BLESSINGS ON THE VINE

Summer time in the Bible belt!  Southerners are well acquainted with the expression “hot as hell” and the influence of the rising mercury can certainly provide a motivating factor to heed the preacher’s salvation message.  Of course God is ever merciful, and He provides a silver-lining to this insufferable heat while we are here on earth and it is - tomatoes!

Gloriously, these plumb red beauties are available all summer long.  I think it may have been this little jewel that was Adam and Eve’s undoing in the Garden of Eden because nothing is more tempting to eat from the garden than a warm tomato right off the vine.  That first bite is so succulent that it squirts juice all over the face and the only way the dribble is thwarted from becoming a shirt stain is to wipe it away with the back of the hand.  So messy and so worth it!

Fortunately for me, my father-in-law has a garden in his backyard and he brings me produce on a regular basis.  My father-in-law is an east Texas farmer now cultivating a small plot of land in town.  I married his only son and he has always been nice to me, but in the summer he is absolutely charming when he unpacks a plastic grocery bag of his homegrown vegetables.  He begins by placing the onions, garlic, potatoes, and peppers on the kitchen counter.  Anticipating my zeal, he retrieves the tomatoes from the bag.  I exclaim over the tomatoes like they are newborn babies, and he beams with delight.  He knows that this simple interchange has made his favorite daughter-in-law very happy.

People don’t farm much anymore.  We are city people and dependent on the big trucks to bring in the harvest from the fields to our local grocery stores.  The only way we can tell which fruits and vegetables are in season is to be aware of the prices rising and falling at the local markets.

I am filled with nostalgia when remembering the benefits that rural living offered when I was a child.  We did things like shaking the milk carton to mix in the cream or spent the morning gathering pears off the ground in the backyard before the birds could get to them.  And there is nothing finer than the simple pleasure of beginning the day greeted by the bright yellow yolk of a fresh egg and I have always found the earthy smell of a tilled field invigorating.

My husband is quick to remind me that I have a romantic view of farming and I must admit my storybook idea is rather glamorous compared to the harsh reality of country living.  Truly, I am amazed anyone can get crops out of the hard ground in Texas although; I like knowing there is a humble expectation of God's provision when farmers plow their fields and are fed from the land year after year.

Today is a scorcher!  Thankfully, I have plenty of tomatoes sitting on the windowsill ready to be sliced and served with some mozzarella, olive oil and basil.   I look forward to sharing the blessings of the vine with my son and BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law) when they come for dinner – tomatoes and Campbells, now that’s a good thing!

PARTY LINE

“The phone call is for you” said my husband as he opened the bathroom door.   I acknowledged by asking him to tell my mother I would call her back.  Of course she heard our entire conversation because he had the telephone in his hand when entering the room.  I can remember the days before portable phones when a person could be in the powder room and not announce your business, but alas, those moments of privacy in the privy seem no longer possible,

One such embarrassing encounter began in a public restroom when I was greeted by the lady in the stall next to me with a cheerful hello and then asked how I was feeling.  Well, having three sisters, a BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law) and I work in a building full of women – all this supports the assumption that I am accustom to having conversations separated by a stall wall.  So I responded to her query by telling her I was fine.  The woman answered with “good” and inquired next with “what are you doing”.

Now that question caused me to pause because I was pretty sure we were both doing the same thing yet, ever the one to avoid the appearance of being rude, I continued the chat by responding with a pleasant “not much” and waited for her to continue the conversation she had initiated. She continued all right, by letting me know she was not talking to me and that she was on the phone!

Modern conveniences now help us be available all the time to everyone. Obviously, there are a few adjustments I can make to accommodate the telephone’s twenty-first century’s take on the “party line”. First, I should always lock the bathroom door even when just the two of us are at home and second, when there is a wall – don’t talk to strangers!

STARTER HOME

The newlyweds are thinking about purchasing a house.  Third floor apartment living is fine for them, but the lure of being a homeowner has taken hold so now they are in the market for a suitable home that accommodates their busy lifestyle and budget.

My husband and I are thinking about moving too.  Yes, we do a lot of thinking without doing anything about it.  We just can’t get motivated enough to tackle packing our twenty-six years of living in the same house into marked containers.  It all is so overwhelming when we look at the accumulation of “life” in the closets, shelves and garage to imagine all this stuff could actually live with us somewhere else.

However, there is another side to the story.  Although we resided in three locations before this house, this is the place in which our son grew up and calls home.  For over two decades we have had the same neighbors on the north, south, east, and west sides and my sister lives down the street.  It’s a bit of a pull to break away from this much history.

Passing the quarter century mark has made me nostalgic about our little piece of property.  I am looking at our home in a different way as I examine our living space by asking myself what makes a house a home and how do we represent who we are as a family to other people.  What will be remembered?  

When I was a little girl my Aunt Wanda had a lovely guest bedroom painted a subtle shade of lilac.  The room was filled with antique white furniture and the bedspread had tiny purple flowers on it.  It was my favorite room in her beautiful house and I loved to sleep in that room! She actually called it “Charlotte’s room” making a twelve year old feel secure in an insecure world.  She continued sheltering me with gentle kindness and understanding well into my adult years.  Wanda understood life was complicated and with southern hospitality her home became a respite to visitors as she shared Scripture, sang a hymn and ate a meal together. 

Aunt Wanda has a new address now and I can’t visit her any more.   She was born April 26^th and died eighty-one years later on April 26^th.  She lives in Heaven in one of the many mansions Jesus has prepared for those who want to live with Him for eternity.  It’s a nice “starter home” and she didn’t have to pack anything – because it is already perfectly equipped for a lifetime of living!

PEARL OF GREAT PRICE

We saw an Elvis impersonator on Tuesday and attended a symphony on Friday.  It seemed like a fitting way to celebrate the week of our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary since he’s a little bit rock and roll and I’m a little bit classical.  The two different musical venues represent our Mars-Venus relationship and being a good sport is part of the deal when it comes to marital bliss.  I sang along with the “King” on Elvis night and my husband did not yawn during the quiet parts at the symphony.  

Now gifts are also important in our annual celebrations.  I keep up with the traditional wedding anniversary gift ideas (promoted by greeting card companies but still fun) because I like the way each anniversary is commemorated with something special that symbolizes how many years a couple has been married.  When we celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary five years ago I told my husband it was a rather sad anniversary because now I knew how to measure thirty years, and the years are passing so quickly!  To cheer me, my wonderful husband gave me a beautiful strand of pearls to remember our special occasion. 

You probably know that a pearl comes from an oyster dealing with aggravation.  The oyster's natural reaction is to cover up the irritant with layers of the same nacre substance that is used to create the shell. This process eventually forms a masterpiece.  I think the story of the pearl’s development is a keen comparison to marriage since just as the oyster’s creative toil deals with an irritant and produces something beautiful and precious, so it seems that a couple must also suffer the angst of making a “pearl of great price” out of their marital irritations.  I shared this analogy with my husband and he just slowly shook his head without identifying which of us is the oyster and which one of us is the irritant.

My friend told me she read in a marriage counseling book that successful marriages are made by two people that like each other slightly better than they dislike each other.  Okay, that makes sense.  And speaking about likes and dislikes, my husband found out Elvis is returning for another encore performance!  He thinks it would be fun to go to the concert with the newlyweds.  Yes, let’s introduce our BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law) to another Campbell ritual that includes romantic phrases like “she ain’t nothing but a hound dog” sung by a middle-age man with long sideburns and a hairy chest – it’s a family memory that is sure to become a classic!  

ROSE COLORED GLASSES

The rose bush bloomed in spring.  Rejuvenated, despite my hatchet job cutting the foliage to the root and disturbing its winter hibernation, the roses came back – gloriously!  I was discouraged in December after my amateurish pruning of the branches resulted in a plant that looked like sticks poking out of the soil, but God revived the plant and restored my soul with this lovely visual reminder that spring is a wonderful, revitalized time of the year when all nature is replenished to rightfully glorify the earth’s Designer.

 With renewed inspiration that grace supersedes inexperience and even stupidity, I visit the local garden center in pursuit of a transplanting adventure.  I love the sensory experience of a nursery – the colorful blooms swirling together in baskets, the texture of the foliage, the chirping of the visiting birds, and the heavenly aroma of the intoxicating fragrances of the plants.  I’m lured into thinking that I am a gardener and join the conversations of other shoppers comparing the growing seasons of different species, discussions about shade/sun tolerance, and I ask them which plants would tolerate drought because outside vegetation doesn’t get much attention from me in the dog days of summer.

 I hurry home from the garden center in anticipation of beautifying our yard with my carefully selected purchases.  Arriving home I survey our property and of course, the weeds have returned from their slumber as well.  They are everywhere!  Weeds are blooming in the yard and in the flower beds.  So tenacious is a weed that it will even break through concrete to prove its vitality.

 I begin weeding, and weeding, and weeding the flower beds.  My back aches, I’m hot, and it’s really slow going pulling handful after handful of greenery out of the ground by the roots.  Weeds are deceptive – some are big with shallow roots and others are small with very deep roots.  And a small thorny one must be hanging on in China because I never could dig down far enough to get it out.  All this work made me a bit contemplative and I remembered a verse I learned in my childhood from a book written by Dale Evans:

Dear Lord, my life is a garden

Each deed is a tiny seed

Help me to grow lovely flowers

Not naughty, ugly weeds

 It is funny how being outside brings things inside my head.   In the solitude of the garden I find myself thinking about my life and taking time to feel the gentle pull of the Lord “weeding” my heart.  There it is – gardening is not for wimps!  It is labor and as we all know, you get what you work for in life.  I am joining the ranks of those that appreciate the sweat of the brow and farsighted enough to prepare for the sacrifices involved in clearing, planting, watering and waiting. 

 Maybe my son and BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law) will notice the blooming roses and pretty flower beds when they come to our house.  One day I plan to give my BDIL cuttings from the iris plants from our yard to plant in their home garden.  In Greek the word iris means “rainbow” because of all the showy color.  I have had the beautiful flowers in my yard for over thirty years and I want to share the joy with my BDIL by passing to her a living legacy as part of the family inheritance.  I added some new flowers to my garden and I am especially proud of the calla lilies I planted this year.  Now if only the calla lilies can survive my lack of attention in August – she can have some of those cuttings too!  

CLOUD NINE

I recently developed my Christmas pictures which included photos of my husband’s first flying lesson. The lesson was a gift from our thoughtful son and BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law).   My son told us that he had read an article that explained it’s the “experience” associated with a gift that makes the present extra special.  Using this idea he thought beyond the wrapping paper and in a gesture of kindness, he gave his Dad something every father values – the gift of spending time with his son doing something fun.

So it came about on a sunny Saturday morning my husband’s dream of becoming a pilot came true.  He spent an hour soaring with the eagles and navigating the clear blue skies around fluffy white clouds.  My son and I sat in the backseat of the little Cessna 172 enjoying an aerial view of our hometown.  It was a wonderful day and my husband did very well at the controls.  He was especially pleased when the instructor exclaimed over his exceptional landing; and it would have been flawless landing except for the little wind bump that caused the plane to swerve slightly when touching down on the tarmac.

It is enjoyable watching father and son share many of the same interests.  They both like the same activities and their experiences continue to bond their friendship in our son’s adult years, too.  However, raising a boy was a unique experience for me.  I am the oldest of my parent’s four daughters and became familiar with the notion that the male perspective was a birth right after I married and became a mother. 

When my son was a four-year-old we joined my sister and her children at the local movie theater to see the rerun of Disney’s Cinderella.  As we were watching the lively animation of cute animals frolicking and fussing about as they dressed Cinderella for the Ball my son suddenly stood up and announced, “Let’s get out of here.  There are too many girls and too much pink in this show!”  My sister laughed and asked me what I had done to produce such a reaction from him.  I told her that comment was the Campbell side of the family talking.

His protests were overcome when Prince Charming came on the scene and presented a male presence amongst all the pastel images and flowery songs.  My husband and I enjoyed raising our son and now we are on “cloud nine” because we are enjoying a bit of a fairy tale story ourselves – our son married “Cinderella” and the newlyweds are living happily ever after!

LEFT HANDED COMPLIMENT

I enjoy shopping at the mall and so does my BDIL (beautiful daughter-in-law).  The mall is full of magnificent items that you didn’t know you wanted until a beautiful display entices, and then you just have to have it.  My BDIL purchased a darling sparkly case cover for her phone the other day at a mall kiosk and I just can’t wait to get a case just like it for my fancy new phone. My phone has apps (whatever that is) and I am learning how to text, but the dreary thing really needs some glamour.

When I’m at the mall I’ll check to see if it is “gift with purchase time” at my favorite fragrance counter; although, that department does have some tricky mirrors.  I think the mirror in cosmetics must be rigged to make women look older since right next to that mirror is the display for anti-aging cream!  That’s a very smart marketing technique because when I look at my reflection it’s obvious that I need a product that can counteract the “laugh lines” wrapping around my eyes and mouth.  Nothing is really that funny to etch such a humorous testimony on my face.

Thankfully, there is a part of my body that shows I imbibe from the Fountain of Youth on occasion.  My manicurist thinks I have very youthful hands.  Vicky is from the Philippines and we have known each other for fifteen years so she would be the one to notice how well preserved I am.  While working on my nails she told me that my hands were as soft and young-looking as a girl of seventeen years.  I was enjoying the pampering in word and deed when she continued saying that if only we could – take away my face and take away my body - then somebody might really think they were looking at a much younger person’s hands.  At this point of the conversation I looked away from my “ageless” hands and told Vicky that she had just paid me the nicest left hand compliment I had ever received.

It is nice to think my hands are not in the same perpetual state of decay as my face and body but I agree with Oliver Wendell Holmes when he said “Old age is fifteen years older than I am”.  With renewed vim and vigor I will call my BDIL and ask her to go shopping with me because I really need a chic jewel encrusted phone cover – holding all that sparkly vivaciousness will certainly be a“handy” way to make me feel younger!