The music moved me...I swayed.

A few years ago...quite a few years ago, now that I think about it, I served as the youth leader at the church we attended.  In some way we were introduced to Corinthian Baptist Church in Des Moines, Iowa, and were invited up to a church service during Black History Month...which is February, every year.  The congregation was predominately black.  We were the minority.

We were so excited to go and experience not only a different denomination, but a cultural difference, too.  We.were.blown.away!  The music...the music was tremendous.  Joyful.  We had not heard anything like it.  We had not ever seen anything like it.  They clapped. They swayed. They raised their hands in worship.  It was amazing.  

I've often thought of that church and how they really, really worshiped and did not have any inhibitions in doing so.  They were happy, proud, beautifully in the moment.  

Last week, my husband and I visited a new church after many years of not going to church at all.  We've missed it.  We've missed being part of a church family.  We've been participating in a weekly LIFE group at the home of friends. We were introduced to their church through these weekly group sessions.  

So, we went.  I felt at home immediately!  Greeted in the parking lot with special parking for visitors, greeted at the door, introduced to different areas of the church and handed the bulletin...all while hearing worship music wafting through the doors.  I was eager to go in.

A pretty simple layout; contemporary in design without all the typical emblems and markings of a traditional church.  On the stage was something I was not expecting to see.  Guess what it was?  A mostly black choir.  I don't know what I was expecting or if I had even given it any thought.  I was so happy!  I was so elated.  The music moved me; I felt like I was back at Corinthian Baptist Church where there was an energy and excitement and wholehearted longing to be there and worship and praise His name.  

Now, this is what is so interesting to me.  A difference between the black culture and the white culture that I am accustomed to.  What I know. One not better than the other...but, an observance.  Something I've noticed.  Something I wondered about then, many, many years ago and was reminded of it this past Sunday.  Black people move and express themselves without abandon.  White people seem to hold back.  Why is that?  I have to tell you...I was swaying right along with the best of them.  Back and forth, swaying to the music.  The white people that I saw, stood there, hands clenching the seat back in front of them; no movement.  No joyous abandon.  Why is that?

The music moved me...I swayed...the music moved me!

 

Lunching with my First bestie

Cousin Linda, Debbie & me/Lake Ahquabi

For as far back as I can remember, my cousin, Debbie, was in my life.  Not just as my cousin, but as my bestie!  I really can't think of too many times that an event for either of us was not shared. 

Of course, the daily ying and yang of life occurred away from each other, but, the monumental events:  Christmas, Easter, birthdays, stay overs, and even some vacations and such, included each other.

On a whim, I called and asked her to lunch yesterday, after seeing on Facebook, that she was on vacation from work.  I'm so glad I did.  Even today, our lives are intertwined and we continue to share some of the same events life has to offer. 

As little girls, we played little girl games.  We stayed over at Grandma's house together, stayed up all night playing games, giggling and in our teens, making calls to teen lines.  I witnessed her driving the mini bike into the fence and she stood up with me getting married(the 1st time).  I think we fell off Lucky, the pony together and were teased incessantly by our uncle Jack and Jerry.  I think Debbie was tormented by "bugs" and me, I screamed "icky acky"as I was placed in amongst a pasture of horse manure. 

Debbie's parents belonged to a camping group and I was often invited to go along on these camping events.  These were some of the best times of my childhood.  Teen dances...man, what a treat!  The venue would be crowded with 13, 14, 15 year olds.  Dancing 'til we couldn't dance no more...or, maybe the music stopped.  I can't really remember.  All I remember is that is was FUN!

During this same time frame, Debbie would come and stay overnight.  Time and again.  And, time and again, it seemed something strange would happen.  Ummmm, for instance, we were awakened by lights flashing and cops knocking at our door when our car was stolen, tornadoes hit, a man was found in our ditch passed.  She thought of herself as a "jinx".  It was very strange.

One Easter she spent the night with us.  We were up after the Easter Bunny made an appearance.  I can remember we were playing some game on the kitchen floor and one of us saw an Easter Egg that had been hidden.  Well, we started looking and finding and of course, eating them. 

We had our children together.  I babysat for her and her for me.  We shared the deaths of our grandparents and an aunt together.  Although our lives somewhat went their separate ways, I know my love for her never did!  I knew I'd always be there for her if she needed it and her me.  Yesterday was just one of those days.  She didn't really know it, but I'm glad it worked out.  I needed a little "cousin time."  Being one to believe that things work out the way the are supposed to, I found that, once again, the stars aligned again for me when I needed it.

After all, who else shares the same stories as you do.  The same order or understanding of events; a timeline that curves and sways in and out of life's moments together, more than a family member.  For me, it was my cousin, Debbie.  We entertained at the Polk County home with my church...we STILL can do the motions to Put Your Hand in the Hand of the Man Who Stills the Waters, Deep and Wide and others.  And, let me tell you, it's not beyond us to step into those motions and song with even a mention of those times.  Christmas Pageants...memorizing our verses.  Selling "goods" to raise money to go to church camp. 

As we hit our fifties together...one before the other, but I won't mention details, we found ourselves still in sync with each other.  Yesterday's topics:  menopause and grandchildren.  We have gracefully moved into the next phase of our lives.  It's a most interesting time for sure. 

There are many other moments, events, ups and downs.  I'll save them in my memory bank and bring them out at another time. 

For now, for as far back as I can remember, my cousin, Debbie, was in my life. Not just as my cousin, but as my bestie! I really can't think of too many times that an event for either of us was not shared...

Learning to peel...Grandma Grace style

I was peeling apple upon apple yesterday, readying them for an apple cake I was making.  As I started, knife poised just under the flesh, I was distinctly reminded of the time (in my early years of homekeeping) when I was peeling potatoes under the careful watch of my Grandma Grace.  Not knowing I wasn't doing it correctly, she quickly pointed out that I was wasting too much of the potato.  She showed me how to do it.  She'd be proud of me today.  I can peel a potato, apple, pear...whatever it may be, with the best of them.

It does take practice...this peeling.  Sliding the knife just under the flesh and peeling away the colorful top layer, leaving behind as much of the meat of the fruit or vegtable as you possibly can.  My other goal is to peel the fruit with one swell swoop.  No starts and stops.  I find that I point this same thing out to others at times, too.  I want them to be as proficient as they can be.  Not to waste anything so precious.

I think, my memories of my Grandma are most vivid and alive while I'm in the kitchen.  I can still see her in her kitchen now...21 years after she's passed.  A strong, sturdy woman.  Seems she was in her kitchen all the time.  That's where I remember her most.  It wasn't a big kitchen.  But, somehow, she managed and fed her brood of seven quite sufficiently from it.  There certainly was not a multitude of cabinets, nor counter space.  A very humble kitchen, to say the least.  A very humble home over all.  I loved it there. 

She was a great cook and a very generous lady.  She always seemed to have plenty for whomever was there.  No guest was "one too many".  Never an invitation only household...somehow, we all gathered there.  And, I do mean "we".  It may not have been the same "we" every Saturday, but there were plenty of us.  Saturday nights were hamburger night.  I can see her mixing the hamburger meat and it never failed, she always took one bite of the raw meat, spiced with salt and pepper, only.  Still  makes me gag.  I don't remember anything else being put in it.  I remember that, every single time I make a hamburger patty.  Funny what sticks with you, isn't it? 

Sundays, too, brought another set of "we's" and some of the same from the night before.  It was "just the place to be."  WE all loved it there.  And, WE all miss it terribly, even to this day. 

Right before my Grandma got really bad with her cancer, she came to spend a week with me.  I will forever treasure that time.  She seemed to have gained strength that week.  I wanted to her to show me how to make her vegatable stew, which she did.  Our cherry trees were heavy laden with fruit.  I wanted to learn how to make pie.  She happily obliged.  She rolled out the dough for the crust with every ounce of energy she could muster.  It just came from somewhere.  Maybe we both knew...if I were to learn this from her, and she to show me how, it was right then, or never.  She passed just a few weeks after I had her at my home.  It was one of my greatest accomplishments...to care for her like she had me for so many years.

She tired, but did not quit.  She sat down at my table and started working those cherries over.  De-pitting and de-stemming.  Before we knew it, we had cherry juice all over...and, I do mean all over.  I think we must have been so busy talking and cherishing that moment, we weren't really engaged in what we were doing.  It took me awhile to get that cherry juice cleaned up.  It was blissful!  I miss her every single day! 

She was a generous lady and no guest was ever "one too many".  Never a "by invitation only" household.  I learned from her.  She was my mentor.  She is my mentor...she's with me every day and I miss her!  And this folks, is the view from my front porch.

Great time with a Great Friend

It was a great time, shared with a great friend. I decided to try my hand at camping alone, my hubby has cows he needs to tend to, and my job allows me to be anywhere and conduct business. So, with a little planning, a date picked out, groceries purchased, clothes packed...I was off and pulling the rig behind me (followed by the hubby...he had to show me how to set up).

While in the midst of making my camping plans, I remembered my friend, Cindy, had purchased her own camper, so, I did what any good friend would do. I invited her to join me. So the adventure unfolds...

Steve left on Sunday morning, so that meant I had two whole days by myself, until Cindy made her way down. What to do, what to do? I had so many ideas and plans of things I wanted to get done. I didn't know where to start.

I finally decided to try my hand at watercolors. Not too bad, not too bad! It was fun and I lost myself in what I was doing. I was surprised at how enjoyable it was. Sitting at my camper table, taking in the views of the lake, I painted a landscape. Set it aside...I'd come back and tweak it later. I used my pencil to outline a rooster...what did I want it to look like? What colors would I use and how would I initiate texture into the painting? How would it all come together? My first attempt at watercolors was successful, enjoyable and something I wanted to accomplish. I'll come back to it again, and again, and again...I liked it just that much!

It was so fun, not a care in the world! No laundry to worry about, didn't have to concern myself with a meal for anyone. I was one relaxed gal. I pondered, I cleaned, I rearranged the camper (it needed to be done). My afternoon was filled with whatever tripped my trigger...which really wasn't much, but, it was nice! It was refreshing! it was liberating!

The adventure began when Cindy rolled in. I giggle now, just thinking about it. WHAT IS IT THAT IS SOOOOO DARN DIFFICULT TO BACK A CAMPER...ANYTHING FOR THAT MATTER, INTO A NICE BIG PARKING SPOT? We both new what had to be done, we both new how to do it. But, then we noticed a real nice, older gentleman watching us. We, being the big hearted gals that we are, thought that maybe he had some testosterone induced need to come and help these 'damsels in distress'. So, we just played up to it and sure enough...he came over, beat on his chest and directed Cindy into her spot. We played our cards right on that one!

Of course, I'm just being silly. We were very appreciative of his help. And, as I mentioned, we knew what to do...JUST COULDN'T DO IT!!! This sweet man insisted upon helping us set up the camper. "Verle" was his name. Pretty soon, we waved his sweet wife over to join us at the picnic table. Shirley came right over and we had an extremely nice visit. Verle and Shirl went back to their camper and Cindy and I had supper in mine. Needless to say, it had to be the hottest day of the year so far, and we were hot, sweaty and exhausted.

Our two day adventure took us to Van Buren county one day and into Missouri the next. Yes, I did say Missouri. Jamesport, Missouri to be exact. A little shopping along the way, a stop here and there and lots and lots of talking and laughing.

Once again, I found myself basking in the joy of taking the road less travelled. My cohort in crime likes to do that, too. And so, there we were, driving along the back roads of southern Iowa and Northern Missouri. Gentle curves, rolling blacktop, grassy hillsides dotted with cows and the occasional sheep. A great time, shared with a great friend...taking the road less travelled and enjoying the adventure called life.