gingerbread starts with g

**updated with new pictures!**

Gingerbread is a long standing tradition in our family.
Gingerbread cookies, dressed in royal icing overalls and aprons...
but most especially gingerbread houses.

Somewhere in that ever-creative mind of hers, my Mom dreamed up a gingerbread house design, and went to work. She sold them at craft fairs... and by word of mouth. They were as delicious as they were beautiful. Some years there were 300... and other years many less. Some years they sold... and I remember one year when they didn't. Boxes were piled high by the door... to be donated somewhere. Thinking back, I can only imagine a fraction of the pain in her heart, as I am sure we could have used the money from the sales... or even just for the supplies. But she gave them away... and never let on her disappointment. And every fall, the Big Bertha mixer would be fired up once again... and the scent of cloves and ginger and molasses filled the house.
I do remember a summer... when the mixing started early. For just one house. My Mom entered the Good Housekeeping gingerbread house contest. It was a mansion. Two stories. A veranda with a gazebo and delicately piped railings. A Pez chimney... and royal icing fir trees. It was... beyond spectacular. And we all just knew that this house would adorn the front cover of the magazine. Somehow... we were wrong. And when the issue was delivered to our house we were astonished. The winning house may have been deserving... to their eyes, not ours... but it was the second place house that boggled our minds. It was a roughly made version of the Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe. And I knew that not even rose-colored glasses would make it appear more lovely than the mansion that my Mom had built with hope and anticipation.

Making the gingerbread houses became a family affair. When we were too little to place the candies just so, we sorted them. Buckets upon buckets of Necco Wafer "shingles" were sorted piece by piece. And we could only eat one if it was broken. We did graduate to placing the candy on the house... and that is one of my favorite memories. Mom would squirt out the royal icing and my job was to come along behind and place and space the M&M's just so. I was used to doing things quickly to please my Mom... and so I did my best to be fast and accurate. It became a racing game... which made us both laugh. And to this day is we start a task together she will say No Racing! But I can't ever seem to help myself.
As the years went on... my Gramma took over the shingle sorting job... and my sister & I helped more and more with the decorating. All sorts of jobs... snowing at the base of the house... planting gumdrop flowers and candy canes... even playing Mother Nature and snowing on the roof. Beautiful memories... every one.
Florida's humidity is too much for gingerbread houses... and the special order cookie cutter no longer punches out villages of houses. But on the morning of Christmas Eve... my Mom will make gingerbread houses with her grandkids. It won't matter where the M&M's get placed... or if the snow covers the entire roof. It won't even matter if one of the kids licks their fingers before they touch the candy. It is just a tradition... carrying on in a new sort of way. And it makes my heart smile.



It is A to Z Monday at Jen's... I wonder what she has cooked up over there.

back then & here and now

Spending a day (or two) down in the dumps has got me thinking... and when I think, I am bound to learn something... mostly about myself. And I realize how much of the way-back-then affects my here-and-now. Sometimes it makes sense... and sometimes it doesn't. But I am learning, just the same.
I have never been particularly self-assured. At some point in my life, my shyness shifted to a great sense of self-doubt. No matter that my Mother assured me of my beauty and my gifts... when your peers decide that your worth is based upon their own ideas, no amount of motherly love can negate it. If I am to pinpoint the moment my childhood innocence was shattered, it would bring me back to the four-square court in elementary school. A game I was not good at, but at least I kept trying. It was finally my turn... and I recall feeling relief that a very good friend was choosing the next category. I whispered to her please don't pick songs because while I did listen to a radio, I didn't know any song titles beyond Row, Row, Row Your Boat. I don't think I will ever forget the look in her eye... as she purposely looked at me and announced Song Titles. No repeats. Devastated? You bet.
Just a year or so later, we moved. And of course... I was the new girl. And all that it implies. The trying and the teasing and the friendlessness... the longing for a peace. Eventually I did find that... and quickly came to know that having just a few true friends held more value than a crowd. And those people... miles away... I still count as friends. And their friendship is beauty to my heart.
These days... I am still growing. My shyness does not last quite as long, and once you get to know me... you know all of me. But I still know the real value of a few people who you can really count on. And I suppose... that is why it hurts so much to be hurt. One small disappointment from a true friend is more painful than a slight from an acquaintance. And while it haunts my heart... I am eager to climb out up over the dark wall. And I am getting there.
Where there once was a dark wall of steel erected around my heart, the wall I am building today is one of lattice. Open to let the sun shine in... and out. Woven with vine... that is all Jesus. He covers my sorrow with His outstretched arms and leaves hope. Even now... at almost 38... I am still growing and learning and building. I am not standing still. And that is something that I am thankful for.

“Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing.
John 15:5


Tuesdays are about the messy, the lovely and the unexpected. The messy? That is me. The lovely? Jesus. And as for the unexpected... I guess it could be the lesson. Or the growth itself. Unwrap a Tuesday with me... with Emily. And all the rest of the Tuesday gals.

happy halloween, part 1

It has been a crazy week. Costume making (and finishing!), snake charming, trunk of treating... and pumpking carving. We did manage to "carve" out a little time for the pumkin carving. Only Laura didn't want to do hers. But that was okay... because it took less time! (and her pumpkin will be pretty a little longer!) Camden... he loves the pumpkin carving. He loves the thinking, the slicing and the removal of the guts. Yes... he loves it all.

And while I was making that first slice, and the knife went in easily, he said Oh, this is much better than that white pumpkin!
Halloween 2007

And he was absolutely right! The white pumkin was cool and quirky, just like my son. And he was thrilled to have found something so unusual at the pumpkin patch. Until we started to carve it (20 minutes before trick-or-treat!) We could barely get the knife in. It wa all I could do just to get the top cut out. Turns out, it is a gourd? And not quite right for jack-o-lanterning. Unless you have the strength of Paul Bunyan (I don't.) My heart was broken for that little guy who had taken the time to draw our his jack-o-lantern vision. His little eyes looked so sad... and if I had had the time, I would have run right down to Publix and found him an orange pumpkin. But he was such a good sport... he told me we could get a new pumpkin the day after, and carve it then. I agreed (he was heartbroken! You would have said yes, too!) and then...

he totally forgot about it.

Yay!

imaginary friends

Her name was Josie. To me, she was silly and no more than a game. But to my sister... she was a playmate and a confidante. Though I didn't even know who Josie and the Pussycats were, I just knew that was where this Josie came from. But I was wrong... she was just Josie. Tina's Josie. She rode in the car with us. She played dolls with us. She was always there... right beside my sister. I don't think she lived with us for very long, but while she did, she was as real to Tina as I was...

Imaginary friends. As a little girl, I never had one. And while I may have been a smidgen jealous of this friend who resided in my sister's heart, I knew that she had room for me, too. Before long, imaginary friends were a thing of the past, and learning what it meant to be a real friend became the highlight of my week. Making plans for our Thursday half-a-day, or heading out for a Brownie meeting... riding bikes around the neighborhood and through the woods. I began to really know what it was to be a friend... to cultivate relationships and treat others the way I would want to be treated. And real friends... they don't fade from your heart.

Last week I was lonely and disconnected... and I realized a Tuesday gift on a Friday. That my blogging friends are not imaginary... but real. I might not recognize their face if I passed them in an aisle in Target, but surely I would recognize their heart. My mouse skitters around their e-mailed comments or follow up notes... so as to save them for just a bit longer. Because those words... they erase the imaginary part of our friendship. Those words are tangible, and they make our friendship real...and they inspire me to know that my words might matter. Those words... they are gifts... from their hearts to mine... and back again... like a footprint on my soul.

I was so sad to miss Tuesday last week... because Tuesdays just aren't the same without my very real blogging friends... and the chance to unwrap the day with Emily....

Kelli is having trouble getting her link to work at Chatting at the Sky... but her post is too sweet to miss: Kelli's Tuesdays Unwrapped post

a tiny gift

I don't know if she suddenly released her grasp from the tangled carpet fringe while I was vacuuming, or if it had just taken years for her to make her way down through the inner workings of the la-z-boy chair... but regardless of the how, there she tumbled... at my feet. To another, she might appear to be just a bit of plastic, her expression worn off with time, but to me, a mother... this little Polly is so much more. She is a glimpse back... to laughter and little clam shell cases. She brings me back... to stretched out days of playing, with the sun streaming through the windows. She reminds me... of that little blond wisp of a girl with a smile as bright as the sun. She is... a gift to this heart... a tiny piece of yesterday I thought was long forgotten.

Unwrapping this tiny Tuesday... at Chatting at the Sky.

the little things...

My calendar tells me that Autumn begins today. The air tells me another story... but I will be patient. My calendar also tells me that the end of my secret keeping is just hours away (come back tomorrow if the curiosity is killing you as much as the anticipation is killing me!) But while I sit and wait... there are a few little things that keep popping into my head... and making me smile.

...my Friday night spot up in the bleachers... watching my girl march her heart out. A surprise visit from friends just added to the fun of the already friend-filled evening. Gosh... I love marching band, and all that comes with it.

...a little girl alternating between riding her rip-stick and hanging out in the stands with her dad while they watch her brother play football. How I wish their Mom was siting there... right beside them. But just seeing Abby smile makes my heart smile. And knowing that Jacob has found his passion with football gives my soul a little contentment. Lisa would be thrilled.

...my son- who has grown three inches since the end of July. Yes... three. No wonder he needs new clothes.

...a man baking pumpkin bread in my kitchen. What is not to smile about?!

...friendships. Old. New. Renewed.

...the way my nice-as-pie smile eventually turned the Verizon lady's attitude around to my advantage.

It was only a sunny smile, and it cost little in the giving. But like morning light, it scattered the night, and it made the day worth living. -anonymous

Something else that makes me smile? Unwrapping a Tuesday at Chatting at the Sky. Well, not just Tuesdays...

pelican starts with p

These pictures are courtesy of my son... the CAMera Guy. He took them a few years ago with his Gramma... and I love them. Of course, I do love pelicans anyway. They are part of my first Florida experience... and when Florida comes to mind I automatically think pelicans and palm trees. I never thought that I would actually live here though... and that those pelicans and palm trees would be a part of my everyday life. Yes, I am a lucky girl.

I fell in love with pelicans on the pier in St. Petersburg. The was this ramshackle bait shop... selling bait, of course, but also trying to make the most of his hungry pelican situation by selling fish as "Pelican Food" and offering the opportunity to feed the pelicans. We did buy a little bag of fish... and those hungry birds flocked to our feet... beaks open and ready for their snack. I don't think I had the guts to touch one of those fish, but my parents fed the pelicans and we laughed outrageously at the pelican who stole the plastic bag that had once contained the fish. (Suz, I'm sure he was just going to recycle that baggie... no hate mail, please!)

Last summer on the beach we watched them fly so close to the water that their wings would just skim the surface... or we'd laugh as they spotted a fish in the depths of the ocean and dive straight down. Bombers! Cam would yell... and he dubbed it the the summer of peace, love and pelicans.

Pelican starts with P... and they make me happy.

I was so sorry to miss a couple more weeks of Jen's Z to A game... hopefully I am right back on track. I'm headed there now... to see what other things start with P!

remembering

Everyone has a story to tell... a remembrance of that sorrow-filled day. We remember where we were and what we were doing... and it is as vivid to us today as it was eight years ago. That day stopped life in its tracks... and the joyful memories of the days just prior were all but forgotten. Leafing through my album... I saw the smiles. My daughter had finally learned to ride her two-wheeler... both Laura & Camden had bright smiling faces as they headed back to school... and we celebrated a dear friend's birthday, with smiles and laughter and the biggest piece of red velvet cake I had ever seen. But all of those things... those beautiful, life-filled memories, were forgotten in a single day. If I didn't have the photographs, I might not have recalled these moments at all.
But forgetting doesn't seem quite so important as remembering. And in the days after those towers came crashing to the ground, and airplanes left gaping holes in the Pentagon and a wide open field... we began to remember. We began to remember what we stood for... and who we stood before. Neighbors dug through their garages, remembering that they had folded up Old Glory... and they unfurled her and let her fly. Friends remembered who to place their hope in... and they were drawn to church and held hands as they prayed. Day after day, we saw those towers crumble... and day after day, we held out our hands to give strength to another.
I needed those hands to hold. I needed to see America joining together, once again, with a love for God & Country that seemed to have been forgotten. It gave my heart a sense of peace. As a camera-toting-kind-of-girl, I began snapping pictures... so that I would always remember this sense of kindness... this unity brought on by terror. My favorite thing was taking pictures of the signs around town... most of them a quick shot while I was sitting at a stop light, or pulling into a parking lot. I wanted to remember. I wanted to remember that Walgreens proudly proclaimed In God We Trust, United We Stand! and that the movie theater wanted all to know that Our Thoughts And Prayers Are With New York And Washington DC. God Bless America! USA is #1. I wanted to remember that my corner gas station wanted me to Stand Up For The Red White & Blue and that the people at the local rib joint believed that the Land of the Brave Means To Live Without Fear. As citizens of this great country... we stood by our flags poles... and clung to the cross. I remember... feeling proud of my country... because instead of hiding under the covers, we dusted off our American Spirit and displayed it boldly.
And it is that... that I never want to forget.

Terrorist attacks can shake the foundations of our biggest buildings, but they cannot touch the foundation of America. These acts shatter steel, but they cannot dent the steel of the American resolve.
-President George W. Bush, September 11, 2001

personalized

Growing up, one of my favorite stores was Paperama. There you could find those glamorous tissue paper disco balls in every pastel color, bridal shower umbrellas that rained paper rose petals... along with every other paper good to make your party complete. They also had... personalized pencils. I would spin that rack 'round and around... searching for my name. More often than not... I would walk away frustrated and move along to the next spinner. Once in a great while though, my name did indeed appear among the others... and when that happened, my face could hardly contain my smile. I didn't need to have the item... just knowing my name had appeared was somehow enough.

So why... did I choose an unusual name for my sweet son? Truthfully, there have been moments when I have regretted my choice. I do recall thinking about this when we were choosing names... but I had fallen so completely in love with the name before he was even a breath in my body... and then there was no other choice to make. I rationalized that the name Cameron was so popular that someone was bound to start personalizing things with Cam... but I was wrong. Maybe, if Laura's name wasn't stamped across pencils and rulers and... well, stamps, then I might not feel so badly. And while life is not necessarily fair... I know that in this instance, I had a hand in the unfairness. My guilt has prompted me to celebrate his name and urge him to feel more special than left out. And being the great kid he is... that line of thought has been embraced whole-heartedly. Over the years, we have made due... and gone out of our way to find opportunity- we had a sheriff's star engraved at Disney World... we have had leather bracelets stamped... and we have sent away for items to be inscribed. It might seem silly to some... but if you have ever looked for your name and been disappointed, then you just might understand.

This week... a very special friend made my son's eyes light up and his mouth squish up in an "o" before it quickly unfolded into a grin. On her trip to Maine... she dug behind all of the pink hats and found a blue one... and brought it home... for a boy whose name is almost as extraordinary as he is.

To be honest... Camden's eyes weren't the only ones to light up... although my eyes might have been the only ones moist with love.

when i was eight

It was kind of a secret... that I got to go. None of the other grandchildren were invited, or ever had been. But for some reason... they wanted to take me. And that summer, I traveled farther than I had ever traveled before. To Virginia, with my grandparents. To visit my Aunt Rose & Uncle Bill. It was a privilege to go... a huge one, and I knew it. I was the good girl. The quiet one. The one who would not think to speak up and make a fuss. Maybe that was the reason they took me...

I have such vivid memories of this trip...
staying at the Holiday Inn along the way
singing hymns in the backseat with my Golden Books Hymnal
marveling that a tunnel could run beneath the harbor
discovering the little cedar gifts in the rest stops along the way
drinking milk with ice cubes
the little girl next door having to go to the hospital in the middle of the night
finding oysters along the Chesapeake with Aunt Rose
the little captain's bed that I slept in
...and going to Busch Gardens in Williamsburg with Uncle Bill.

It felt like we were there all of ten minutes, but in retrospect, it had to have been at least a little bit longer. I recall the bright sun and the bustle of people moving through a sea of those giant tissue paper flowers. My Uncle really wanted to take me on the roller coaster, but Aunt Rose said no. I was treated to a real souvenir... a navy & light blue hat that said The Old Country, and I saw the Clydesdale horses for the first time... probably because they were near the beer tent and that was where my Grandpa was sitting, waiting for us to go. And I like to think... that I caught a glimpse of my husband.

Okay, it is probably not true. But I do so love that old episode of Mad About You when Jamie & Paul run into each other as kids in the museum on a school field trip. And Eric could have been there... at Busch Gardens... in Virginia. He was actually there that same summer. (And I can't imagine that his Dad would have missed the beer tent.) So maybe... or maybe not. Sure is fun to dream though...

tree starts with t

Banyan trees make me smile. I remember the first one I ever saw... in St. Pete while I was on vacation, visiting my Grandparents. It was a marvelous tree... wider around than I had ever seen... with its roots stretching and reaching back into the soil. At the time, I thought it was so extraordinary that perhaps it was the only one of its kind... but now I know better. Many of the Naples streets leading to the beaches are lined with them... and to me, they are more magestic than a row of waving palms. So steeped in history and memories, if you were sitting quietly, you just might hear them whispering their stories in the breeze.


Saturday was a geo-caching adventure day... and both of my kids ended up climbing high in search of treasure. I stood down below, in the shade of these beauties... watched the smiles burst forth... and snapped away.

Working my way from Z to A with Jen @ Unglazed.
(So sorry I missed "U" Can "U" believe it? But I have a good excuse... it is even a "U" word... urology!)

love and life

On this day, seventeen years ago... I awoke with anticipation of a fairy tale day, and no less than a thousand dreams in my heart. Dreams of all of the tomorrows in my life, and what they might bring... growing old with my sweetheart. I was a girl headed towards her wedding day with beautifully tinted rose-colored glasses perched on her nose... seeing the bountiful celebrations that life would surely unfold. But what I didn't see was all of the life that would happen between the celebrations...

The swollen ankles and high blood pressure that my pregnancies would bring... and the way he would seemingly hold our life together doing dishes, serving dinner and washing clothes on top of his work hours when the doctor ordered bed rest. (Seems he may have set a pace for himself as he has continued lending his loving hands to those tasks still today.)

The moments of great sorrow... eyes, loss, health. The moments that would cause pain to our hearts and bring us to our knees. In prayer. Together.

The afternoons when the stress of life would wrapped itself around my heart and an easy breath would be a luxury... and the arms that could somehow ease the anxieties just by pulling me in and holding me close to his beating heart.

Nights when his methods would made me chuckle, as he, with the kids, would be sprawled across the couch watching another episode of Cops, learning what getting into trouble really was. (But perhaps there is no more vivid way to share the real consequences of bad behavior than to share the examples in living color.)

The screeches of laughter that would bounce off the walls that we would call home... as yet another penguin or kitty cat was taken hostage at bedtime. And the way the serene images of what bedtime should be would turn into mayhem.

If that girl had removed her rose-colored glasses, racing across North Scituate as the sun was dawning on her big day... she might have thought about the homework... the dirty socks on the floor... the heavy hearts... the tears... the crumbs scattered across the counter... the bright faces that would someday wiggle in the pew. But she would have raced just the same. Towards life... and all that it might bring. Because the lessons life has to offer... and the beautiful mess that life can be, and is on a daily basis... those were treasures for another day. Treasures to unearth with your Love by your side, as year after year the love grows just a little deeper... into something that a little girl of just twenty could have never imagined.

wedding starts with w

In less than two weeks, Eric & I will celebrate the seventeen years that we have shared with each other since our wedding. Seventeen years. It makes me smile. It fills my heart with love... still. It was a beautiful day... but more importantly, it was the beginning of a beautiful life... and a promises of many more years to come.

Working my way from Z to A with Jen at Unglazed!