Birthdays and Blessings

This is one of my favorite pictures of my dad. It conveys how I always felt: loved, comforted, and secure. I continue to feel that way. My parents have a knack for creating a loving home and making each child feel special, no matter how many years have passed.

Life changes all of us, but the most important things about my dad have remained the same, his good nature, his devotion to faith and family, his story-telling ability (even though we've heard them all before--many times), and his loving heart. Thanks Dad--Happy Birthday!

Mom celebrated her 75th birthday yesterday and I think the quote from Abraham Lincoln applies “And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.”. It is an achievement to have lived 75 years but to look back on a life well-lived, such as my mom's, is truly remarkable.

Mom's life is a testiment of generosity. She not only has physically given life to her children, but helped to give our lives direction, focus, and meaning. Mom has freely given of her time, laughter, wit, and love to her friends and family. The road of life brings many gifts and troubles along the way, my mom just seems to acknowledge the troubles and moves on, not letting them weigh her down. Thank you Mom for showing me how to add life to my years, love you so much! Happy Birthday!

Igpay Atinlay

Oday ouyay eakspay igpay atinlay? You may not recognize this strange language in its written form but if you heard it, you would understand it to be Pig Latin. I think it must be the non-bilingual's poor attempt at a second language. However, when I was young, I thought it was cool!

My mother and her mom would speak in Pig Latin. Of course they used the language to speak about adult things or something we children weren't supposed to know. They would carry on whole conversations in Pig Latin, or perhaps a few key words to confuse us. As we children got older we began to understand the "secret language" and we began to try to figure out the adult conversation. Victory was within our grasp--almost--then my mom and grandmother started speaking Pig Latin faster. Curses, foiled again!

As we got older we were able to follow most of the Pig Latin talk, so that it only became effective to use in front of the younger children. Eventually, I became fluent in Pig Latin. My mom and I would use the language to speak in front of my youngest siblings (victory at last!) and even some of the older kids couldn't follow a fast-paced Pig Latin conversation. My youngest brother, Glenn, became so tired of hearing Pig Latin and being out-of-the-loop that he started to mimic the language: "Oopday, Poopday, Shoopday!" He would crack us up and then tell us to talk in private if we couldn't speak openly in front of him. True, perhaps, but not as much fun as speaking Pig Latin.

Once in a while my mom and I will have a few words in Pig Latin just to drive my brother crazy--so much fun to tease him, hee hee!

Opehay ouyay avehay aay eatgray ayday!

A Little Cutie

This is my mom in 1935 when she was one year old. It is one of my favorite pictures of her, a hand colored black and white photo, very state of the art at the time.

It is amazing to look back and see how much of a person's features are already defined and retained into adulthood. My mom was born with soft, pale blond hair--a towhead and she turned into a lovely brunette. Otherwise most of that cute baby face can be seen in my mom right now, especially that look! It cracks me up, because I have seen that look so many times. In fact I have been on the receiving end often too. It is a very expressive glance, ranging from "What are you doing?", "I don't think so!", "Don't make me tell you again!", or "What did you say?".

Such a little cutie that was already making people take notice!

Baking Traditions

My grandmother's measuring cups and my mom's recipe book are treasures.

I never had an opportunity to bake with my grandmother. It is comforting to know that I use them just as she did, scooping flour and sugar into the cups, leveling the contents with a knife. Lovingly preparing goodies for her family. Though she is gone from the earth, she lingers in my memory, and we are connected.

My mom and I frequently use her recipe book though its backbone is torn and has been repaired with duct tape, its well worn pages are stained, creased, and smudged. Mom was industrious so some of the pages have typewritten recipes, but most pages are in my mom's lovely handwriting. The book has long since outgrown the envelopes after each section for inserting recipe cards or clippings from magazines or newspapers and instead the book bulges a bit from all the recipes stuffed under the front cover. I am quite familiar with the family favorite recipes, but there are many recipes that mom collected that have yet to be tested and tasted.

My mom passed her love of baking on to me and many of my siblings, patiently teaching us how to read recipes, measure ingredients, explaining mixing versus folding, preparing the pans, and testing for doneness. Mom was giving us more than life skills, she was giving part of herself. Time in the kitchen with mom was truly a gift of love.

Bedtime Memories

Laughter, love, hugs, tickling, and warm, cozy feelings all flood my memory when I remember my childhood bedtime. As little children everywhere, no child is eager to go to bed. My siblings and I were no different. But when we were small children, part of our bedtime routine were "doopy" rides from Dad.

Just thinking or saying the word "doopy" makes me smile and I travel back to a simpler time, when the world only consisted of Mom, Dad, brothers, sisters and home. Washing up, getting our jammies on, hugs and kisses good-night, were all part of the nightly routine. But the best part was a piggy-back ride on Dad's strong back. I would stand on the couch and Dad would crouch down so I could climb on his back, and with my arms around his neck, Dad's hands supporting my butt, Dad would do a little gallop down the hall, bouncing me up and down, his hands patting my bottom, we would travel to bed while Dad cooed "doopy, doopy, doopy".

So bedtime routine became to ask not for piggy-back rides but for "doopies". We would call out, "I want a doopy!"

Doopy, a little nonsense word that parents make up as they play, raise, and love their children. Doopy, that means so much more than a piggy-back ride, doopy means Mom, Dad, and a childhood filled with love.