early to help them get ready as our daughter decided to incorporate every party idea she saw on Pinterest. That's fine. At one point in my life I enjoyed throwing parties as well. And she really outdid herself with decorations and food.
I haven't seen our grandsons since shortly after they were born so this was a very special visit. We played on the floor, read books, went to museums (okay, so they are a little young to appreciate art), sat in fountains and played some more.
In between I watched my daughter as she made baby food, entertained her sons, cleaned house and ran errands. I marvel at the woman she has become, and wonder if my own Mother felt the same about me.
Our daughter's children are the great-grandchildren Mom will never know. She has met and played with our three sons' children and somewhere in the recesses of her mind their memories linger. Although they are too young to remember her, she still had the opportunity to read to them, bake cookies for them, and show them where Grandpa kept the candy. Only the two oldest great-grandchildren, however, will remember Great-Grandma as she was -- the woman who could play board games, sing songs and would listen as they practice reading for hours on end.
For the younger children, their memories will be the stories they hear about their great-grandparents. Often times we remember those who are gone with fondness though it is only stories we remember. I never knew either one of my grandmothers, but that doesn't necessarily mean I never knew who they were. I can look at photos of my Grandma Daling and those photos -- combined with the stories Mom told me -- help me know who the woman was. And I hope that is how our grandchildren will remember their great-grandmother.
Mom Update:
After a two week absence from visiting Mom, it was evident I was an "extra" in the company who joined her at our weekly "breakfast with Mom." If there were ever a glimmer of recognition during these meetings, it was gone during this visit. Or mostly gone. When I kissed her goodbye at the end of our visit, she gripped me tightly and held me for a moment. "I'll see you soon, Mom," I whispered to her. She may not have heard. She may not have understood if she did hear, but the thought was there.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Mom's sewing machine
One of the things I acquired when we dispersed Mom's possessions was her sewing machine. It was a much needed item in my house -- although I am not the seamstress Mom was, I do enjoy trying my hand at it.
Yes, I do have a sewing machine of my own. King and I purchased it when I was pregnant with our daughter -- she is now 34. The stupid thing never worked right. Bobbins jammed, it skipped stitches, or needles cracked. I sent it off for repairs at least three times, hoping each time the company would replace it. They never did.
So Mom's sewing machine is a welcome addition to our house.
I remember well the day we bought it.
I was home for Thanksgiving my freshman year of college. Dad, my younger sister, Mom and I were Christmas shopping at Woodland Mall in Grand Rapids. Dad was at a loss as to what to get Mom that year. It really bothered him that he could not think of something special for her.
Mom was off shopping on her own and my sister and I were sitting with Dad in the middle of the mall, right across from a Singer Sewing Center. Now, I should mention there was nothing wrong with Mom's old sewing machine -- other than it was old. But Dad was desperate to get Mom something "big" for Christmas and there we were across from the sewing machine store . . . "I know," I said. "Let's get her a sewing machine."
Dad loved the idea.
And Mom got a new sewing machine. One she really didn't need, but Dad was so tickled to give it to her it made the giving something special.
Mom put it to good use -- maternity clothes for her daughters, baby clothes for her grandchildren, crafts for church bazaars. Mom could always be counted on to have some sort of ongoing sewing project.
I still think of it as "Mom's new sewing machine," although we bought it 40 years ago.
I'd like to tell Mom I have her sewing machine but there is no way to make her understand what I am saying when I talk to her. She can't hear and there is no comprehension if she does hear. And besides, Mom can't sew any longer. I don't think she would remember how. So I have taken over for her.
King is dubious about my sewing ability. In our 38 years of marriage I have more dismal failures than I have success and although I always blamed the sewing machine I know he knows better. However, now that I have Mom's sewing machine I've started making messenger bags -- straight seams, there is not much to mess up there -- and to my surprise King suggested I make one to bring to our daughter when I visit next week in San Diego.
I think I will. It will be a gift from Mom and I.
Yes, I do have a sewing machine of my own. King and I purchased it when I was pregnant with our daughter -- she is now 34. The stupid thing never worked right. Bobbins jammed, it skipped stitches, or needles cracked. I sent it off for repairs at least three times, hoping each time the company would replace it. They never did.
So Mom's sewing machine is a welcome addition to our house.
I remember well the day we bought it.
I was home for Thanksgiving my freshman year of college. Dad, my younger sister, Mom and I were Christmas shopping at Woodland Mall in Grand Rapids. Dad was at a loss as to what to get Mom that year. It really bothered him that he could not think of something special for her.
Mom was off shopping on her own and my sister and I were sitting with Dad in the middle of the mall, right across from a Singer Sewing Center. Now, I should mention there was nothing wrong with Mom's old sewing machine -- other than it was old. But Dad was desperate to get Mom something "big" for Christmas and there we were across from the sewing machine store . . . "I know," I said. "Let's get her a sewing machine."
Dad loved the idea.
And Mom got a new sewing machine. One she really didn't need, but Dad was so tickled to give it to her it made the giving something special.
Mom put it to good use -- maternity clothes for her daughters, baby clothes for her grandchildren, crafts for church bazaars. Mom could always be counted on to have some sort of ongoing sewing project.
I still think of it as "Mom's new sewing machine," although we bought it 40 years ago.
I'd like to tell Mom I have her sewing machine but there is no way to make her understand what I am saying when I talk to her. She can't hear and there is no comprehension if she does hear. And besides, Mom can't sew any longer. I don't think she would remember how. So I have taken over for her.
King is dubious about my sewing ability. In our 38 years of marriage I have more dismal failures than I have success and although I always blamed the sewing machine I know he knows better. However, now that I have Mom's sewing machine I've started making messenger bags -- straight seams, there is not much to mess up there -- and to my surprise King suggested I make one to bring to our daughter when I visit next week in San Diego.
I think I will. It will be a gift from Mom and I.
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