One Ton of Fun

Big Daddy only drives big trucks.

When we go to Seattle for our annual Christmas dally and dinner, we have to take our small car, ’95 Chevy Suburban. He doesn’t enjoy it but it is the vehicle what fits in a parking garage.

Last year we found open parking on 7^th and Stewart so, (yep, you guessed it!) we all piled into the F-350 this last December!

Mike really, really likes his truck, and in part thanks to Chuck at the Powershop in Enumclaw, who brought it back from one wheel shy of the wrecking yard or a total rebuild with a Cummins block.

Needless then to say, we girls have few opportunities to drive the big blue one ton. Driving it is the next best thing to being with the Big Daddy- we take it when we can! We had it one day last week...

Out to buy groceries we saw our chance to park next to a SmartCar.

Wanna see?

Bwaaa! Ha-ha-aaaaaah!

Get a load of this (or rather we could take a load of this).

Rarely Seen Footage

“Take ye wives, and beget sons and daughters; and take wives for your sons, and give your daughters to husbands, that they may bear sons and daughters; that ye may be increased there, and not diminished” says the Lord (via Jeremiah’s clay and stylus).

Two summers past, Mike and I had the fortune of witnessing parents of a fine young man make a proposal of intent, on behalf of their son, to parents of a daughter back home. Our mouths were agape. It was possibly the most beautiful scene of real life we’ve ever been a third party to.

It was if we’d taken a step into the world of Austen or Dickens (except we were bikers that weekend and I’m not sure leather chaps, and helmets translates favorably into a Dickens type character that I would wish to be) where children entrusted their future spouse to the wisdom of their elders, their parents.

A deal was made, all parties in agreement. We parted ways an hour or so later, crying, praying, contemplating and the respective parents of the projected couple were off to talk with their kids about the proposal.

Side note: The parents in the above story really didn’t make the choice. It was God’s selection. The children had trust in their parent’s godly authority to speak into their lives as young adults through submission to Christ. Everyone in our story had free will.

Out dated and uncivilized? Archaic, you say?

We would have too, several years ago but really, what better liaison could one have for negotiating a spouse then godly parents who know the deepest character of their children, what God gifted them to be and whom would befit them as a partner.

According to God’s word, we are to "find wives for our sons", and "give our daughters to husbands". Parents are not monsters that take pleasure in their children’s torment but exactly the opposite, so we can conclude they would skillfully, advisedly choose a life partner. Doesn’t a parent want the best for their children? Isn’t God a Parent? Doesn't He desire His Best for us?And isn’t our walk with Christ about submission and the yielding of self will. Is it not said that our relationships with others reflect our relationship to God? How beautiful to have children that tribute with faith and humility, their parents.

See the heavenly connection? The Son submits to the Father, The Father loves the Son.

Those kids are married now; loving their new spouse, and thanking their parents for wisdom and faith.

Legacy

We all have it. Some look better then others. We can choose to improve it or tarnish it. It’s Legacy.

The Boss-man and I are building our legacy for generations to come. The Divine path on which we ground our children is for our grandchildren and great-grandchildren’s sake, as well as their own. Ours is built from a foundation that the two of us were set upon.

Our daughters’ inheritance began generations ago. Here is another story from the pages that make our family’s history: 

Grace’s mother, Delia, introduced her to Matt during the depression when work was hard to find. Matt made a dollar a day. He was a truck driver for Western Farmers. Delia (Granny) was the cook for the workers and found a nice young man well suited for her daughter. They were married June 30, 1934. They built their house across the street from Granny and Pop. A few years later, the house moved to the parcel next door to the folks. Matt and Grace lived in the same house their entire married life.  Matt drove truck all over Europe, chasing down Hitler and his destruction. He delivered men to Normandy and drove supplies to the front line and into enemy territory, while Grace kept the home fires burning. When Matt returned, they reared their children and kept 9,000 white “leg’urns” for eggs in a growing and hungry post war population.

Their youngest son and wife and all their children are neighbors to that little house on Route 3. Generations of kids chasing spring calves and slamming the summer screen door, picking autumnal apples and nibbling finska kakor and gingersnaps on a Christmas Eve.

On Gramps last tractor, he sits with Gran; a photo taken for an article written up in the local rag, on the celebration of their 72^nd anniversary.

 

Gramps passed away the following August after their 73^rd.

Matt and Grace left an important standard to their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren that Mike and I are not about to tarnish.

In a weak world, we fuss about our happiness and what we deserve.

Economic depression, nor loss of a child, a war and several countries betwixt them, sunup to sundown hard labor did not make these two throw in the towel, it made them stronger and more resolve that marriage was for a lifetime.

Thank you, Gran and Gramps for a heritage worth passing on to “generations to come”.

                      *     *     *     *     *     *

Acts 2:38,39-

Peter replied, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call."

Some Fine Mid-west Sense

While going through an exercise of faith in her beautiful patience, a biblically educated seminary graduate counseled our Nebraskan friend , marriage is “a choice we have to make every day”.

She declined to agree with him. She understood the position he took because of the modern understanding we have of God’s word within human psychology, but regardless, disagree she did.

Marriage, she bravely confronted, is a choice made the moment you step down the aisle, when you say ‘I do’: a choice made only once and forever.

The common Christian lingo “you must work at your marriage” or “choose your battles” or “biblical reason for divorce” or “marriage is a choice we make every day” is currently fashionable dogma. I wonder at this modern philosophy befitting the character of Christ.

What if we changed our counsel to “through love, serve one another” … “it is better to give than to receive” … “esteem others higher than yourself” … “submit yourself to God” … “let no corrupt word come out of your mouth” … “be kind, tenderhearted, forgiving” … “the greatest among you is called servant” … “your sins are forgiven” … “repay no one evil for evil”. These scriptures only scratch the surface!

Here’s the point: Stop being a selfish pig and be Christ focused. That is the 'work' to be done.

Does it make us feel better; does it stroke our ego to say we’ve worked soo-ho-ho-hooo hard at our marriage? Does this make us martyrs in our own minds, the pains we live through with our spouse and how deserving we would be to walk away?

Christ didn't forsake His bride (who incidentally has committed every sin possible) which He suffered bodily beating and death by torture.Truth be told, our relationships reflect how we limit Christ’s influence in our lives.

Thanks, you, boring, not much fun, righteous, Christ loving, mid-west square, friend! (you don’t even charge $150 clams an hour, counseling fee.)

Tending to the Hive

For a history of our family’s honeybee hive, refer to You Never Can Tell With Bees

Stephie called us out watch her add another box to the hive for the growing colony.

She also requested Benedryl for the boy. 

Next to the friendly hive, grown from the swarm we rescued from the apple orchard behind the barn last May, a renegade throng of feral bees has recently discovered an abandoned hive(they’re a rough bunch smoking and drinking, carousing with the queen bee and all).

They fidget around the hive, loitering as it were, without the order and pattern of the tended colony. Seemingly looking for trouble and Kai found it on the lip.

Now Kai’s no sissy when it comes to bees. Since he was a tot, he was tenderly picking bumblebees out of the clover, petting them, before sending them on their way. Occasionally you’ll hear the little guy say “oh, he stung me”, but without delay Kai is back to his apian aspirations. 

The lip incident was no different.

As our family beekeeper,  Stephie cracks the whip on any drone who thinks they’ll be nipping honey off the sweat of another bee’s back. She is prepared with a beautifully painted nuc box, should another swarm head for the orchard.

Some Work Out; Some Work In.

A Rough Morning. Doesn’t sound very pretty, does it? It started out just fine.

Abby and I woke up to Follow the Fleet, with Ginger Rogers & Fred Astaire, and we loved it! So far so good.

But somewhere after feeding the chickens I just felt like crying.

Mama was out repairing the lawn. As you know, we have dogs and they can be rough on a lawn that was already struggling when we bought the place. Anyway, Mama was out spreading Tegro on the lawn.
Here is one of the culprits and he's sulking about it.

I believe Tegro is a mixture of dirt, manure, and a little bit of sand. I sprinkled some Tegro on a few lilies’ I’m growing, and then I did start crying. After being hugged, I was sent in to do up some breakfast.

Mama gave instructions for sausage gravy and hashbrown potatoes. While the gravy was cooking, I emptied out the dishwasher and set the table with fresh periwinkles and hyacinth.
In the microwave to save time, I baked some potatoes. When they were cooked and I went to cut them for the hashbrowns, that didn’t work out so good (they turned out to be smashed potatoes instead!).
Abby called Mama in from her work and the three of us sat to a yummy brunch and I was cheered up.


Rough Morning? I mean Good Morning!

Lutefisk and a Hot Cup of Tay

My children’s heritage is so…so...Vikings-invade-British-Isles…they ought to have been red heads!
(and Abi-Dale has the temper to prove it)

Beware of swinging mallets.

This is what happens when you’re not paying attention.
I say ouch! And you? 24 hours of non stop throbbing pain finally ended with a the cutest little percocet you've ever seen! Today I was able to dress myself. I’m afraid this little mishap ended an otherwise productive evening.

Pop and the Boss-man spent some time fashioning pieces cut from a 12x12 red oak board to fit around the newly cut radius in the floor; the tie-in pieces that transition from the kitchen tiles and into the new and pre-existing hardwoods.

Pop is a journeyman woodworker, over 40 years in the fixture (cabinets, doors, mill work) business. His last job was for a yacht-building outfit and in that field, cost and precision increase several notches. Boss-man is no slouch when it comes to wood constructing, however, Pop knows how to give it the finesse that comes only from decades of experience- he’s the master!
Tonight after AnnePants has fed us (remember that nasty purple thumb, I can’t do a thing!) Big Daddy gets back to installing the wood slats so we can be that much closer to having this house put back together!

Another Man’s Treasure

It is time to sell grandma’s house. She no longer can live on her own. Family members have been through the house to take home what tokens mean the most to them. Now in the very caring hands of a granddaughter and her home and hearth, grandma has only the things there that she needs.

Texas mom came up here to the PNW to help her brothers finish going through boxes and make some final decisions about their mother’s estate. Mom brought us something from grandma’s house she thought we might enjoy. She chose considerately. Texas mom brought us her grandparent’s Bibles. Published in 1946, but gifted, by inscription, nearly ten years later by one of their daughters, Texas mom’s aunt, grandma’s older sister (still with me?). Though not heavily worn on the outside, the contents prove the godly heritage imparted to us, through Mike’s maternal ancestry. The girls have already taken to them as their own Bibles and have begun reading in them.

Honored we are, to have received such a treasure.

Thumbing through the Bibles, one belonging to Walter, the other to Lillie, we found old photos, hand written notes, family records and yellowed newspaper articles; history, as it were, in our very hands. Along the pages were inked references and annotations. Among the pages are prayer cards and tracts from multiple western states, their cities and of different denominations.

The markings in and alongside the leaves of scripture are diverse. Each great-grandparent exercised their Bible; you can see by the variation of scrawls and symbols, circled scripture cues, written in their own hand. The very nature of the pamphlets and handouts from various missionaries and Bible societies, tell our little family of how much these great-grandparents of ours valued their salvation. They honored the sacrifice made on the cross.

Yet there has to be more. There can be no relying on ancestry for our ticket into heaven. While at present, it is the responsibility of Mike and I, to teach our children to love the Lord their God with all their heart, soul, and strength, at some point that responsibility rests also (also, I say, for we do not relinquish responsibility for their independence) on their shoulders to obey their parents in the Lord and walk in righteousness to stand before God on their own.

It is a treasure to have these beautiful Bibles in our household. Nonetheless, in the words of a favorite Christmas song we have been humming during the last several weeks,
My precious Jesus is more than an heirloom to me

Sunday at Grandma Grace’s House

On Saturday and Sunday mornings, with faithful Scooter by his side, Pop drives a whole fifth of a mile to his childhood home to see his folks and have coffee. It has slowly evolved into, well, all of us…for breakfast. Gramps passed away a couple of summers ago and for Gran, Sunday is an important day of fellowship (besides reminding her what day of the week it is!).

Gran has lived in her house since ’34 when she and Gramps were married. They moved only once: the whole house, across the street. Their youngest son and his wife and all their children live in homes surrounding (that's us).
Life on Route 3 varies little and that is what we all like about it. Change can be good; especially when you’re rearranging furniture, buying new shoes or seeing a cloud-cover free the sun, but at Gran’s the less change the better!

Kai said last week, while mowing down yet another sausage link, “I love Sundays”. He stated clearly his emotion of approval and satisfaction of having it remain the same. Hear hear!

So, yet again we meander ‘over the river’ or anyway, up the street to Gran’s for breakfast, coffee, fellowship, dogs at the hearth, kids in the side room, knitting needles clicking, kick off times confirmed, daily schedules discussed.

Bacon and eggs, anyone?

"Good as workin' as it sure shines a-bright!" says Abi-dale as she hands Pop the flashlight.

I love seven-year-old-speak.

Something to Chew On. But Please Digest.

God, the supreme chromosome-ologist, DNA decider, gives every family exactly the gender of children He wants that family to rear.
Boss-man and I have daughters.

I was watching TV today when an interesting exchange happened between two characters:
Dad: Have you seen my daughter? I don’t like the idea of her running off with Danny [for a hike in the hills] just like that.
Local man: She is 16, don’t you think you’re being a bit over protective
Dad: (indignantly) I don’t remember askin’ for advice.
Local man: Just tryin’ to be friendly.
Disrobing of parental authority, friendly?!
Come on, you say, it’s just a Hollywood script.
Maybe, but we’ve all taken the bait. This is our response to the real people, not actors, in our community.

Several weeks ago, in bedtime routine, my oldest daughter, putting her toothbrush away, says “Mom? Do ya think I can get married at sixteen?”
(choke,sputter)“I can’t talk about that right now. It’s late. Let’s just get ready for bed.”

The surprise I took was not at any absurdity in her question; rather the grief I imagine daddy and I will endure from not so well-meaning, not so astute people, should she have been making, that night in the bathroom, a prophetic statement.

The same people that speak of parents being “over protective” regarding children are the same people who have the proverbial cow that a sixteen year old is too young to marry: then protection is lacking.

You see, it’s okay for daughters to run around without parental protection, unsupervised and un-chaperoned. That’s trust! And we must trust our children! Particularly the 16 and over crowd. Daughters, especially the responsible ones, should be able to make their own decisions with, perhaps, parental input, but essentially, it must be of her own plan. She has to learn to make these decisions and live with the outcome, right?

But should she decide, that at 16, instead of tramping around with boys her own age, that are looking for a little slap and tickle (oh, and relationship too, I’m sure), she, with her parents guidance and blessing, should consent to a marriage with a respectable, hard working, taxpaying, dependable, godly young man, where she sleeps in the safety of one man’s bed, without guilt: That’s just plain foolish.

Uh, huh.

Some Winter Warmth

Our family vacationed last summer in Honolulu and resided in the ol' folk's condo (not to be confused with the 'old folk’s home'). Feel to warmth of the June sun? We still can.

Waikiki Beach, Honolulu

Hilltop House, Home of Puna and Coco

Lanikai Beach and it's beautiful fine, white sand

Around the island of Oahu

Dole Plantaion

Enjoying the folks all around their world.

North Shore, Haleiwa, at sunset

What a time we had! A fortnight of loving, laughing, and discovering the Hawaiian folk’s island life. AnnePants adhered to condo living, Abi-dale thrilled at running along the darkened beach after an evening concert and Big Daddy and I took pleasure in being a generational family on vacation together.
Last fall I spent hours putting together a slideshow for the sidebar but Blogger didn't like it, wouldn't allow me to post it, something about corruption in the feed. Wasted time turned aggravation, turned tabled project, turned seven months later, turned "well, I should post some pics individually, at least". These photos are only a small fraction of the shots we took, but they do show the warmth of the sun, and that of the love family, despite an ocean, shares.