finding the past in me

My background is Mennonite. And usually I'm proud of this, but occasionally it has made for interesting questions and conversations. Do you have electricity? Do you have arranged marriages? Are you allowed to go to movies? Do you drink wine? Are you allowed to do anything fun?

My maternal grandfather was of the Old Order Mennonite variety (horse and buggy and black clothing) until he was 6 years old. His family switched to "our" type of Mennonite because his parents wanted their kids to go to Sunday school, and my great-grandfather wanted to ride a bike to work.

So I feel like I have a secret inside of me sometimes - this connection to the past, but also to a people living in the present.

This photo was taken on a gravel road near our house. The boot is me; the car is mine; the buggy is in front. I don't usually drive with my foot up like this.

But it shows parts of me. The boots, which I love. The car, which I drive. The buggy in front, a connection to a part of my family in the past. I don't question that I'm where I should be (in the car, not in the buggy), but there are pieces of me that want to be in that buggy. Very small pieces, but they're there. The parts that romanticize a lifestyle: growing and eating local produce, living in ways that don't harm the earth like I do right now with my planes trains and automobiles, more simple things that bring pleasure, entertainment that doesn't depend on computer or TV, Monday laundry days, and a strong community of support. 

Which parts of the past do I bring to my present? What pieces of my history and my ancestry inform who I am today?

A few weeks ago, I saw a conservative Mennonite couple at the Starbucks at the Toronto International airport. They looked very out of place. I wanted to tell them: I know you. I'm one of you.

But I'm not at all. I recognized them, but they didn't even see me. I didn't know who they were, but I knew the people they belonged to. 

They have sacrificed much in terms of their lifestyle and choices. Me? Have I sacrificed anything? It's doubtful. They are visible because of the way they get around and the clothing they wear. I just fit right in. Nothing distinguishes me as having a shared ancestry. I am invisible, one of the masses - peopleless, potentially, in their view.

I wanted to claim my Mennonite-ness in that instant - to reach out to them to make them feel at ease (they looked a bit uncomfortable) and also to belong. To claim them as part of my larger family. But I didn't say anything. I just got my chai latte and lemon-cranberry scone and sat alone. Because that's part of the larger culture that I've learned - individualism.

chore time

What do I think of when September starts? Chore time. Routines. Organizing ourselves. Starting over again.

When I was growing up, Saturday was chore day. Wake up, do our chores (boys outside to burn garbage and chop wood; girls inside to vacuum and dust), and then have some free time after everything was done. We lived on a farm, so there was always lots to do.

My husband, on the other hand, grew up with two days of rest: Saturday AND Sunday.

So Saturdays at our house now can be something of a mixed bag: me with a list of things I'd like to get done, and him with dreams for some weekend R and R.

Some friends sang a song at our wedding, and I don't remember all of the words, but the idea was something like this: Rebecca would help Derek work, work, work, and Derek would help Rebecca play, play, play. At the time, I thought: really?!? What's that all about?? I can play! I don't need any help in that area! But I was very wrong. Those friends were mighty insightful, and this tension has come up again and again: me wanting to be very productive, him wanting to rest and relax. And we really do need both. But it makes for some messy Saturdays.

I have this dream of everyone in our household taking on some of the household chores. Because here's the thing: some days I get tired of feeling like the maid.

I admire Old Order Mennonites, who seem to have a day for every chore. Monday is laundry day, and if you drive in the country, you can see their lines full on a Monday morning. And I love how Sunday is visiting day, with baked goods made during the week to prepare to host.

In the book The Help by Kathryn Stockett, one maid described her daily chores:

Monday: oil up the furniture [what does this even MEAN?]
Tuesday: wash and iron the damn sheets [I'm quoting here]
Wednesday: scrubbing the bathtub
Thursday: polishing floors, sucking rugs [???]
Friday: heavy cooking for the weekend and what-have-you
Every day: mopping, washing clothes, ironing shirts [???]
Silver and windows: as needed

Inspired by this book, I thought I should buy some silver polish for my tarnished toe ring. Then I'd really feel like I'm doing some deep cleaning. I found this little online tidbit that I'll pass on to you: take a bowl, put aluminum foil inside, put your silver in, sprinkle some baking soda on top, then pour boiling water over it. Watch the magic. It works for bigger silver pieces too. Just FYI.

I resist structure, but I think that this fall I'll be introducing THE CHART. I talked about this to my daughters, and they quickly got on it, crafting their own charts for family sign-up.

The idea is that everyone will sign up for something (at least one thing) each day. Doesn't have to be big, but it gives all of us the sense that each person is contributing.

Here is Eden's version:

Sunday: Do laundry (Rebecca)
Monday: VBS (Eden) [side note: this chart was made during our church's Vacation Bible School]
Tuesday: Play with Fudgie [our guinea pig]
Wednesday: Bake (Eden and Rebecca)
Thursday: Vacuuming
Friday: Clean up (Eden)
Saturday: Potty (Eden)

Zoe's version had everyday things to sign up for: setting table, clearing table, unloading dishwasher, help with supper prep. Then once a week things were: vacuum, bathrooms, dust, mow the lawn. She left spaces under each one for people to sign up.

my keen bathroom cleaner:
they battle over who gets to clean the bathroom!

I have a feeling that the 2 of them will keep on top of things better than I ever have, which is a good thing. Our house is finally in good, capable hands.

How do you do chores at your house?

summer camp

canoeing on Fraser Lake

Is there a more magical place than summer camp? And a better idea than family camp - where parents AND kids get to have fun together? And that it happens to be the place where my husband and I met?

We've been going to Fraser Lake's family camp for 6 years now. We all look forward to going, counting down the days. The ride there is beautiful, with an obligatory stop at Kawartha Dairy for ice cream. The days at family camp are full and fun - we stuff as much as we can into each day.

mother and daughter on the climbing tower

tie-dying fun

jumping off the water trampoline

the lake mid-day

crayfish hunting

dress up meals: Wild West theme

dragon boat crew

low ropes course

glorious sunsets

And I haven't even mentioned the millions of stars, the friends, the wonderful staff, the fun campfires with rousing songs, bracelet making, wagon rides to the treehouse, swimming off the barge in the middle of the lake, hunting for monarch caterpillars, spraining an ankle while playing basketball (Derek), getting 2 wasp stings in the raspberry patch (me), the clear glassy lake in the early morning, and the call of the loons every evening. 

equality is over-rated

When I was in university I had many grand ideas. I still do. One of them was that my future husband and I would do everything exactly equal - 50/50. And that would be the ideal. Household chores: 50/50. Parenting: 50/50. Bringing home the bacon: 50/50. Setting the direction for our future lives: 50/50.

But since then I've sometimes gazed longingly at our Old Order Mennonite neighbours who have their roles so clearly cut. I wondered what it would be like to just know what your jobs are and do them. As simple as that. But I wanted more than that too. Something a bit more complicated.

We're nearing our 12th year anniversary, and I've come to believe that equality - or this 50/50 kind of equality - is over-rated. That if I dare to keep score, that's when things start to go sour. And it's so much work - that keeping track.

I've done more than my share of storming around the house, giving cold shoulders and silent treatments as my way of communicating my displeasure with the state of the house. And that takes a lot of energy, all that stomping and storming and silence. But here's one thing that I've found works, and I'll share my little secret with you: if I ask nicely, my husband is more than willing to help. "Would you mind vacuuming sometime today?" gets a very positive response. Whereas "this place looks like a trailer park in a tornado" doesn't. Politeness and civility really work!

We share the cooking and the parenting and the goal setting/dreaming - not in 50/50 ways, but in ways where we're trying not to keep score anymore. We're trying to support each other as we both work, play, parent, set new goals, and show love.  

We've discovered that there are things that we are each good at. I'll describe it using a body metaphor: I am the eyes, looking for signs of dirt in the house. Then I am the mouth, asking for assistance. Then he is the hands and feet, vacuuming the house. Truly wonderful. Eyes are not equal to hands or feet, but all can work together quite well. 

Yes, there are times when I wish that someone else could be the eyes, looking out for what needs to be done around our home. But I'm sure that there are times when my husband wishes that my eyes notice when taxes are due or when gas needs to be put in the car. Then he's the eyes, and I'm the not-always-willing-to-help-hands-and-feet.

Yes, there are tasks where neither of us is willing to claim giftedness or even feign interest. But the dishes do have to get done.

I'm the best packer in the house, so when we're going away or camping I now see this as one of my roles in our family: to organize and pack. When I embrace this task, I don't get mad when I don't see him joining in because I think "Well, I'm good at this and he's...well...ungifted in this area." I am the chief of packing in the house. He is the chief of packing the car. And we try not to mess with each other. And that mostly works.

definitely not us

I see when things need to be cleaned and I'm the planner/keeper of the schedule. He pays attention to our car, the lawn, the barbeque, and our money situation. Such typical manly things, eh? I used to care about that, but now I could care less. Just get the job done. If he's interested and better than me at some tasks - I say go for it, even if it seems like a traditional division of labour. For me, equality now means assessing and using our individual gifts, and perhaps learning some new skills when we need to.

There are some things I'm vigilant about making sure they're exactly equal. Like when we're sharing a plate of sushi, anything made with chocolate, or mango bubble tea. Then it MUST be 50/50.

We usually don't meet in the middle, or even measure to see where that middle might be. We just meet and try to work together the best we know how. And that kind of equality feels ok. Even liberating in a weird and wonderful way.

tending the summer hearth

Where is your hearth - the place where sparks are fanned to flame, where warmth is encouraged? Around the kitchen table? The piano? The barbeque? The coffee table? Traditionally, the hearth was made of stone or brick and provided a cozy gathering and warming place. It was also used for life-giving tasks like cooking and heating the home. Tending the hearth was an essential job - to keep the home fires burning so that the people living there could be sustained.

For me, tending the hearth is about intentionally caring for the souls in our home. This means our little family, but also the people who enter. You've heard me bemoan the state of our house, my yearning for a cleaner place, my desire to offer hospitality in meaningful ways. All of these feel like part of the whole hearth tending package to me.

tending the hearth: that ratty, fragile nest with strong, solid hearts within

Today I'm thinking about what hearth tending could look like this summer. And I'm struck by how I can slice up this word "hearth" into h/eart/h: hearth, earth, and heart. I think that all 3 need tending; all 3 have deep spiritual connections to each other. So here's my not-yet-finished list of ways I'd like to tend the hearth this summer.

tending the hearth:

• de-cluttering, giving away, organizing
• putting the house on a diet
• trying to make good food together
• not letting fresh produce rot in the fridge or on the counter - eating it or preserving it before it's too late
• savouring meals
• clearing space; leaving room for surprises; keeping an empty shelf
• inviting others over for backyard barbeques even if the house is messy
• singing around backyard bonfires, making s'mores and banana boats and tinfoil dinners
• making a rainbow of jelly: raspberry (red), red hot pepper (orange),  dandelion (done! bright yellow), mint (green), blueberry (blue), grape (purple)

tending the earth:

• gardening, watering, weeding
• walking
• biking
• learning more perennial flower names
• learning to identify some more bird songs
• pondering the heavens by learning the names of the different kinds of clouds (I forget them!) and learning a new constellation

tending the heart:

• reading just for fun
• slowing down and being still
• eating a whole container of peanut butter chocolate ice cream all by myself
• swimming under a starlit sky in the middle of a northern lake
• singing with my husband as he strums on the guitar
• taking a sabbath rest once a week
• taking a "digital sabbatical" while on holidays or day trips with my family
• praying by paying attention to the little things, and expanding them out through photos or writing or talking to others
• being open to surprises and to nudgings of the Spirit

What ideas do you have to tend the h/eart/h this summer?

home is where the hearth is

My husband moved a lot growing up. For him, home is where the heart is. He's very flexible that way, and even feels a bit stir-crazy if we are too settled. Home is wherever his family is.

I lived in exactly two homes growing up: one farm until age 2, and then the farmhouse where my parents still live. For me, home is where the hearth is. It's the people too, but it's bedsheets fresh from the sun-kissed line and evening red-winged blackbird songs and antique glass doorknobs that sparkle like diamonds and perfectly planted rows of corn and acres that I could get lost in.

Now that I'm all grown up (!) and have kids of my own, I often think about these questions: what is home? What makes a house feel like home? How do you create that sense of home regardless of where you are or how far you've traveled from your childhood home? Because in my mind, home isn't the house we're in right now in suburbia. It works, and it's fine, but it doesn't really feel like home. To me, this is home:

Home is people, a place, a sensory experience, a feeling of welcome and belonging and all-is-right-with-the-world.

I want my kids to know a piece of land and love it like it's their own. And to know that they are deeply connected to these hills, these plants, this wild place.

To shimmy and slide down gravel pit hills, scoop tiny tadpoles from swamps, learn the perfect shade of a ripe raspberry, eat the best tastes of summer right from the earth, watch a blue heron fly overhead, and come home with hands and feet dirty from the warm, fertile earth.

To know the scratchings of deer on bark, the many shades of fungi growing on old trees, raccoon tracks in the mud, smooth brown chestnuts inside prickly shells, to swing so high they can touch the tops of the corn stalks. This is exactly what I want. This is home to me.

saying goodbye to a pet

Why is it that when a pet dies, it can just break your heart?

I wouldn't even call myself a huge dog or cat lover, but I've shed countless tears over close pets. Even as I remember their names, their cute little faces flash in front of me: Sarge. Prince. Rutherford. Dexter. Carlo. All loyal, wonderful dogs, quirky in their own ways.

Each represents a period of my life, and the memories attached.

Carlo died last week - my parents' farm dog. He lived a good life, and survived several near-death experiences. We had cried and said goodbye to him before. But last week was a surprise.

It was heartbreaking to tell my daughters; their sorrow was so raw.

Carlo was a one-eyed dog - the eye was lost in a scrap with a protective farm cat when he was young. When my parents saw his one pleading, kind eye, they knew he was the one for them.

My daughters learned a lot from this one-eyed wonder. He was always so gentle with them, and so happy to see them. Carlo taught them playfulness, gentleness, and a love for God's creatures. His excited tail wagged right into them as little toddlers, sometimes knocking them right over because of his one-eyed periferal vision.

There was Bandit, the raccoon we kept in the barn for a summer (but in our memories it's much longer) who nibbled on strawberries right out of our hands, slid down the slide with us, followed us around the yard right at our heels, and climbed up onto my Dad's shoulders.

And Mrs. Boots, the cat whose water broke all over my bed quilt one afternoon, just before she gave birth to a litter of kittens. She was the only farm cat ever allowed in the house, and she saved those kittens from an awful storm by scratching on the screen door and meowing to be let in.

We've sheltered our daughters from the heartache of losing a pet by refusing to own one - until this past Christmas. Then a little guinea pig came home with us from the animal shelter, and she's since been wiggling and squeaking her way into our hearts.

And you? What pets have you loved and lost? How did you say goodbye?

mommyfication

I was wondering when I started becoming a mom. And I think it might have been right about here:

watching my own mom mother me, and learning from her what that's all about. I had some practice with my younger siblings, though I'm afraid I would have fit into the "bossy mother" category most of our growing up years. Sorry, sibs. I even practiced changing diapers and wiping bums - good, practical, on-the-job experience.

As a kindgergarten/Grade One teacher, I had my share of mothering practice. But the kids were generally well behaved at school, and they went home at 3:30 to misbehave for their parents.

Another phase of motherhood started when I was pregnant in 2003 - wondering, worrying, and waiting for what would come. And in December 2003 - the gift of life: Zoe. Her name means "life" in Greek, and she certainly brought new life. Helped me see the world through different eyes, and burst my heart into a million pieces just watching her tiny perfect body sleep. Her energy and inquiring mind inspires me.

And then in 2006 - a gift during the hot summer months where earthly paradise abounds: Eden. Her name means "earthly paradise" in Hebrew. She has grown me in countless ways, forced out of the ground like a humid, hothouse flower. Her calm spirit is a balm to my soul.

Two very different babies, and now children, who have helped me expand in countless ways.

I'm terribly grateful to my own mom, in ways I'm still just beginning to understand. Words cannot express. She still helps me along the way, as a guide on the side - not wanting to step on my toes, even though I sometimes want her to. I feel like she gave me stable roots and strong wings.

And my grandmas - I miss you, and am thankful for the ways you taught me to mother. And so many other friends, aunts, a mother-in-law, cousins, countless women who've been my mentors on this journey...

I'd like to think that I'd be a mother even if I never had kids of my "own." Because who needs to "own" a child anyway? Isn't the whole point to give them a place to grow into the people they're meant to be? Anyone can do that. Doesn't have to be strictly a parenting role. Perhaps we're all in the process of mommyfication - both women and men - of learning to nurture and grow those around us, of encouraging roots to grow deep and wings to fly high.

 And you? Who has taught you to mother/nurture those around you? What experiences made you become more "mommyfied"?

a full heart

I'm thinking today about all of those times when I had a full heart. When my heart felt like it was full to overflowing, beaming and expanding with love.

Here are some of them:

Me with my babies - a photo of me, my 3 siblings, my husband, and my 2 daughters. How lucky I am to have held all of these babies in my arms and heart. I think that holding my siblings and children as babies makes me see them differently as they grow up. My heart beams with pride when I see them expanding and growing and trying new things.

I want to carry this full heart with me on days when my buttons are pushed more often than usual (by those daughters of mine :). I want to remember that unconditional love, excitement, and joy I felt at holding their little baby bodies. Those moments are all too fleeting. But I want to treasure them up, have them at the front of my memory files, and use them as the lens through which I see them right now.