Gardening Tips for Friends

When I was a little girl, my sister, who was much my senior, planted a garden every spring for a few years. I remember well the care she would put into making that plot of earthy bed. She laid the seeds to rest in perfectly lined rows and covered them with a rich blanket of compost and soil, and watered them diligently. Each week she would cultivate the ground around the plants and pull any weeds that threatened to choke the young plants.

I could hardly wait for all those colorful vegetables to awaken and color the garden block with all the shades of healthy growth. In time, with just a small skirmish from the carrots and beets, my two nephews and I would pillage a few of our favorites before the entire stock was picked for canning.

Friendship, like gardening requires a lot of water, mostly from our own sweat to keep it from drying out and shriveling up. Cultivating is urgent to keep the wicked weeds from strangling growth, and fertilizer, sometimes very stinky, worked into the base makes for strong and healthy roots that blossom into a beautiful product. With this in mind I thought I would offer a few of my own gardening tips for friends.

I used to love picking the pea pods off the plant and snapping them open to find those tasty green pellets. I would suggest planting plenty of peas. Peas, my friends, will give peas like a river that will water the soul, peas of mind for those days when the storms cause anxiety and worry, and peas of heart when drought brings threats of destruction. 

It required a little muscle on my part to pull the beets from the soil, but it was well worth the effort. Those lovely red bulbs with the deep green leaves were not so tasty raw, but cooked up or pickled, they were wonderful. With beets in your friendship garden, you can beet the enemies that come against you, and beet the heat of the most fiery trials.

Next to the beets I suggest turnips. They remind us to turnip when friends invite us out or to special occasions. To be a friend means to turnip to help out, and mostly, turnip when needed.

Lettuce, green and leafy keeps things light. Lettuce be patient, faithful, kind, and gentle. Lettuce be friendly servants to one another, and the dressing on it all is to lettuce love one another.

On the side of the lettuce plant a few peppers. Red, green and yellow add a little spice and make things tasty. We all need to pepper our friendships with humor, laughter, gifts, and fun that will revive them with a little color and give them some zing.

One of the most fun plants in my sister's garden were squash. Their leaves and vines spread all over the place, and branching off into a variety of oddly shaped gourds made an interesting trail to follow. With these in our garden we can squash selfishness, gossip, apathy, and the need to talk when we should listen.

If you have a place that's a little wild, plant currant. In today's busy lifestyle it's important to stay currant. We can quickly get sidetracked, but with all the wild technology it is possible to keep in touch and currantly follow up on each other.

My sister didn't plant herbs but I think there is one we can't do without. It is thyme. Thyme is something we must diligently cultivate or it escapes us before we know it is gone. Thyme for each other makes for strong flavor and seasons our friendships.

Good luck with your garden, friends, and remember: Friends don't grow on trees they grow in gardens, and are best cultivated in a sunny atmosphere :)

Friends and Spice Make Everything Nice

I had a hot and spicy day today. I did get lunch as promised by number three daughter. We munched together on Buffalo Wild Wings, but along with wings were other hot and spicy spots in my day. 

The hot spot was that my mother-in-law was admitted to the hospital last night because of a problem with her heart that was causing fluid build up in her lungs. After treatment she was doing well and we were told she would be released today. Early this morning, while still in the hospital, she fell and broke her femur. She will have surgery to set it tomorrow, but they also found an aneurysm in her heart. 

The spicy part was being held hostage by my two youngest grandchildren, attending a tea party where the tea and cupcakes were never cool enough to eat, being attacked by Cooties, climbing ladders and sliding down chutes, and building the best railroad ever. 
 
Tonight I am drained and droopy, but I want to say that I am grateful to have friends to share the hot spots with, and for the two little spice drops in my day today, because friends and spice make everything nice. 

Tomorrow, I think I'll skip the hot wings and maybe just go with the spice drops. Goodnight y'all, and God bless.  

Scrappy Friends in my Family Quilt

Everyone likes a compliment. Many times though, a compliment can sound as if it's dragged out of the ditch like a battered car. We all agree that to be sincere, a compliment must come from the heart. Instantaneous or impulsive ones, though quick on the pick, can be cute scraps sewn together to make a unique quilt, especially if they come from family.

This morning I was touched by a scrappy compliment, via text message, that came from number three daughter. I can just picture her perfectly manicured nails tapping out the letters to the following electronically based compliment:

"Good morning Sunshine. I have been reading all of ur blogs and they r very good. I liked the kiss one. I didn't like the one where u said ur kids have a phobia about being ur friend. I will however forgive this small oversight if a blog is written just for me...hehehe. I don't know about the other humans u gave birth to, but I want to be ur friend and that's a good thing...to honor my statement I would like to invite u to a friends only lunch...where as u may have guessed only friends r invited..."

My obvious reply was to accept the invitation. After all, in this economy any kind of a free lunch is better than no lunch, except, of course, if it's Hot Pockets, and provided I was given rights to use the material I gathered for another post about friends. (I'm desperate y'all.) Also, that I would not be required to pay her royalties since I haven't made a dime for any of my written words yet, but that I will gladly share once I hit the big one :)

To daughter number one, if you're reading this, and daughters two, three and five, and number one son, that phobia comment was just for fun. I consider each one of you my friend because there are none better than the ones you feed, water, and raise yourself. If any of you want to invite me to lunch I will be happy to accept. Sharon, my indulgence in your invitation will have to wait until God provides the transportation.

I do consider it a huge compliment to know my adult children want to be my friends. It tells me they have forgiven me for messing up their lives with child labor laws, curfews, bedtimes, accountability, public affection, photographs, and butt tanning. It also means they have come into their own, and recognize we humans are all dysfunctional to some degree and will make oodles of mistakes in the name of love and protection. I hope they also understand that they didn't come with a 'How to Parent for Dummies', and they were not perfect children. Each one of them, in some way, gave us a run for our money on the family racetrack.

My family ... all of us squeezed into one square yet each bordering the next, and each with our own design and style; attempting to pattern ourselves after love and laughter, but we are just scraps trying to figure out where we fit while sharing a common thread. Sometimes complimenting one another and other times inflicting pain as sharp as a needle. We're little, and torn, and sometimes we unravel, but still good.

Someone once said, "A house filled with love has expandable walls", but I think a house filled with scraps makes one beautiful quilt.

My Favorite Blogging Buddy

I love kisses! There is rarely a day gone by that the tickled pink candy dish doesn't caress those tantalizing teardrop shaped chocolate drops. They cuddle up together in a sultry silver mound while their blue and white flags wave temptingly, Oh say can you see...what so proudly we hail.

There is something delicately sweet about unfolding that petite morsel from its bed of shiny sterling. A tidbit of a tiding tickles the tips of my fingers, and my taste buds explode like one of those teeny critters in a capsule. Marooned in that mellifluous kiss is a message of chocolicious delight.

To me, that little kiss has value. When no one understands how I'm feeling, a kiss is close by. They are cheaper than therapy, and that warm brown package with the blue arch welcomes walk-ins. On my dark, cloudy days a mini chocolate pick-me-up awaits my friendship with no strings attached...well, maybe one. With all these therapeutics wrapped in a silver lining, is it any wonder that kisses are my favorite blogging buddy? Even the Hershey company acknowledges, "the right words don't always come easily. And sometimes it's impossible to say what you really mean. But give someone a Hershey kiss and you've said it all".

A kiss can heal a boo-boo, melt a mother's heart, and mend a broken one. It can wipe out tears, speak louder than words, and make you feel young again. A little kiss can leave a big signature on a heart, profess love, unite two souls, steal innocence, and make a heart-quake. It can sweeten someone's day or boost a lonely spirit. One sincere kiss can say I'm sorry, congratulations, rejuvenate, encourage and genuinely show someone you care.

So, to all my bloggy friends living on the Blogevard and to those who visit often I offer you a kiss, one of the most powerful things on earth.

A Theme Called 'Friends'

'Friends' are really blogging me down. This morning before leaving for work my bfmtm (best friend married to me) said, "Enough of your one liners, write a real blog!"  I wonder if he knew then it would be left overs for dinner?

 In my hit or miss a day in this January challenge to blog everyday about 'Friends', I'm artfully trying to grasp those batty ideas but they just keep flying out of my mind. Keeping with a theme for a major event has got to be easier than writing for a month about comrades. 

Nevertheless, being the kind of person I am, bordering on perfectionist fanatic and obsessive compulsive cracked pot, I can not bring myself to leave the thesis. The dare to my creativity is too great. I am going to keep centering my blogs on the mainframe because the bigger challenge is to stick to it rather than run a-muck with the other trampoline thoughts jumping around in my head. 

This morning I asked myself, "How many blogs can a blogger blog about buddies?" I am sure there are endless stories about chums and cohorts. I just don't have all that many to pull out of my quiver. So I set about searching for some ways to become friends with 'Friends' and make this thing fly.

I could be friends with my money, if I had any. This being flu season, I could make friends with my toilet. I am already friends with my horse. Other furry friends include a Pomeranian named Taffi and a Bernese Mountain Dog named Esther. I want to be friends with my grown-up kids but they have a phobia about that. On a cold winter night a warm fire could be my friend of the day.

I am a friend to the stray cats that irresponsible owners drop off in the dead of winter at our little homestead. The most important and ultimate friend I have is Jesus, who deserves a blog written just for Him but that is a never ending story. My significant other bff is chocolate, and my hubby who makes the Hershey Kiss run often to keep the chocolate fountain flowing.

I am not friendly with brussel sprouts, but I do occasionally entertain them. The 'Welcome Friends' mat is not laid out for dead mice although I have on demand given one or more a lift out of the basement.  Intoxication is not my friend, nor are cigarettes or anything else one inhales through a small tube, or sharp objects impaled into one's vein. I don't claim violence as a friend, but I have to admit to bumping into one another from time to time. There was the time I Frisbee-ed a few dishes against a tree, and the time I 'bowled' the Pyrex past my hubby's head and pinned it to the wall (if y'all were married to a Mokry, you'd know what I'm talkin' about). I'm happy to say I am no longer a friend to those days of my young and explosive nature.  

Out of the past, I am still friends with the little girl I was. She liked a challenge too. Dare her to walk the ridgepole, and like Green Gables Ann with an 'e' she'd take you up on it. Perhaps that is why God has placed me on the ridgepole of life so often. He knows I'll accept His challenge and see it through to the end even if I land on my keister a few times. 

In the future I am meeting  the best is yet to be and  we're going to see the last of life for which the first was made. Sometime soon I'll be introduced to an old friend and together we'll be defying the demands of senior-hood, but for today...give a Woman in Cute Shoes a challenge, and she'll rise on stilettos to meet it.

Just Grin and Share It Friends

Some of us have friends that can't resist telling a joke or a funny story nearly every time we come in contact with them. They can't help it, they were just born with a funny bone. They are the kind of friends that constantly remind us that joy comes in the morning, unless we wake up on the wrong side of the bed. This post is for all of my friends who did exactly that this morning. If you didn't, I hope you will read along anyway because I would like to share one of my favorite funny stories with you. I hope it makes you laugh out loud or at least gives you a Cheshire grin.

The Story of the "W C"

In the days when you couldn't count on a public facility to have indoor plumbing, a British woman was planning a trip to Germany. She was registered to stay in a small guesthouse owned by the local schoolmaster and she was concerned as to whether the guesthouse contained a WC. (In England, a bathroom is commonly referred to as a WC, which is an abbreviation for a water closet). So, she wrote to the schoolmaster inquiring as to the location of the nearest WC.

The schoolmaster, not fluent in English, asked the local priest if he knew the meaning of WC. Together they pondered possible meanings of the letters and concluded that the lady wanted to know if there was a Wayside Chapel near the house. So, the schoolmaster wrote the following reply:

Dear Madam,

I take great pleasure in informing you that the WC located 9 miles from the house. It is located in the middle of a grove of pine trees, surrounded by lovely grounds. It is capable of holding 229 people and is open on Sundays and Thursdays. As there are many people expected in the summer months, I suggest you arrive early. There is, however, plenty of standing room. This is an unfortunate situation, especially if you are in the habit of going regularly.

It may be of some interest to you that my daughter was married in the WC as it was there that she met her husband. It was a wonderful event. There were10 people in every seat. It was wonderful to see the expressions on their faces. My wife, sadly, has been ill and unable to go recently. It has been almost a year since she went last, which pains her greatly.

You will be pleased to know that many people bring their lunch and make a day of it. Others prefer to wait till the last minute and arrive just in time! I would recommend your ladyship plan to go on a Thursday as there is organ accompaniment. The acoustics are excellent and even the most delicate sounds can be heard everywhere. The newest addition is a bell, which rings every time a person enters. We are holding a bazaar to provide plush seats for all since many feel it is long needed.

I look forward to escorting you there myself and seating you in a place where you can be seen by all.


Sincerely,
Schoolmaster


Grin and share it friends! :)

The Small Kindness of a Friend

It was the worst week of my life. I felt like a zombie, mute and will-less, driven only by a supernatural force to competently complete the funeral arrangements. My daughter's birth was traumatic, her life hard, and circumstances surrounding her death were difficult. She was not an easy child to raise with her disability, and now she wasn't easy to bury. 

My mind reeled back to the past. Everything was normal and healthy up to delivery when things suddenly took a turn for the worse. It was the twenty-first day of October at 8:45 pm. I was full term pregnant and sitting at my mother's kitchen table laughing with my sister when a gush of liquid warmth drowned  our humor. Sis, twenty years my senior, and a veteran of the game with seven outs, hustled me to the dugout for a quick analysis. Then it started, pain like I had never felt before. Shaking like a leaf I made a quick call to hubby at work while sis timed the contractions. Five minutes apart and steady as she goes we set a course for the hospital. 

In the fog of the night laced with Demerol, horrendous, broken  phrases cut into my mind like gnarly demons; phrases like, "...where is Dr....we've got a one footling breach in here with one foot already presenting! ...party?...he's on call...tell him we need him here NOW!". 

Finally, blurred faces with white masks and dark eyes rushed me to delivery. I felt like I was living a nightmare. Imprisoned by pain and confusion, I tired to fight off the captors, but they strapped my arms to a table. I shook off the anesthetic cover that threatened to suffocate me. Someone rasped, "Put her under now!" Enraged and afraid I drifted off to a dark place. When I re-entered reality I was tucked into a bed in ICU. The delivery was natural but the dangers and complications of a breech birth went well beyond my own hemorrhaging. 

 Sharon was born just before midnight. She was barely alive, and confined to a constantly monitored and temperature controlled incubator. Tubes and medical paraphernalia surrounded her little body. For  weeks I peered though a glass window into a small room where they wheeled in the incubator so I could look at her. My arms ached hold her; to draw her to my heart and pour my love and strength into her. My fingers yearned to count her toes and fingers and to caress her tiny hands, but all I could do was stand before that window and weep. It was as if she were a tiny sleeping beauty encased in a glass coffin, and I was treated like the wicked queen who caused  her near death experience. 

Young and bullied by a medical staff that saw themselves as little gods, I got few answers to my questions. The responses I did get were dark and filled with lies. They did everything within their power to protect the drunken Dr. who nearly severed my baby's spinal cord. His neglect and alcohol clouded judgment were overlooked. Our requests to transport our child to one of the best neonatal units in Wisconsin were repeatedly refused. After three weeks we had enough of their archaic and incompetent practices and arranged the transport. 

At the neonatal unit we were treated with compassion and respect.  Not only did  they  discover the injury caused by the delivering physician, but their warmth and compassion treated our broken hearts. Discovering that I had not held my baby girl in all those weeks it became their priority to place her in my arms as soon as she was settled in and stabilized. Sharon was six weeks old when we finally took her home. A tiny, disabled miracle entrusted to two young, scared human beings. 

 Now, thirty-two years later, I was standing in the foyer of our church greeting those who had come to comfort us in our loss, and pay their last respects to the young woman who lived out her life from a wheelchair. Most of the visitors were family, friends, and members of our church, and the remainder were those personally acquainted with Sharon. 

I stood greeting what seemed like an endless line of fellow mourners and although it was trying I did not want to miss a single one as much for myself as for them. I needed the strength they offered and they wanted to know that hope lives on. I was exhausted, my tears nearly spent, and my lips dry when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to find a friend holding a plain, styrofoam cup of cool water. She gently handed it to me and simply said, "For you."  

In that moment, my friend was the epitome of Jesus. The personification of everything holy; the embodiment of hope, forgiveness, grace and love found its way into that commonplace, resin chalice, and living water was poured into my soul through a simple act. I will never forget it. The small kindness of my friend will live in my heart forever.