What's this junk?

I'm new to this blogging thing but it seems to me that my posts should relate to what's going on currently in my life but for me also have a connection to my mother or an insight inspired by her. I almost forgot it was Wednesday and had nothing planned but e-mail has come to my rescue. I belong to the Zonderan breakfast club and today the columnist mentioned that on her site http://www.MuffinsandMayhem.com you can create your own cookbook with stories behind the recipes. The thing is the recipe that immediately came to mind as having a great story isn't the most appetizing. It was a casserole Mom learned how to make in a cooking class at Braille Institute, Santa Ana. As I recall the taste wasn't too bad but my brother sat down at the table, looked in the bowl I'd served for him and said, "What's this junk?" It was tomato-lentil casserole and it had this strange texture and orange-ish color. Not too pretty to look at (I've always wondered if the cooking class for the blind worried about presentation) but apparently it tasted good. Paul ate 3 bowls of it and Mom made it again. Now if only I had the recipe I could put it in my personalized cookbook--along with a blindfold.

Poppin' Her Buttons

A quick post as I prepare to go off to another doctor for answers to a 20 year pain question. Oftentimes I find myself on the other side of the cornfield coin--there are things I want to tell my mother but can't now that she's gone. Those of you who've lost someone close may know what it feels like to pick up the phone only to realize it'll just keep on ringing because there's no one there to pick it up. More than likely though you'll get a wrong number because the phone company will have reassigned the number (if, as in my case your loved one was the only one living in the home.) When it comes to mama's phone numbers I think they should be retired, like great athlete's numbers, never to be used again. This week I wanted to pick up the phone and tell Mom all about Will's award at school. She would've been so proud. Whenever we had a proud moment she'd say, "If this blouse had buttons they'd pop right off." Will's journey to the podium was a long hard one, part of it prayed for by his Grandma Dodie. I don't know if Heavenly garments have buttons or if she's even watching (would you watch this polluted planet with Heaven's beauty all around?) but if they do and she is watching then I'm sure some buttons are poppin'. And I'm sure she's thanking Jesus for answered prayer.

Mom in Defiance

I'm reading a trilogy by Mary DeMuth http://marydemuth.com/ called the Defiance Texas Trilogy. This week is the blog tour for the 3rd. book, Life In Defiance. I signed up for the tour and am reading the third book for free. I only read chapter 1 when I decided to order the first 2 books and as soon as they came put book 3 down but will get back to it today. I've been wondering how my mom would react to the people in Defiance. Disgusted by some events. I can almost hear that sound she used to make. A short, low "uh" with a tone that well--if the dictionary had audio enhancement that tone would be there. But mostly I think she'd pray for the people. I can remember Mom praying from early on in my life. She prayed with me to accept Jesus. She prayed alone, behind closed doors. She didn't know I heard words I couldn't understand. Just in passing: I never lingered. What I didn't know as a child is that Mom had been blessed with a private prayer language. In her later years she began praying openly for others. I found out that if she asked if she could pray for you, you'd better bow your head because she was already on her way to the Throne Room. The first time she did this I didn't realize it. I was still telling her the rest of whatever was troubling me and she just started in--half-way to Amen before I got a clue. So Mom would've been praying for Daisy, Jed , Hixon, Hap, Oussie, Big Carl, Sissy, Emory, Muriel and even Angus. And if you want to know who I'm talking about, you'll just have to read the books. I think you'll be glad you did. Maybe you'll even find yourself praying for the people of Defiance, Texas. The characters are that real.

Not all about me

I don't know how often I heard my mom say, "There are ears in the cornfield," but when she said it around my birthday my mind would go roaming freely through the toy store. Now I'm going to go off on a tangent here because it's my blog and I can. Why should any of us deserve presents on our birthday? I did nothing more than be knit together in my mother's womb, which required no effort on my part, and exited the womb at the appointed time. Yet every year from the time I could understand the concept I expected a gift. Okay just so you know, I'm done with the tangent and getting back to the subject. I realize now what I didn't know then. Around my tenth birthday the conversations weren't always about me or something as trivial as a birthday gift. At least I hope not and I'll explain why later. I don't remember what I got for my 10th birthday because it's overshadowed by what happened 5 days later. I came home from school and my father had been put in a convalescent hospital. The pastor spoke in church recently about individual decisions having a domino effect on others. Boy was he right. That must've been a tough choice for my mom to make and that's why I said I hope not all her cornfield conversations were just about me. I hope she had someone to bear the burden of having to hospitalize her husband. I'm sure part of that burden was worrying about my brother and me. My teacher says I grew alot that year and was doing very well in school. On one hand I can't imagine my life any other way. On the other I wish mom was talking about what to get me for my birthday.