One Community: May

The words chosen by Sue for the month of May are: FIVE, MOTHER, RECIPE, AND REMEMBER. She must have some sort of other-worldly sixth sense to pull these together as they fit perfectly as I weave my story. 

My mother left the United States almost four years ago now.  She returned to her native Germany to care for, love and watch over her mother, my Oma, who is now 93 years old. I never thought too much about my mom as a whole person until I became a mother four years ago, the same summer that she left. I never gave much consideration to her as an individual with her own needs and dreams, triumphs and tragedies.  She was just "my mom".  Now I see her for who she really is and really was as I was growing up.  A woman just like me, an individual person who wears many hats.

Becoming a parent and rearing my daughter has brought back countless memories of my own childhood and given me an opportunity to remember precious moments of growing up that I'd long thought forgotten,

My mom became the matriarch of our family of five when she was just twenty-one.  She moved with my father, a Canadian air force pilot, to the middle of the cold, vast prairie lands of Canada. She didn't speak English. She knew no one.  Here she is on her wedding day with my Aunt, whom she had just met and who offered to be her maid of honor. (thank you Aunt Carol for your kindness) She brought with her a suitcase, my Oma's mouth-watering German recipes and a fierce desire to build a life.

Within her first year of marriage she became a mom and in less than two years had a second child, four years later another.  My dad was frequently away and she made it work often alone.  It wasn't always pretty but she did the best she could...
" Doing the best she could" now holds meaning for me that it didn't prior to becoming a mother myself.   I must say, my mom sure never served us Mac-n-cheese for dinner but I do.  She baked from scratch daily for our after-school treats; I don't.  Our house was spotless; mine is a mess.

Although it's an often heard phrase, there really isn't a harder job than parenting. It comes with no manual, it is non-stop, it is the most emotionally charged and physically demanding relationship anyone will ever know.  It holds with it the most incredible rewards and gut-wrenching pain.  It is the best I've ever been and the most motivated to be better.

me and my Oma, my daughter and hers - same steps 40 years apart

Today my mom often says that she'd do things differently if she could.  I'm glad she shares her insights, her perceived shortcomings, but mostly her vulnerability as a mother with me. From her I've learned that although we make mistakes in our parenting, the love that a mother has for her child is like no other. It is complete, enduring and pure.  I have no recipe to follow other than the example of my mother, the woman, the parent, my mom.  Happy Mother's Day meine susse Mutti!  Ich liebe Dich. 

 Mom at the market in Germany

Me in my turn as Mother

One Community is a monthly photo project in which participants photograph their homes and community with a theme in mind. The theme varies by month. The goal is to both showcase similarities and differences in our communities worldwide – and bring us all closer together in understanding through art.

Precious Gifts

 
Like most parents... we tell ourselves to remember all the precious moments in our children's lives; document them, take pictures, video, write it all down.  Realistically, life with kids can be super busy and exhausting.  It was easy to snap away at the infant days but now with a three year old the thought of carrying around a camera is just one more thing to haul and writing down the sweet moments at the end of the day is only given to passing out in my jeans on the bed after finally getting my little one to sleep.

Lately, though, the "sweet' barometer has been really high.  My giggling girl has been nonstop.  The other night at dinner she pointed at me authoritatively and exclaimed, "Mama! You are IN MY HEART!"  I melted.

Today driving to school she said, "Jesus loves all the little kids and Mama, Jesus loves you and me too!"  I was grateful.

Last night lying in bed waiting for her to drift off to sleep she rolled over and held my cheeks between her two tiny hands, looked me squarely in the eye and said, "Sweet dreams Mama.  I love you." I wished for those moments to last forever.  Precious gifts.  I want to remember.

One Community: November

GRATITUDE

I can't help but feel grateful as I yank, pull, and snip the last of summer's bounty.  This year's garden was an experiment of sorts, trying a variety of veggies randomly chosen just to see what would come of it.   To my surprise it burst with deep purple flowers that became the most beautiful eggplant, tangled nets of summer squash that had to be tamed with a vengeance, and a monstrous bush that certainly was no artichoke as I had been misled to believe.  I learned to like cauliflower and the little girl frolicking in the summer sun began her journey as a steward of the earth.  For that I am truly grateful. 

FUN

Fall and Fun are synonymous to me;  Pumpkin patches, huge harvests of overgrown vegetables, pony rides and tumbling in fallen leaves.  It's time to get the last vestiges of summer energy out before turning inward for the long cold winter to come.  

BLUE

The huge Colorado sky is nothing but blue.  We visited Crested Butte last week and it seems all I could see was "blue".  These crazy mountain towns seem to be splattered with color, even the rusting bikes add to the local beauty. 

HOME

I've been thinking a lot about the notion of "home" these days.  Is it place, is it possessions, is it people, is it in our soul?  What makes a place feel like a "home"?  As much as I love to travel l am definitely a nester.  I enjoy the familiarity of arriving at the end of a journey or just the day to a place that is a reflection of my values, my people, the story of my life.  These days it's bubble baths, bedtime stories, playing dress-up, water colors and the simple pleasures of rearing a child.  Bonus: I can take these with me anywhere I go. 

One Community is a monthly photo project in which participants photograph their homes and community with a theme in mind. The theme varies by month. The goal is to both showcase similarities and differences in our communities worldwide – and bring us all closer together in understanding through art.

Other One Community participants:

Sarah is a life-long Missourian who shares her home with her husband, one (soon to be 2) son(s), and an old grumpy dachshund. Like every good Midwesterner, she can (and will) talk to you at length about the weather.  Sarah blogs at www.beautyschooldropout.net

Colleen lives with her handsome hubster and two feisty felines in Portland, Oregon. She loves rain and sun (in that order), words and pictures, and chatting up the neighbors. She blogs at: www.underaredroof.com


Rebekah lives in Kilkenny, Ireland with her husband. An American by birth, she’s discovering what it means to be an expat on the Emerald Isle. She blogs at Honeysuckle Life.


Kara is a cheerful nerd living in downtown Phoenix, AZ with her law-studying husband and an anxious pound puppy. She works full time in the mental health field but in her off time enjoys sunshine, great food and the occasional craft beer.  www.sunshing-cupcakes.com

Stephanie from Wyoming.  Her blog is www.nowicanseethemoon.com 

Kelli lives in Phoenix with her dog, Willie Nelson Mandela. She is a novelist, public health advocate and United Methodist. She blogs at: www.africankelli.com

Until the Last Cricket is Quiet

Since leaving the desert of the southwest, I've come to love summer as my favorite season.  Perhaps my body knows it was meant to endure the heat,  to relish in the sun's intensity on my skin and to know that I can get by on a camel's ration of water.  Here in Colorado summer comes late and leaves early but while she's here I take it all in and appreciate the 5:00 A.M. wake up call.  As autumn draws near every day I can't get enough of:

• falling asleep to the crickets' serenade
• the "caw" of that annoying black bird just before the sun comes up
• feeling the breeze swirl above my bed as it collides  in my room from two oppositely positioned open windows
• watching my little girl pick raspberries in her birthday suit out in the garden 
• slowly walking the farmer's market saying hi to people who've been hidden in their homes all winter long
• the smell and feel of fresh mowed grass
• flip flops!
• no makeup and wet hair
• the roar of a mountain creek crashing wildly down a mountain side
• leafy green Aspens
• music in the park 
• kids playing in the sand
• dogs swimming after ducks they never catch
• my dinner growing outside
• sharing my harvest
• sipping wine with good friends watching our children play
• sleeping under the stars

Even though summer isn't over, school has started and the carefree pace seems to have left with the school bell.  I'll keep my list handy until the last cricket is quiet.

Share, Share Alike

I'm not sure why there are those recipes that we all have, that people love, but we keep them to ourselves and can't seem to share.  I'm over that.  Today I offer up my mom's most beloved Peach Cobbler recipe that I've converted into a fantastic Gluten Free version.  This cobbler, along with pizza of any variety, was one of the things in life I lamented when learning I had to go gluten free a few years ago. I've been determined to create an equally yummy version and here it is my fellow GF tribe.  I hope you enjoy it and by all means pass it on.

Peach Filling

1 1/2 TB corn starch

1/4  Cup brown sugar

1/2 Cup cold water

4 Cups sliced peaches (fresh certainly preferred)

1 TB butter

1 TB lemon juice

Mix first 3 ingredients above, add peaches and cook on medium heat

Stir until thickened, add butter, lemon juice

Pour into 8 inch round baking dish

Add Biscuit Topper

Biscuit Topper

Sift together,

3/4 Cup "Pamela's GF baking & pancake mix"

1/4 Cup "Bob's Red Mill" Almond meal/flour

1 TB sugar (turbinado if possible)

1 1/2 tspn baking powder

1 1/2 tspn salt

Cut in 1/4 Cup cold butter until course crumbles

mix 1/4 Cup milk & 1 slightly beaten egg

Add wet ingredients all at once to dry ingredients, stirring just to moisten

Drop by spoonful on HOT fruit, sprinkle with sugar

Bake 400 degrees for 20 minutes - watch that biscuit doesn't brown - gold is best

* If you don't care for almond simply delete and use 1 Cup GF flour - also, if you're not GF simply use regular baking flour and keep the rest of the recipe the same - EASY

Spring Speaks to my Soul

For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

Algernon Charles Swinburne  (1837–1909)
Atalanta in Calydon (1865)

I've never been one for poetry much but shivering under blankets one night in the deep of January, dreaming of warmer days to come, I found this one.  It resonated with me in it's brief simplicity. It's simple truth. 

This winter has been the longest and coldest for so many reasons.  I have longed for spring in such a visceral way it's hard to explain.  I've laid in bed on cold winter nights picturing the green spring growth peaking up through the soil, the blossoms busting through their tight woven combs on the tips of the trees.  

On the occasional warm day we've had recently, I've gotten out in my yard, gloves on, and feverishly pruned-pulled-yanked and hacked at the dead, dried leaves as if vestiges of a past life that I just needed to be rid of.  The incredible satisfaction at looking deep at the root of each plant to find tiny green life waking and reaching for the sun has been so healing.  It's true, time does heal.  I feel it and it looks and smells like Spring. 

". . . And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins."

Law of Diminishing Returns

Substituting 3 for  and expanding yields:

I walked into my favorite coffee house this morning and was greeted with the sounds of Hawaiian music and Nathan's friendly smile asking me if I wanted my regular 2 shot Americano in the 16 oz cup.  I say, "yea but can you put it in a 12 oz cup?  I need my coffee stronger these days."  He says, "ah the law of diminishing returns".

 As defined by the oh-so convenient wikipedia: 

The law of diminishing returns states that in all productive processes, adding more of one factor of production, while holding all others constant ("ceteris paribus"), will at some point yield lower per-unit returns.^[1] 

So this starts me thinking about the concept and how relevant it is to much more than economics. How many times have we found ourselves in relationships at home, at work, with friends where we see ourselves constantly putting more and more into it when we feel the return becoming less and less. Like the lab rat in the cage pushing the button frantically as the reward becomes less frequent and unpredictable.  

We might find ourselves going above and beyond at work, putting in longer hours only to find that then this is what becomes expected of us as our new baseline.  In relationships, we may find ourselves taking extra care to show the other person that they're special, that they are loved and appreciated only to find that over time those things are taken for granted. 

So given this unfortunate Law of Diminishing Returns should we stop "adding more factors of production"?  I don't think so.  The important variable in all of this is finding yourself in a relationship, whether personal or professional,  where the other cog in the wheel (your partner, your boss, your co-workers, your friends) is of like mind, cognoscente of this concept and careful not to take things for granted.  The other key to not becoming a victim of Diminishing Returns is to "shake it up".  Add random variables to the equation to keep things fresh and interesting, to spark production, to keep love and happiness thriving. 

As for my Americano?  Perhaps tomorrow I'll order a latte.