My Mother's Turnips, Visits and Quilts/MANN

Childhood memories are golden. However, some don’t make much sense without interpretation. And sometimes, we can’t do that by ourselves.

Back in the 40's and early 50's, I remember my mother going to what was called “The Poor House”, a huge three story stone resident that housed people without means, situated between Elora and Fergus. She took produce from the farm; I faintly remember turnips as one item. I wondered over the years, why turnips, when The House of Industry had a mega garden across the front of the property and lots of workable farm land.

I also remember cutting, what I think were quilt blocks, for Mother to take there. She would wait patiently for an item of our clothing to wear out so she could cut it up and get a few blocks. She would use corners and lengths of material from blouses, shirts, bedding and aprons to create a colourful pile. Sometimes it would wait for the quilt frames in the upstairs bedroom and other times, she’d put it in a paper grocery bag for other places. She’d visit The House of Industry and enter at the barn side of the big house with a box. When I was with her, I'd remain in the car. This was the second memory of the mystery.

The third part of the triad was equally unsolved. Mother would drive to The House and bring several women down to our farm for the afternoon. I often wondered if she had some friends who moved there for better living conditions. Although I was in school, I don't remember meeting them, but I heard her tell her friends. Seriously, at times, I wondered if this snippet of memory for just a figment of my imagination.

Only recently a historian friend shared that following the WWII ‘the vegetable gardens at the Poor House were scaled back and local residents were then asked to donate what extra farm produce they had to feed the residents.’ This fit for my mother’s character, as she often shared her garden produce with neighbours who didn’t have a garden.

My friend also said her grandmother went to The House regularly to cut quilt blocks and added, “My grandmother always had one or two women [from The Home] come to visit. They'd spend the afternoon drinking tea and quilting.” This was an important piece of information for me as the residents, or inmates as they were referred to at that time, would need bedding. It seemed right, as Mom used to have benefit card parties and social events at the farm house to raise money or to wrap bandages for the local  Red Cross during the war. She also quilted, gathered items of use for them and worked diligently in her local rural church through Mission and Service.

So turnips, visits and quilts, all a part of my mother’s life who believed in ‘feeding the hungry, visiting the poor, and providing warmth on a cold night.’ One of her favourite scriptures: 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.' (Matthew 25:40).

Blessings,

Donna

http://donnamann.org

Aggie’s Voice, the third and last of the Agnes Macphail trilogy, coming early fall (Brucedale Press).

What Moms Need—Carolyn R. Wilker

Tucked into our newspaper yesterday was the “Great Gifts, not just for Mother’s Day” flyer from a well-known garden supply centre. On the front page they feature a lantern, bistro knives and a set of small garden tools among many other things. What more could a mother want?

There are cherry pitters, a picnic set and camping gear. The cherry pitters come in handy when the birds don’t get to the cherry tree first. My mother doesn’t need camping gear; she has the outdoor life right there on the farm. Getting away includes going to church, going visiting or taking a Sunday drive. Sunday drives are shorter now with just Mom and Dad in the car. No, she doesn’t need those things.

I see popcorn poppers, lemon and lime presses, and a fancy fish tongs. We made popcorn in a  heavy pot with a lid on it and shook, shook, shook it over the burner until the kernels all popped, then ate it while watching Hockey Night in Canada or some other program. I think she has a popper now too along with the lemon press and ordinary tongs.

 There are fancy skewers for the barbecue. The cooking is Mom’s job whether it’s done indoors or out. From the retired hibachi to the newer gas barbecue, they have all the tools they need.

The many fancy kitchen gadgets and some essentials in that catalog would have more than filled her cutlery drawer. There’s a cookie dropper, but she still uses a tablespoon. A butter measuring guide, anyone? Mom eyes the amount or uses the foil wrapper marks on the packaging.

On page 10 are the sun hats. Our sunhats were often of the straw variety, including the sombrero with coloured baubles that bounced when we walked, that my auntie Bea bought for my sister and me one year at the Exhibition in Toronto. That became Mom’s harvest hat, keeping her head as cool as possible while driving tractor for grain harvesting. Not a hat either. She’s surely had a dozen newer ones since then.

I look at the seed racks in the flyer and remember the bins at the feed store where we’d scoop out the amount of bean or pea seeds we needed and the clerk would put them in little bags. Mom says that the garden will be smaller this year, maybe a little lettuce and a few tomato plants, besides the asparagus that’s already growing and the raspberries that come later.

  How about telescoping rakes and plastic-handled shovels? Their sturdy wooden-handled hoes, rakes and shovels are from the hardware store, bought years ago—the kind that taken care of would last almost forever. She still has those tools, so scratch that idea.

 In retirement, Mom has some of those fancy kitchen gadgets to make her work easier or more fun, for she still loves to bake and cook.

Do you know what she still likes the best? A basket of pretty flowers to hang on the verandah, flowers she can enjoy every day of the summer. So that’s what I bought and gave to her early. She told me the next night that she enjoys those pretty pink and white Martha Washington geraniums each time she looks out the window.

The card’s in the mail since I cannot be there this Mother’s Day. I’ll be spending my Mother’s Day with my own children and grandchildren.

Another thing for Mother’s Day, or anytime—love. Happy Mother’s Day!

Mom on her wedding day

Fran

     by Glynis M. Belec

We met in nursing school many moons ago. Fran impressed me right off the bat because she had a radiant smile that lit up the room and I was soon to discover a personality that reflected both her inner and outer beauty. Miss Fran always had perfect hair and perfect manners. Each day she brought sandwiches in her lunch daintily cut into fours and she never had a bad thing to say to or about anyone. She could sing like an angel and her sense of humour was the best. She was a lady in the truest sense. And I wasn't even jealous. I was just happy to be her friend. And my fly-away locks, fidget-bum personality and less than angelic mannerisms didn't even bother her. At first I didn't know she loved Jesus. I was floundering a little with my faith and wandered here, there and everywhere trying to find meaning. I remember some of the 'chats' we had and I soon discovered that this gal had a special Friend.

     After we both graduated we lost touch for a while and life happened. Oddly enough we found out later that our children were born in the same year. We also found out that neither of us pursued a career in nursing.

     Fast forward 30 years...Fran still has perfect hair and a killer sense of humour. Even though my sweet friend moved to Florida, our friendship has been rekindled and we communicate regularly. She was more than overjoyed when I shared how I had fallen in love with that same Jesus Friend she had introduced me to so many years prior.

     So when I called her out of the blue that day in 2008 to tell her I had just been diagnosed with cancer, she donned her wings and became my long distance angel. Whenever I needed a lift or a word, she would be there coaching and encouraging; praying and prophesying. I look back now and understand how much I depended on her to see me through.

     When I got the email last week from Fran's hubby that her ride fell through and she needed to be picked up from Buffalo airport and taken to Woodstock, Ontario, I quickly made some last minute arrangements and plugged in my GPS. Any excuse to spend some quality time with my Florida bud. Just because I had never crossed the border alone in my life before, nor driven such a distance was no reason I couldn't do it now.

     My GPS was ready to set sail and it looked like a straight through trip. All went well. I headed for the Queenston Bridge. The road there was amazingly empty. I had noticed the sign earlier that said there would be 30-90 minute wait. Poppycock, I thought. There were no vehicles around. How could the wait be that long? As I neared the bridge, I saw why there were no vehicles on the road. All 500 were waiting at the border [or so it seemed!] I grinned and looked at my watch, feeling thankful that I had an hour to spare. Now I knew why there were no cars on the road. Other clever drivers had opted for another route!

One hour and twenty minutes wait at the border!

     As I waited, I planned my approach as to how I would handle crossing the border. Surely if I was chatty and cheerful, that would brighten the poor border guard's day and make him or her feel at ease. One hour and fifteen minutes later I pulled my car up to the little border booth. I smiled and said

'Hello. How are you?"

"Give me your passport and take off your sunglasses!" was the monotone response.

I did as I was told, still smiling. The guard stared at me and then asked me questions about where I was going, how long would I be, if I was taking food or liquor into the US. I told him about the cheese in my Tupperware container that I gobbled down before I got to the border and the four bottles of water in my bag and the crackers. I think I saw him raise his eyebrows.

"Do you have more than a $1000 dollars?"

"I wish," I answered still grinning.

He gave me that just answer the questions and don't be a smart Alec, look. I started to catch on. He stared at me again. My smile diminished when I realized he did not want to be cheered up.

"Open your trunk."

I did as I was told. He went to the back of my car and rummaged around. I was thinking how glad I was that I had cleaned out my trunk and vacuumed the day before. I was going to share my joy of cleaning out the trunk but then I thought he might think that I meant that I had suspicious 'stuff' in my car yesterday. I didn't want him to bring out the sniffing dogs. So instead I only shared a little.

"I'm glad I vacuumed my car yesterday." I tried smiling again.

Mr. Border Guard did not look impressed. I think I saw him shake his head as he gave me back my passport and sent me on my way. I was glad to be on the road again.

     As I travelled merrily along I was rehashing my behaviour at the border and then I remembered one of the questions Mr. Border Guard asked. The one about money. I shivered as I remembered that not only did I not have $1000 on my person, I also did not have any US money of any description on me. Sweat trickled down my brow as I saw the sign for toll booth coming up. I was in the middle of nowhere so I knew I couldn't get money changed. I saw the sign for the last turn-off before the toll booth. I quickly took it. I had no idea where I was, only that it was a bit of a creepy looking area with dilapidated buildings ominously looming all around. I pulled into a parking lot of a run-down abandoned gas station to reprogram my GPS. My over-active imagination told me to lock my doors. Soon I set sail on a route without toll booths.

     All I can say, was I didn't have a clue where I was. Obviously I was being led along the scenic route. I saw a house on fire, a traffic jam, a lake, down town somewhere. Poor Franny was greatly relieved to see me - half an hour later than I had originally said.

     We hugged and chucked my Florida Angel's luggage into the back seat.

      The return trip was another adventure that I perhaps will share another day. [Who knew there was a Woodstock in New Brunswick!]

    Fran still has perfect hair, perfect manners and still loves Jesus. There is just something special about a true friendship.

     You know...the part about how true friendship isn't about being inseparable. It's about being separated and nothing changes!

   

A Book is Well-Written When.... —den Boer

Just finished reading "Still Alice" by Lisa Genova. That's a scary book especially if you let yourself identify with the main character. For those of you who may not know, "Still Alice" is a book written from the point of view of an Alzheimer's patient. It says on the cover, "Not a book you forget." I hope that's a promise because ever since I read the book, I've noticed I'm forgetting things—words, people's names, what I'm supposed to be doing....

Marian den Boer is the author of Blooming, This Pilgrim's Progress. She is presently working on a novel, Minnie Goes to Heaven, a work in progress. Catch daily updates here or begin reading here.

A Valuable Perspective

This is a quote from one of my husband’s sermons. I found the stats. surprising to say the least -

The focus of the Bible is not, as we might suppose, on the events of Christ’s first coming as Messiah, though this is certainly foundational. The focus of the Bible is on the Second Coming of Christ. “It’s been estimated that there are 1,845 references to Christ’s second coming in the Old Testament, 17 books give it prominence. In the 260 chapters of the New Testament, there are 318 references to the second advent of Christ – an amazing 1 out of every 30 verses! 23 of the 27 New Testament books refer to this great event. For every prophecy in the Bible concerning Christ’s first advent, there are 8 which look forward to the second. In short the Bible is not all about the historical Jesus, it’s about the pre-eminent, soon to return, majestic and glorious Son of God, Lord of Lords and King of Kings.

As I’ve pondered those words I’ve had a renewed sense of responsibility and accountability as a writer. These days, it seems, are indeed drawing to a close – perhaps more quickly than we know. It made me think of the a movie that released a while ago, about two old – ahem – older, gentlemen who realize they’re getting on and decide to do the things they’ve always wanted to do before they “kick the bucket.” So they make up a “Bucket List.” Not a bad idea. As a palliative care volunteer I was told to make just such a list once. “Right down all the things you want to accomplish before you die,” our facilitator said. When we had at least ten things on the list, she said, “okay, now imagine you had six months left. Re-write your list.” Then she narrowed the time again, and again, until our imaginary life-span had been reduced to only a few hours.

I was fascinated by what happened to my list the closer I got to my demise. It went from a top priority of getting published to a top priority of connecting with those I loved.

Writing that list gave me a valuable perspective. I realized that although writing and being published were important, they were not worth usurping the place of people in my life. Then, as I set about putting that perspective into action, I realized it really wasn’t a question of either/or but a matter of blending and balancing, and most of all, obedience.

Connecting with people became of prime importance but I came to understand that God had ordained that one of the ways in which I accomplished that is to write.

So, to return to the beginning, or perhaps to the end, what if Christ were to return tomorrow? What would I want Him to find me doing? The words loving, ministering, praying, all come to mind. And how would I do that? The word sequel comes to mind. 

I have another book to write. With the Lord’s help it will be a book that will put people first, a book that will point them to Jesus, a book that will perhaps even change a life or two. As I write I will be loving, ministering and yes, praying. It’s what God has given me to do. He has put this currency of His in my hands and said, “Put this to work, until I come back.’ ” (Luke 19:13b)

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Marcia Lee Laycock writes from Central Alberta Canada where she lives with her pastor/husband. Her second novel, A Tumbled Stone, has just been short-listed in the Contemporary Fiction category of The Word Awards. Visit Marcia's website

Why Writer's Conferences are so Important

 

As a writer you owe it to yourself to attend at least one writer's conference this year. My conference of choice? Write! Canada, held in lovely Guelph, Ontario from June 13 - 15 this year. I know they can be expensive, but look  at all the benefits you receive by attending:

• You get to network with real agents, editors and writers.
• You can have your work critiqued by some of those agents, editors and writers.
• You will be able to attend some of the best courses on writing, publishing, etc. you will ever find.
• You learn the current state of the industry.
• You might meet your favourite author!
• You learn the craft of writing from the pros.
• You have the chance to pitch your work - which could lead to a contract.
• You have the opportunity to promote yourself.
• You will make lifelong friends.
• It's an investment in your future.
• You go home feeling motivated.

How you feel after a conference all depends on your expectations going into one. If you expect to go to a conference, pitch your book and walk out with a signed contract - you are dreaming! You will go home feeling miserable. Good expectations are:

• Meeting editors, agents and other writers.
• No expectations - just go and enjoy the weekend, you might be surprised at what happens!
• Getting the chance for critiques of your work.
• Pitching your work to an editor or agent.
• Marketing yourself. Do you have a book out? By all means bring copies with you! You can sell them on consignment at most conferences. Or, if you are fortunate, an editor will ask to read it. I had that happen to me at my first conference! Of course, don't forget your one-sheets, business cards, etc.
• Making contacts. I can't count how many one-sheets and business cards I gave away and received in return.
• Delicious meals.
• No sleep (how can anyone sleep when there is so much going on? It also doesn't help when your roommate wants to talk all night - or she snores. *Hint* - bring earplugs).

Of course, there are so many other wonderful things that can happen that I can't fit them all here.  At my first conference I went to, I was feeling rather down. I kept comparing myself to other writers and thinking I was horrible and should just give up. I was so depressed that I didn't even submit anything for critique, thinking - what's the point? But, God moves in mysterious ways. After the deadline passed for submissions, I breathed a sigh of relief, until they extended the deadline. Then I felt such an urgency to submit something that I knew God was nudging me. Good thing I listened. My work was critiqued by an editor of a publishing house who wanted to see the rest when it was completed. I was so excited after that weekend, that I literally haven't stopped writing since! I came home motivated to continue writing. More importantly, the Lord confirmed for me (again) that this was what He wanted me to do. I went in expecting nothing and came out with so much more.

This year I will be unable to attend Write! Canada, but I look forward to attending next year. If you are interested I suggest you visit this link and get your reservation in as soon as possible. This is a popular conference and you don't want to miss it!

 

Until Next Time,

 

 

 

 

Visit me @ www.laurajdavis.com

 

God, I Don't Want To by Rose McCormick Brandon



When we know what we should do but don't want to do  . . . God can cause us to want to.
I don't mean that He will force us. But that He can put the "want to" in us, if we want Him to.
We may find someone unlovable but God says "love them." Impossible. Unless . . . we open our hearts and let Him cause us to want to love.
God may ask us to speak to someone about a particular subject, perhaps their own need of Christ. Yikes! What if they reject what we have to say? God can cause us to want to speak and not to care about the consequences.
What if we wake up one morning and God says, "Give x number of dollars to Joe." Can't Lord. Don't have enough. Don't want to. Joe doesn't deserve it.
When we know what we should do but don't want to . . . we can ask God to put the "want to" in us.
God's "want to" helps us see things from His perspective, the inside of a person instead of the outside. He closes our ears to their language and behavior and causes us to see how they really feel.
Do you need to have God's perspective on a person or situation today? God specializes in this. Paul found this out and wrote about in a letter to the Philippians.

For it is God who is at work within you, giving you the will and the power to achieve his purpose. (2:13)

Let's ask Him to do this for us.

Lord, give me your "want to" today. Re-align my perspective so that it lines up with yours.

http://writingfromtheheart.webs.com

Rose McCormick Brandon is an award-winning writer who specializes in personal experience, faith, life stories and the British Home Child Immigration period of Canadian history. Rose is married to Doug, an investment consultant, with whom she also co-authors articles on finances. Visit her blogs: The Promise of Home and Listening to My Hair Grow. Contact address: rosembrandon@yahoo.ca

Human Bombers Vis-à-Vis Brave Dog -- Peter Black

The news that broke last week about bomb blasts, detonated near the finishing line of the Boston Marathon, was a reminder that danger can lurk anywhere, and that such despicable deeds don’t only happen across the seas in places like Afghanistan and Iraq. 

We now know who the alleged perpetrators were; they have been named. One is now dead, while the other – his young brother, is in serious condition in hospital from gunshot wounds. At the time of writing it’s known that several people died – one of them an eight year-old boy, and at least 170 were injured, some suffering loss of limb.

Source: National Post

Regardless of what motivated the perpetrators, the actions were products of misguided minds and darkened hearts. The determination of the mind involves the function of the brain. The brain is a physical organ. Neuroscientists and psychologists, philosophers and theologians all seek to understand the nature of and relationship between brain and mind; between body (biological) and mind (psychical).

However, the biblical writers spoke of the heart. That is, the heart – not so much the physical pump that circulates blood through our bodies, but – as the core of our spiritual being that influences our mind and will, ultimately affecting our mental

Source: National Post

processes and resulting actions. 

The writer of the proverbs instructs his son: “. . . the way of the wicked is like deep darkness; they do not know what makes them stumble. My son . . . pay attention; listen closely to my words. Do not let them out of your sight, keep them within your heart; for they are life to those who find them and health to a man's whole body. Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life” (Proverbs 4:19-23 NIV). 

“Guard your heart” – the seat of our affections. How? By giving our minds over to good; to love and embrace what is wholesome and good, and despise and reject what is evil and bad. Who’s to say what’s good or evil? Is one person’s good another’s evil? 

The biblical narratives give examples of both. Through them we learn to distinguish between good and evil, by learning to love. That is, love – not romance; love, not self-interest. Love that seeks the highest good for another and that seeks to do no harm. 

An email I received last week contained a series of photos of a fire truck and a mother dog and her pups (see posted example). The event occurred in Chile. Here’s my adaptation of the captions that told story: 

During an early morning response to a house fire, firefighters were amazed. Amanda, a mother dog, risked her life to save her puppies from the fire . . . She raced in and out of the burning house, depositing her 10 day-old puppies in the safest place she could find – a fire truck! She’d already placed several puppies in one of the truck’s equipment compartments, when an onlooker began photographing. The firefighters were incredulous. They’d never seen a dog this smart or brave!

She’d let no one stop her, dashing back and forth through the open door into the smoke and fire, until all her puppies were safe. However, the firefighters sprayed a little water on her to keep her hair from scorching, as she made those repeated trips. Even so, singeing was evident on her hindquarters, forehead and lower legs.

Once all of her pups were rescued from the blaze, she nursed them, shielding them with her body. Bystanders called an emergency veterinary service. Amanda and her pups were rushed to a hospital. Although one puppy was treated for serious burns and later died, the rest of the family is alive and well, thanks to this heroic mother dog’s bravery. Amazing!

~~~

Her heroic treatment and commitment to her puppies’ welfare is a gaze-raiser!

Juxtaposed, these incidents provide stark contrast between evil actions and good actions. 

What a contrast between whatever motivated that mother dog’s action, and whatever motivated the humans who plotted, planned and detonated those bombs at the Boston Marathon. 

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Peter A. Black is a freelance writer in Southwestern Ontario, and is author of “Parables from the Pond” – a children's / family book."  (Finalist -- Word Alive Press ISBN 1897373-21-X )

His inspirational column, P-Pep! appears weekly in The Guide-Advocate. His articles have appeared in 50 Plus Contact and testimony, and several newspapers in Ontario.

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