Make-Over

We live way out yonder in the boonies, a good half-hour from the nearest serious retail store offering more than milk and Twinkies.  (Dollar General, our rescue station for desperately needed emergency things like toilet paper – and milk and Twinkies - is only 10 minutes away.)  Being simple folk, we like the relative remoteness and lack of sophistication.  But some days, when we have a hankering to leave the cattails behind and go civilized, The Big City and The Other Big City are only 45 and 90 minutes away, respectively.

Today we escaped.  The hubby and I hightailed it out of here and spent the day in The Other Big City to celebrate Valentines Day and experience a touch of culture. And, we found it.  When walking down the street after lunch at the oldest restaurant in town, we happened onto local color oozing with culture – or rather, culture shock.

We were tip-toeing along on ice facing a bitter-cold wind when we stopped before massive wooden doors you might expect behind the drawbridge of a castle, with a single word, CHAPEL, inscribed overhead.  As I peeked through a thick glass window the door creaked open, almost as if someone had been waiting for us.  A gentleman invited us inside without question.

Lo and behold, this was not a chapel, but a business. The doorman, actually the general manager, had noticed my curious eyes and decided to be cordial even though he was closed.  We were actually standing in (get ready) an in-house brewery functioning in the cathedral-like chapel of an old funeral home.  Vaulted ceilings lined with heavy woodwork and an ornate stained glass window provided unmistakable church-like features.

Heavy, long wooden tables and benches, reminiscent of European pubs, stretched where pews had once been.  The choir loft railing was blanketed in flags to honor the Belgian brews featured there. Long chalkboards on either side of an abandoned altar area displayed the names of specialty beers, strong ales, and draft ciders.  And yet historical architecture whispered sacred ground, sacred ground, sacred ground.

Subdued winter sunlight shone through the arched, stained-glass window.  As the men chatted amicably, I squinted my eyes and wondered about people who had come here - some to grieve their losses and pray for consolation when the chapel was still a chapel, and others to imbibe and share revelry after its make-over into a brewery.

It was strange to stand there in the hushed room, transported from the simplicity of our humble lakeside home into something so much more complicated. The chapel-to-brewery make-over has a unique aspect - and after all, a building is just a building, I told myself. There’s probably no other place on earth quite like this. We’re witnessing the ultimate in creative business entrepreneurship.  

But I couldn’t shake my gut feeling that bordered on dismay.  I felt awkward, sad, and mostly overwhelmed with a sense of imposition and a desire to reclaim the sanctity that originally defined this place.

Together

Sometimes I wonder about my readership, the audience of Known Yous and Unknown Yous seated out there behind cyber-curtains.  I wonder what you hope to read here.  Why you bother to come.

We’re desperate for something real: a hopeful or funny story, a true-to-life vignette, you might say. We want the truth as seen through your eyes. Tell us something that makes us feel less alone. 

Sensing this, I sit down at the computer each day, wait for words to show up (wandering vagrants on an exodus leading to your computer), and strive to get them down as the designated typist.

If I pause and strain to listen for the mystery, I can almost hear your collective music, the deep melodies playing from your hearts: jazz, blues, sacred, folk, rock.  It’s a soul-symphony.  Diverse ballads and hymns tell a story of corporate humanity’s ongoing march through time and beyond.  I chime in with my own literary score, daring to share a small reflection or snip from my day while hoping you’ll identify on some level.  Then, for a moment at least, you and I realize we’re in this thing called life together.

Cub Scout Event

I've decided to describe our grandson’s Scout award ceremony this afternoon verbally, now that I’ve used up my photo quota for the blog (at least for now) and can’t rely on visual aids.  They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I’m resolved for today’s word count to not exceed 300 – so I guess that means you get a little less than a third of a picture (that’s hardly comical, but humor me, please).

The fondant-covered cake, shaped and detailed like a Cub Scout shirt, was crafted exquisitely even to the tiniest hand-painted minutia on the sleeves and pocket.  Can you imagine the American flag, troop number, and various intricate patches – all perfect down to the tiniest feature, and all edible?   As one who has conquered many extreme bakery challenges, I stood in awe of this masterpiece that exceeded any in my own experience.

“Frozen Kitten,” our family band, (they desperately need a new name), entertained the crowd during lunch and then conducted a sing-along with classic Scout silly songs.  Our five little grand girls, dressed in their best frilly dresses, danced and spun in their skirts to the music like a troupe of smurfs with lips and tongues turned bright blue from the cake frosting. 

The skit and actual award distribution had me laughing - so much raw male energy in these somewhat ragged-around-the-edges, high-energy Scouts!  They were on-the-go almost constantly.

Our son, an avid Scout in his younger years, now holds a position of authority and is taking the bull by the horns in the wake of a huge leadership shift.  In fact, his trend-setting commitment is evidently an inspiration not only locally, but to the entire district and beyond.  Funny, you don’t often recognize the roots of committed dedication growing quietly beneath the surface when your kids are young - but it’s rewarding to see them sprout and flourish when the time is right to carry on for the next generation.

(I was close – 333 words.)

Incident

I was in the middle of a bite of spinach salad when I knew something was terribly wrong.  My friend who battles a chronic disease affecting her muscles needed help.

She was choking.

We were in the midst of a luncheon at church, surrounded by legions of happily chatting women seated at elegant tables with fine china.  She gasped, “Stand up,” so another friend and I supported her into a standing position as quickly as we could.  Again she gasped, “Hands above head.”  I held her arms up and watched her face, seemingly devoid of panic, as she struggled for breath.  What strength, I thought, to yield everything to untrained friends in the face of this internal sniper. I watched her simply WAIT, the most she could do.  A nurse friend from an adjoining table joined our throng and also waited, ready to intervene if needed. 

Thankfully, after three cycles of elevated arms, she recovered.  I held her close then, the sweetest of sweet hugs, her hair soft on my cheek, and felt her warm humanness leak into my own.  In those few seconds, we shared frailty, strength, hope, and faith.  Relief flooded over me, and curiously, I was blessed.

Food Fragrances

Thick food smells filled the house today as I prepared my contributions for tomorrow’s luncheon at church.  My projects included the following:

4 quiches: 1.) ham and swiss, 2.) broccoli and cheddar, 3.) caramelized onion and 3-cheese, 4.) spinach, mushroom and feta.

3 desserts: 1.) a sour cream coffeecake with multiple layers of cinnamon-nut streusel, 2.) a blueberry-pecan torte, 3.) a pan of chocolate toffee bars.

2 quinoa salads: 1.) quinoa with oranges, fresh ginger, raisins (and more), 2.) quinoa with cilantro, black olives, cherry tomatoes (and more).

You could almost cut the aromas - cheesy, oniony, sugary, cinnamony - with a knife.  Each breath seemed saturated with food scent.  Yummy and delicious, only in an olfactory sort of way.

Coffee Break

I met with a friend this afternoon at our usual spot – a coffeehouse situated midway between our homes.  Each of us has a 30-minute drive to this destination. 

I met this woman online at a web site for writers almost 7 years ago.  After conversing via computer, we discovered our geographical proximity.  A couple of years later, we started getting together in the flesh.

Today our meeting was encouraging as usual, and conversation flowed easily. She brought me a copy of her recently published book, and we celebrated it together. 

We share much in common, including precious core beliefs, but we also recognize unique differences – mysterious qualities that draw us in complimentary ways.  My friendship with her reminds me that sometimes friends enter our lives in surprising, unpremeditated ways. They just show up, by the grace of God, to bless us.

Queen for a Day

Her Majesty emerged from her car seat in the regal carriage (daddy’s pick-up truck) this morning with a diaper bag in tow, ready to spend the day.  We’ve been walking on royal ground around here ever since.

Queen Lydia, age 14 months, is an organizer of all things small and accessible, both approved and unapproved.  She engineers mixing bowls and measuring spoons (approved) with the certain flair of a would-be cook.  She explores the wastebasket (unapproved) with its flip-top lid, a veritable treasure chest awaiting her own investigation and contribution. 

She turns the pages of board books, the same dog-eared ones that belonged to her mother, and then plunges them off the couch one by one like men overboard: ker-plop, plop, plop, plop, plop.

Her Royal Highness is an avid birdwatcher (feeders are just a few feet from the window by the piano), raisin eater (queen-sized, organic black raisins resemble dwarf prunes), and cheerer-upper (who can not be uplifted by her slight but radiant presence toddling through the house?).  She loves oversized bouncy balls.  One stands almost as tall as the Little Queen, and yet each time I throw it across the room she eagerly retrieves and carries it back to me, stretching her arms and grunting with so much effort.  Then once unburdened, she claps for herself.

All hail the sovereign Queen!