Mary Ann Cogburn, 1917-2001

Filmmakers and poets rely on the same metaphorical image of death.  The light of life and health dims and fades away.  Grieveing survivors face the pathos of a cold dark emptiness accompanied by solemn orchestral music.  But, my Granny never once followed anyone else's idea of how a thing should be done.  She never kept a secret, never passed up a french fry, never accepted 'no' as the final answer, and never stopped playing.  So it doesn't surpise me that her death isn't anything like the romantic stereotype.

Near the end of his life, St Paul wrote, "I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith . . . "  Theologians define faith as the response of man to the love of God.  Granny may not have given much thought to Paul's words, but they describe her passing well.  As her family responded in love with sacrifice and service during her last days, she turned up the intensity of her light and poured herself out.

Time spent caring for Granny meant new opportunities for conversation.  Cooperating to meet her needs brought everyone to a new level of appreciation for our individual strengths and weaknesses.  Granny's confinement to her bed brought everyone under one roof which eliminated secrets, left no cookie untasted and made it impossible to take the word 'no' seriously.  With every song, joke, story and game more and more of Granny appeared in her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.

Over the past couple of days, I've heard a lot of people try to describe Granny.  They use words like ornery, stubborn, independent, childlike, and impulsive.  No amount of careful phrasing could make her sound like a peaceful person with Hallmark card relationships.  But we could not have had those Hallmark moments without turning her into someone other than Granny.

Her funeral is today.  My sisters and I will be singing the music she loved in memorial.  There isn't a sad song on the program.  She told us long ago, "Don't sing Amazin Grace for my funeral, they sing that song for every old fart."  The music we have prepared is toe-tappin southern gospel with tight harmony.  Granny's gonna love it.

We're Out of What!

I'm a compulsive "Day After" shopper.  The day after Halloween, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day and especially Christmas I load up on holiday accoutrements that we'll "need" next year.  As a result, I usually have enough of everything on hand to outfilt the whole neighborhood.  So it was with surprise and dismay that I realized - We Are Out of Bows!  Tim stuck his head out of the back room yesterday to ask me where the rest of the bows were, and I knew that I'd already given him ALL the bows.  He's not a heavy bow user, so this was a BAAAD sign.

But leave it to Tim.  The boys are fascinated with dinosaurs, especially Pterydactyl's.  Tim just happens to be the only guy I know who knows the origami folds for a pterydactyl by heart.  So my kids have pterydactyls on their presents now.  I love it.  So I took a photo to share.  (Isn't he a neat daddy?)

What is it about little kids in bubble baths?  My kids needed a bath yesterday.  They are old enough to pretty much take care of the operation so I told them to go ahead and I'd check in on them in a bit when I finished whatever it was I was working on.  When I went looking for them, they weren't in their tub.  They weren't even in the bathroom.  When I found them they were in MY bathroom.  They totally filled my extra large tub with water and bubbles.  They were so pleased with themselves for "getting away" with a bath in Mommy's tub, that I didn't even tell them that they are welcome to use my tub.  It's more fun if they think they pulled a good one.

Apparently the attraction of Mom's bubble bath is a universal boy magnet.  My sister (Madeline) sent me the following of her little boy in her tub.   

As Per Request . . .

Two years ago I returned from a visit with my parents and sent the following to my friends and family to let them know how the trip went and that I'd arrived back at home safely.  As per the Request of my Mother, I'm reposting it here on Xanga. 

9/24/99 10:11:26 AM Eastern Daylight Time

Subject: And then the hamster died . . .

Greetings everyone.  The boys and I had a lovely visit with the folks for three weeks.

Genealogy Report - Dad and I toured cemeteries (the boys rearranged the American flags on the various graves while we were copying information), historical societies, (closed for renovation so we went to the IQ Zoo instead), and the library where we hit paydirt in our search for additional information about the family tree.  We found dozens of records of ancestors who served in the Civil War on both sides.  We also uncovered some interesting family legends.  One I've pursued is the legend that my GGGG Grandmother Elizabeth Anthony was either the sister or a cousin to Susan B. Anthony.  I've been able to determine that she couldn't have been a sister, but while the direct line has been easily compared, it gets complicated when you are talking about Uncles and onced removed.  So I haven't been able to either confirm or refute the second part of the legend.

Family Notes - Everyone was in good health when we arrived.  However, Grandma fell and injured her back while we were there and [Wormy] broke his leg the day we left.  Apparently, you should don protective gear while we are around.

Mom Moment - The trip home should have taken abotu 9 hours but took 12 and 1/2.  We are usually good travellers, but we couldn't get more than 50 miles without having to stop for one thing or another.  It's a good thin that I kept a change of clothes for each of them in the diaper bag or I would hve been unloading luggage on the side of I-55.  The van still looks like a band of marauding brigands went through it.

The morning after we got home I awakened to Michael saying, "Mom, our friend is out."  By the time I got my eyes open, his friend - the hamster - was strolling aroudn the corner into my room.  Nothing like a loose rodent in the morning to jumpstart your heart.  I returned Livingston II to his cage.  (Livingston the First died while we were out of town.  The orginal Livingston was a yellow fancy hamster, his replacement is a gray Teddy Bear hamster.  The kids can't seem to tell any difference and greeted this new "Livingston" with enthusiasm.)

After that start I shouldn't have been surprised at the way the day went.  The temp when we left Arkansas was 90, in Indiana it was below 50.  I could only find one pair of sweats for each of the kids (the winter clothes were still packed away.)  After I got them dressed and started to clean up the mess of hamster savings (no hamster ever escapes without creating a telltale mess) I happened to glance out the window.  There they were squirting each other with the water hose and shivering the whole time.  I asked Michael if he wasn't cold (while I was changing their clothes).  Through chattering teeth he said, "No, Mom, it wasn't cold, it was fun."

The mop bucket had been left in the kids bathtub while we were out of town.  So they filled it with water and tried to pick it up.  Both boys working together coudln't lift it out of the tub, but they did get it up high enough to tip it . . . A whole washer load of towels was used to clean that mess.

By this time I had searched through the boxes and located more warm clothes.  SO I sent them outside again.  I had forgotten that where there was a water fight, there would be mud.  The third change of clothes and a second mopping of the floor was finished just in time for lunch.

After lunch I got them settle down with a Veggie Tales Video while I worked on laundry.  While we were out of town, Tim had gotten into the habit of storing the hamster supplies in the cabinet below the hamster cage . . . next to the entertainment center.  So while I was feeling guilty for leaving tehm in the hands of the electronic babysitter, they were throwing citrus scented hamster shavings all over the living room like so much confetti.

I thought it was reasonable that they should help clean the mess, and they thought so too.  Their idea of helping was to play dino-monster with the vacuum cleaner.  Michael pushing and Tucker riding.  Both of them felt the sound of the machine was insufficient so they added appropriate roaring noise.  I quicklly concluded that requiring their assistance was NOT reasonable. 

I didn't dare turn my back on them after that, but I spent long hours thinking of another family legend.  The woman who needed to milk the cow and couldn't figure out how to keep the kids out of trouble.  So she lifted the legs of the bed and set them down on the kids ' clothes, trapping them intil she could get back to the house.  Tucker's first sentence was "let me go," and the thought that the first phone number he memorized might be the child abuse hot line kept me from implementing her solution.

While we sat together reading stories, Michael told me that he noticed my hair wasn't "fuzzy" today and suggested that they'd be okay if I wanted to go take a shower.

My Bible Study group of Thursday tried to encourage me.  But the lady who pulled teh clipped article from her Bible that described the stay-at-home mom in statistical terms - most likely of all profesions to be hospitalized with a major illness, most likely to require antidepressant medication, and highest mortatilty rate of any profession - didn't help much.  The Bible study group is in 1 Peter and the discussion of how Peter's advice to slaves could apply to Moms didn't cheer me much either.

This morning, Livingston II was found to be expired.  We had a funeral with Michael officiating.  He said the pledge of allegiance, prayed the lunch prayer, (Thanks you Lord jesus for this food), and then buried the hamster in the trash can.

Well, I hear them waking from their naps, so I'm ending this letter . . .

Medicatedly Yours - Terri

Well, my authentic self has been a sick puppy this week.  I haven't posted anything because I have literally not been able to look at the computer monitor without feeling ill.  Hopefully, the nasty bug has passed and I'll be able to enjoy Christmas with my family.  (Although there is the little fact that THEY gave me the bug to start with - so I may have to hurt them.)

Yesterday was C-Day in my home.  I rose from my sick bed like some hero in a war movie to go forth and do battle.  I braved the elements and the smell of popcorn - and yes - I saw the Lord of the Rings.  If you love the books there will be parts of this movie that you recognize.  They did a beautiful job capturing the imagery of the Shire.  The costuming is wonderful.  And the acting couldn't be better.  There wasn't a single misspoken or wrongly inflected line. 

As with all epic novels the filmakers had to make some hard choices about what to include and what to leave out.  All of us who love the books will differ in our opinion of how well they adapted the story to the screen.  I have a quarrel with them in that they spent a lot of time on fight scenes (Some of which weren't even in the book) and skipped over some crucial plot points. 

I have wanted to grow up to be an elf since I first read the books when I was 12.  Now I REALLY want to be an elf.  I know that Aragorn is supposed to be the character that makes all our (feminine) hearts throb - but I already live with a dark complicated Aragorn type.  The character that really caught my attention was the elf - Legoras.  Oh my.  Not only was he transparent in the way that Zen Buddhist aspire to become, he was the only one of the Fellowship who traipsed through the mud and muck of Middle Earth and came out looking clean.  (After years of scrubbing up after muddy little boys, this strikes me as particularly appealing.)  His graceful movements and the subtle power of his archery leave every Robin Hood you've ever seen or imagined way back in the dust.

Women tend to get short shrift in Tolkien novels - which is okay because the ones he includes are really cool.  But the film cut their small roles down to little more than walk-ons.  I especially regretted that they didn't give more time to Galadriel.  Unless you are watching very close at the beginning of the film you totally miss the fact that she wears one of the three elven rings of power.  So when Frodo offers her the One ring - her response seems a little overblown.  I think it is a powerful plot point that she must come to terms with the loss of tremendous power should Frodo succeed in his mission to destroy the One Ring.  The filmmakers turned a wonderfully complex and balanced character (and marriage) into scenery.  Just a little more exposition could have saved her from appearing arbitrary and cryptic. 

I THINK that the music was wonderful.  I'm not sure though because the theater I attended had the sound turned so loud that my ears were numb well before Enya got to sing her piece.  Certainly the score worked well in setting the right mood of exotic and familiar, small and majestic.

If you are going to see Lord of the Rings because you've heard that Tolkien was a Christian and you're going to see "good" literature as opposed to the "evil" of Harry Potter - you're going to be greatly disappointed.  Tolkien wrote honestly.  His characters (except where the film ironed them down) are not 2 dimensional charicatures.  They are real people with real feeling and failings, doubt and fears.  Sometimes you realize that the only reason they made the right choice was by accident.  Just like the characters in Harry Potter, there is a lot of internal wrestling and trying to do the right thing with realistically limited information on which to base decisions.  Life could maybe be black and white if we could all see perfectly into the thoughts, motives, past and future of ourself and those around us.  But, just like those of us in the real world, the citizens of Middle Earth (and Hogwarts) have to muddle through the best they can with their values to guide them. 

Speaking of values.  You really can't get much better than hobbits as an example of the balanced moral life.  They are simple people with a love of hearth and home.  It is their very love of these things which compels them to stand great trials and undertake heroic quests.  Not to become heroes themselves, a heroic hobbit is most definitely not admired by his friends and family.  They do these things in order to preserve the opportunities for others, friends, neighbors, and children to have the hearth and home they so value.

The Lord of the Rings is worth the price of the ticket to see it in a theater.  Go EARLY in the evening.  It's a 3 hour offering so the poor folks who line upfor the 8 o'clock show won't get out of the parking lot til almost midnight.

And as for me - if any of you get the Legoras (elf) character in your Burger King Happy Meal - I would gladly trade you some lovely homemade potholders for him.  (Okay, I'm also missing Strider from my collection and I'd give just as much to have him.) 

Sometime back, my friend did a couple of blogs about the difficulty of striking a balance between our personal fulfillment and our social needs.  She challenged me to write a blog to enlighten all.  Well, to prove that I have NO sense of humor, I've taken that request seriously.  It has been fermenting for several weeks now.  Sometime during the past few days, thoughts about coming New Years resolutions sloshed over into the beer of existential authentication and here's the result...

My authentic self

I eat when I am hungry

Cry when I am sad

Laugh when I am happy

And speak when I have cause for anger.

I dance with my children

Play with my lover

Spend quiet times with myself

And live deliberate moments with my friends.

I open the door of my home and my heart

I ask the foolish questions

I create comfort with my hands

And I know that my purse is empty.

I read, write and sing

I work in the sun

I listen to my children

And I breathe in the Spirit of God.

 

Have I found balance?  For every authentic moment I live, there is a moment of doubt, impatience, manipulation, irritation, greed, laziness, or neglect.  That's not the kind of balance I'm seeking, but it seems to be the kind I can find. 

My Resolution:

I am resolved in the coming year to live in the authentic Way.  I release myself from the expectation that I will be able to make anyone "happy."  I resolve to live free of the pursuit of happiness in favor of the joy I possess.   

I think that's a big enough resolution to cover most of the next year.

I've had a new and unexpected experience this weekend.  I've been "outed."   My dear sister decided to risk estrangement and harsh words to confront me with my addictions.  I've wrestled with whether or not it would be appropriate to show my appreciation for her selfless act by returning the favor. . . nah.  I'm taking the high road.  Stick and stones may break my bones - but as long as they don't get in my ice cream - I'm okay.

PS - For everyone who speculated as to the cause of my crying jags for the past week - I'm NOT pregnant.  I'm just exhausted from spending a month with greatly reduced sleep. That combined with general Christmas sentiment has turned me into a wide-open faucet of tearful reaction to everything. 

I'm feeling MUCH better today.  In spite of my having told everyone that wild horses couldn't drag me into a store this weekend, my hubby and I have been shopping all day.  And I'm getting EXACTLY what I wanted for Christmas.  I didn't expect it but my husband loves me (and he's tired of me sleeping in the recliner ) SO he bought me a new bed.  They only do deliveries to the back side of nowhere once a week so it won't be delivered until Wednesday.  Which will give me just enough time to shop for new sheets, a comforter, pillows, new curtains, a nice bedside lamp . . .

Well, I'm crying again this morning.  Over absolutely nothing.  I looked at the stupid Christmas tree and thought how beautiful it was and the next thing I know - my face is wet.  I don't like this - whatever - space I'm in right now.  I prefer to save my tears for really meaningful moments - like my own impending death.  Now there's a scene that I can imagine would be worthy of a shed tear.  Or my child receiving a Nobel prize for something.  Any category he wants, my standards are rather loose in that regard.  I think a tear would be appropriate.

But over the past week I've cried over the Christmas tree, the cat being cute, Christmas cards, email greetings, my husband smiling at me, and my clean countertops.  (The countertops were clean because a couple of teenagers were here watching my kids while I ran an errand.  One of the occupied the boys and the other cleaned my kitchen.)  I have NOT cried over sentimental commercials.  I'm afraid to turn on the TV.   Wouldn't that just be the lowest blow?  To cry over the manipulative sentimentalism orchestrated by Madison avenue?

My whole day isn't spent crying.  My kids keep me laughing a lot.  Yesterday, we received a package from my best friend, and they very carefully placed the presents under the tree, then dove into the packing peanuts.  There were pink packing peanuts all over the living room.  Did you know those little beggars have enough static cling to stick to walls and windows?  And they are fairly easy to clean up.  Just sweep 'em into a pile.  (The four year old couldn't resist jumping on the pile so I had to do it twice.)  Then tell the kids they are really rubies and they have to be very carefully placed in the 'bank vault.'  I even let them put on rubber gloves to "handle" the treasure.

Last night, my four year old announced what he wants to be when he grows up.  He wants to be an "ice cream man."  I love Schwan's ice cream, and not least of its attractions is the fact that a truck drives it to my house and a man brings it inside and will even put it directly into my freezer for me (if its a day that I'm not afraid something will fall out of the things when the door is opened.)

Last night my boys had a very serious conversation about the requirements of the job.  Have to be able to drive a big truck.  Have to be nice to people and smile even if they say "no thank you" that day.  Have to remember where in the truck you put the different things.  And have to learn to carry ice cream without tripping over things you can't see.  (Yes, there is a story behind that last one.)

Well, to tell the truth, I didn't really think that Tucker was our best hope for a Nobel prize anyway.  He's a little too much like Fred and George Weasley rolled into one body.  (And if you got that reference you know that I have read all four Harry Potter books.  Good thing I got to the end of book four before I got this crying spell on me!)

PS - The Pumpkin/Pear soup did have a nice flavor, but it's a thick soup, bit of a curried fruit thing.  Best served with light salad, fresh hot bread, and white wine.  (Or iced sweet chrysanthemum tea.)

Thank you for all the encouraging comments.  It sounds like we are all in need of some sleep - hmmm, maybe that's the topic of a future blog.

Prize Winning Soup

The Christmas Holiday is a wonderful time in our church calendar.  We don't just have a choir performance on Christmas Eve (at Midnight) but also craft auctions, a soup cook-off, children's plays, handbell choir performances . . . and our church takes the role of Salvation army bellringers every Saturday through the season.  Unfortunately, I was out of town and missed my opportunity to sign up for bell ringing , but I made it back in time for the really important event.

Last night was the big soup cook-off.  Each pot of soup has a little gift bag next to it.  People vote for the soup they like best with money.  All the money raised goes to a scholarship fund to pay the way for needy children to go to summer camp, so there is a noble purpose behind this competition.

Having said that, let me get to the good stuff.  My pastor Darrel, is known for coming up with odd combinations for his entry.  Yesterday morning in Bible Study, he made the brag that no one could come up with anything odder than his entry.  I couldn't let that one slide.  

I have a recipe for a soup that is served in the premier Louisville restaurant, Lilly's.  Lilly's' chef  gets featured in magazine articles and on Discovery channel shows about cooking.  And the soup that made her famous?  Pumpkin, Pear, Jalapeno soup.  Oh, yes.  If ever there was a soup that begged to be classified "odd entry" this was it.

The competition was hot and fierce.  The winning entry was "Kill a Chicken Chili" - it was tasty and deserved to win.  My littlest child "voted" for a cheesy potato soup that wound up as the second place winner.  And my oldest son "voted" for an Italian soup that SHOULD have placed in the finals considering the sheer amount of it that was consumed.  But, alas, it fell victim to the "voting" war between the odd versions.  Traditionally, you cast your dollar bills for the soup you think is best, and you cast your quarters for the soup that is "most different."  This year the "most different" element raised enough money to edge out all the rest of the competition. 

Darrel's entry was a Curry Cheese soup.  Not bad.  Very tasty in fact.  But, not quite as odd as mine.  The Pumpkin/Pear/Jalapeno soup raised $14.25.   I now have bragging rights for the next year and a new hurdle to top in my quest for continuing excellence . . .

Recipe for Lilly's Pumpkin Pear Jalapeno Soup

In large saucepan, heat 2 Tablespoons of olive oil

Saute' 1 large Bermuda oinion (chopped)

1/4 t cumin powder

3/4 t curry powder

Add: 1 large can of pumpkin (Lilly's doesn't do it with canned, but hey there is a limit to my commitment to cook like a chef)

6 cups of chicken stock

1 t salt

1/2 t pepper.  Simmer for 30 minutes.

 

In a skillet, heat 2 T of butter

Saute' 2 Anjou pears (sliced)

1 T fresh jalapeno (diced) - I learned last night that if you use canned jalapenos left over from when you HAD to have nachos at midnight, only dice TWO little rings.  A Tablespoon is too much.

Add: 1/2 c brown sugar

3/4 cup half and half or whipping cream

 

Remove from heat.  Put pears in food processor with a cup or so of the simmered pumpkin and puree.  Serve with a dollop of sour cream.

 

For a slightly sweeter soup, you can substitute Sweet Potato for the Pumpkin.  Your guess is as good as mine how much to use, but I'm thinking two medium sweet potatoes would about do it.

Under the Circumstances - - -

I should be having a great day.  I arrived back home last night after a month away helping to care for my terminally ill Grandmother.  I had a good night's sleep - the husband and kids deliberately let me sleep in this morning until WELL past my normal "gettin up" time.  We spent the day Christmas shopping, and went out to my favorite Chinese buffet for lunch.

Instead of basking in the holiday glow, I'm irritable.  I'm tired of rude pushy people who seem to think that Holiday Spirit has something to do with getting the biggest, brightest, flashiest, closest, etc and so forth.  If they have to run over me to get it, they act like they score bonus points for their effort.  I'm tired of trying to keep a running balance in my head so I know I won't overspend my Christmas budget.  (Yes - I'm shopping the discount stores this year.)  I'm tired of - you know - I think that's it.  I'm tired.

I'm going to bed now - even though it isn't my normal "goin down" time for another four hours.  Maybe tomorrow I'll be ready to sing Fa-la-la with the radio.