Mama's Boy

"It's a boy," the doctor said, as he laid the child in her loving arms. Blonde hair, brown eyes, he toddled behind her, her baby boy. She held him and rocked him and scolded him and played with him and was so proud of him, but mostly she just loved him, because he was hers and he was the baby.

When he was five years old she took him to the photography studio to have his picture made in his cowboy outfit because he wanted pictures to hand out like the older kids. He smiled from ear to ear, his hair slicked back, cute as a button.

When he started school she watched him get on the big, yellow school bus, following his older brothers and sister and turned around to wave at her. When he threatened to run away from home, his belongings packed in a plain, brown paper bag, she watched him walk down the street, his shoulders low, until he turned around and came home. With tears in her eyes she scolded him and told him to "never do that again."

He grew up tall and skinny and she watched him through the awkward teen years, full of youthful mischief. He was charming with the girls and voted "Most Polite" and "Biggest Flirt" by his classmates.

And she watched him get on the bus once more, after his high school graduation. He came home a man, this time wearing a uniform that Uncle Sam had given him, a soldier ready to go to war. She watched with a mother's pride and a mother's anxiety as he was shipped off to an Asian country, dropped in a jungle with other rookie soldiers far from home. Two months later she received the news that he'd been shot, but he going to be alright. It mangled his hand, but he was alive.

She saw her boy get married and have children of his own. He was a grown-up now, but he never forgot her birthday and never forgot Mother's Day. He was still a Mama's boy at heart and called on the weekends to see how she was getting along. He still had that boyish charm and love of life and playful sense of humor.

The years passed and life was full of ups and downs, but she always had her children to care about. Then one day it all changed. Her youngest boy was sick and it was serious. The doctors offered treatment, and she clung to hope. And so she was by his side when God called him home, the son she had brought into the world. Mama's boy.

(In memory of my husband, Don)

A Lucky Day

My granddaughter's Kindergarten class had Kite Day this past Friday. However, there was barely a breeze, so the kites didn't make it off the ground. My granddaughter tried again the next day, excitedly dragging her kite along the ground, hoping for a lift-off.

My daughter and her husband finally tilled their garden this weekend and shopped for plants. Erika was so excited about the garden and couldn't wait to put the seedlings in the ground. She gave up a shopping trip with Mawmaw to stay home and help Daddy. "Today is my lucky day," she said, referring to the garden. She is five years old. Things that we take for granted are a big deal to a five-year old. Simple things. Flying kites. Vegetables. Sunshine.

"Talking to a Grave"

I go to a place

Where I stand alone

Where once was a patch of dirt

Now your name is etched in stone
I say hello

I love you
I miss you
And wish you were here
My conversation sounds hollow
As I get down on my knees
There is only silence
But for the whisper of a breeze
I blow you a kiss

Before I say good-bye

And I want you to know

Once more

I love you

I miss you

And wish you were here


(c) Anita M. Ashworth 2009

Black Forest Cherry Cake

A friend asked me to bake her a Black Forest Cherry Cake for her birthday, so I did. Here is my very simple recipe.

Black Forest Cherry Cake

1 Box of Devil's Food Cake Mix
1 Pint of Heavy Whipping Cream
1/4 Cup confectioner's Sugar
1 Can Cherry Pie Filling

Pre-heat oven to 350. Bake cake as instructed on back of cake mix in two 9-inch pans. When cool, place first layer on cake plate and spread 2/3 can of cherry pie filling over the layer. Top with second layer. Whip the heavy cream with the confectioner's sugar until stiff enough to spread. Put remaining cherry pie filling on top layer and ice the whole cake with the whipped cream. You may garnish with Maraschino cherries or chocolate shavings.

Enjoy!

Easter

I love this time of year. A time of joy and renewal.

A time to celebrate the resurrection of Christ.

We also celebrated my granddaughter's birthday this weekend.

I had time to color eggs, and eat the chocolate ones.

I had time to bake cupcakes, not from scratch, though, and the decorations were store bought. They still looked  pretty with the pastel sugar sprinkles.

My grandson on his first Easter Egg Hunt, taking it pretty seriously.

Have a blessed week!

Kids Say the Darndest Things

My oldest granddaughter, Erika, who is in Kindergarten, has been sick a lot this year. Since Christmas she has rarely gone to school an entire week because of holidays, bad weather days or being sick. She missed three days last week because of a nasty stomach bug. She told my daughter, Carrie, the other day, "I used to go to school every day, but I don't anymore."

When she was home last week, her little sister wanted Erika to help her fill her juice cup. Erika quickly responded, "Allie, I can't help you right now. I'm sick. You'll have to ask Lucas to help you." Lucas, my grandson, is 20 months old.

She also wanted to get an early start on Christmas and decided to write Santa a letter. What prompted her was an advertisement on TV for a toy called "Pillow Pets." She told her Mom to tell Santa that the website was http://www.pillowpets/  so he wouldn't forget. Oh, and she wanted Carrie to take the letter to the mall to make sure Santa gets it. I'm sure Santa doesn't get too many letters in March!

My younger granddaughter, Allie, I'm afraid, is turning into a little hypochondriac. She is not like other children who kick and scream when it comes to taking medicine. She is happy to take her dose. And if you have a pain or ache, don't you know she does, too!  When Carrie had to go to the doctor recently, little Allie spoke up, "Me ick, too, (fake cough, twice)," and wanted to go. No wonder she enjoys playing doctor so much.

Time to Slow Down

Things have been so busy lately

that my feet haven't touched the ground.

I'm running from morning until night,

with no end in sight.

I need a minute, or two, to collect my thoughts,

to hit the pause button on my life,

and breathe slowly.

I need to slow down;

there's so much cramming in my head,

and not enough time to savor the moments.

Get up, go to work, go to bed.

I want to stop and smell the flowers,

gaze at the moon and the stars,

take a drive down a dusty road

and forget the time on the clock.

I want to have long conversations with an old friend

over iced tea on the front porch

and we'll hug each other's necks

when it's time to leave and say good-bye.

because old friendships are a rare and beautiful thing

I want to browse to my heart's content in second- hand stores

finding lost treasures that someone slipped in a box

or the vintage find that reminds me of a childhood memory

now collecting dust in an antique store

I want to sip coffee, slowly,

with the newspaper spread all around

and time to clip recipes and coupons;

read the funnies and work the crossword puzzle.

I want to play with the children

and get down on the floor,

 read stories that make them laugh

and tickle their funny bone

I want to bake from scratch

the recipes my mother used to make

and pour me a cup of tea

from the teapot that I inherited.

I want to listen to soft music

that drowns out the noise

and latest headline news

I want to spend time talking to God

and listening to what he has to say

instead of always feeling rushed

and being on my way

And when I do,

He'll give me a moment, or two

To slow down 

and hit the pause button

So I can stop and breathe.

(c) Anita M. Ashworth 2010

Thought for the Day

A friend shared this with me and I just had to post it on my blog.

 I am not perfect

but Jesus

thinks I am

to die for

Blessings,

Like a Cedar of Lebanon

Psalm 92:12-13

The righteous will flourish like a palm tree,
they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon;
 planted in the house of the Lord,
they will flourish in the courts of our God.

In biblical times cedar trees were plentiful in the Holy Land.

The cedar is mentioned in the Bible over 70 times. In ancient history it was used for building ships and temples. The Egyptians used the resin for mummification (from Wikipedia). Cedar wood was also used in purification rituals in treating infectious diseases (Leviticus 14). 

In modern times cedar wood is desirable over other types of wood.

It's fragrance is well-known and it is a strong and solid hardwood, resistant to rot and decay.

 It is small wonder that we like to store our woolens in cedar chests and closets.

The trees may reach a majestic height of 100 feet or more.

The cedar has many characteristics that we, as Christians, can strive for.

Are we resistant to rot and decay (sin)?

Will our faith endure and withstand the storms of life?

Will others recognize our fragrance?

Are we like a 'cedar of Lebanon, planted in the house of the Lord?'

Things that Make Me Smile....

My daughter and her husband made last minute plans to go to a Jason Aldean concert last night and needed a baby-sitter. Maw-maw here agreed to come over after work and watch the girls. My daughter had made Chicken Pot Pie, my recipe, for supper and it was delicious! Before long, the girls brought out their games and taught me how to play "Hungry Hippos." I felt like a loser, two little girls beating their Grandma. That's okay. Wait until they get older and I'll pull out the old Scrabble game:)

 My three year old grand-daughter likes to play doctor and made me lie down on the floor. She proceeded to poke and prod me with every fake medical tool in her doctor's bag. She slipped the plastic band-aid, like a bracelet, on her wrist, checked my heartbeat with the stethoscope and shoved the thermometer in my mouth. She definitely needs to learn some bedside manners, I decided, because she was kinda rough.

At bedtime, my five-year old grand-daughter wanted me to read "Green Eggs and Ham", a book I haven't read in 25 years. I let her read the "Sam, I am" part and soon she was reading whole paragraphs. Do I like "Green Eggs and Ham?" I will read it from time to time; I will read it in my prime; but I cannot, I will not, eat green eggs and ham, not on a dime.

A Mother's Prayers

Dear God, please let the baby sleep through the night. I am so tired.
Amen.

God, my little one is running a fever and not feeling well.
Please bring her back to good health.
Amen.

Dear Lord, now that she's walking I can't keep this house clean. She's into everything!
Please give me patience.
 Amen.

Lord, I can't wait until school starts! I pray that she likes her teacher and makes friends.
 Amen.

Dear God, I'm feeling stressed.
Ball practice, dance lessons, homework, children's choir.
Besides being a mother I am also a
room mother, PTA Mom, and Girl Scout leader.
Please keep me from pulling out all my hair!
 Amen.

Heavenly Father, I don't know where the time has gone.
 My baby girl just got her driver's permit.

 I can't help it! I don't want her to grow up.
 Amen.

God, this is a tough time for me. Tomorrow is the big day.
Graduation.
And in a few months she'll be off to college.
What am I going to do, Lord?
Amen.

Dear Lord, it's so quiet around here.
 I miss her already. When is Thanksgiving? 
Amen.

My Last Valentine

(Something I wrote a few years ago)

It is Valentine’s Day and it had been almost a year since my husband passed away. I spent the day remembering what we had done on Valentine's Day the year before. My husband, Don, had cancer and was undergoing Chemo treatments. It had been four months since his diagnosis. Our neighbors had invited us to attend a Valentine’s Day Banquet at their church. I tentatively accepted the invitation, knowing that our attendance depended on how Don was feeling that day. He was a sociable person and missed getting out and seeing friends. His spirits rose when he had visitors and phone calls and he always had a kind word or a funny line for the nurses who treated him. The afternoon of the banquet he woke up from his nap and decided he wanted to go. I was worried that it would tire him out, but he insisted, saying that it would be okay. When we arrived at the church, there was a long line of couples waiting to get their picture made against the backdrop of a painted red barn, to go along with the western theme. It turned out to be the last photo we had made together. 



Two days later was Valentine’s Day. I woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and a bouquet of flowers on the kitchen table, along with a card, inscribed, “Love, Don.” My husband had not driven for several months, but he had gotten up early that day to go to the store and buy me flowers. It was the last Valentine I received from him. Or so I thought.

Now, it was almost a year later and I am sorting through pictures, trying to organize photos for a scrapbook for my daughters. I find an old photo I had taken of my husband right after we started dating, 28 years before. It had been trimmed into a wallet-sized photo. It was the late 70's and he is wearing a wide tie, and grinning. We had been to church that morning. Funny, I didn’t remember the trimmed-down version of the photograph. I turned it over. Funny, I didn’t recall ever seeing anything written on the back of this particular photo. But there, in his handwriting, he had written a loving message to me and signed his name, "Love, Don."

He had sent me a Valentine message, one last time.

Childhood Memories

This is a picture taken near the little town in Germany where I was born. I have very few photos of my place of birth. I found this on flickr, quite by accident. It is exactly the way I remember it, a picture postcard view with hills and valleys. The little town where I was born is near Giessen, which is about an hour's drive from Frankfurt. The views in the wintertime were breathtaking with clusters of houses nestled on the neighboring hills and everything blanketed in snow.

I lived with my Oma until I was 6 years old. Even as a little girl my grandmother would send me to the butcher with a note and a Deutsch mark clasped in my hand to pay for the purchases. We lived in a tiny, duplex apartment, with no hot running water. We  had a wood stove for heating. Oma's house didn't have shutters, so in freezing weather the window panes would freeze over, on the inside! Oma would put a hot brick under the featherbeds to heat the bed at night. She tended a large garden and kept a large bin of potatoes and root vegetables and apples down in her cellar. The woodshed was stocked for the winter with wood that my uncle chopped. She washed her clothes in a big galvinized washtub, which also served as a tub for bathing. Once a week the tub would be dragged upstairs and the water heated for our baths.

The baker would come around and bring fresh farmer's (bauern brot) bread, still hot from the oven and dusted with flour. That bread, smeared with real butter and homemade jam was the best there was!

Oma had a hard life. She lived through two wars and she and her children were refugees after the second war, forced to leave their farm and everything behind in the Sudetenland region of Czechoslovakia. My grandfather died right after the war, leaving her a widow with nine children.

Here's a picture taken of me right before coming to the USA. I didn't speak a word of English, but picked it up quickly.