Home Alone… but not.

Knowing that adopted children often have abandonment issues, we have been keenly aware of not leaving Nora anywhere alone. Yes, she’s 12 now, and we have left her for 10-15 minutes home alone a few times. But it’s not something I am comfortable with because she’s not comfortable yet.

The first time Nora stayed by herself in our house was for eight minutes while I delivered her brothers and a few friends up to Grandma’s swimming pool. Our tiny car didn’t have room for her too. My parent’s live 1.9 miles away. I even might have sped a little as my insides were queasy for her in sympathy. Upon my return I asked her what she did while alone. Her reply didn’t surprise me. “I stared out the window the whole time because I couldn’t believe you actually left me.”

Okay, maybe we’ve been a tad overprotective.

Today was a gross oversight by many relatives, as Nora and her cousin Luke, age 11, both got dropped off at Grandma’s house to help decorate the Christmas tree. It’s a tradition those two have held strongly for four years. So cute. The only glitch was both cars drove away…. and Grandma and Grandpa weren’t at home…. for 45 minutes. Horror of horrors. Neither kid has a cell phone. They are ALWAYS with someone else. Why would they need a cell phone?

I’m so glad they were together. Their report of their 45 minute escapade made me chuckle. They looked through all the windows of the whole house. All the lights were off. They went into the backyard and tried the side and back doors. All locked. They decided to stay in the front yard to wait for a rescue vehicle as they realized they were truly abandoned. Left for dead on the sidewalk in front of their grandparent’s home.

When cars would drive by they “acted” like they were playing so they didn’t look like children waiting to be abducted… just normal neighborhood children hanging out in the front yard … with no toys… just rocks and cactus. And Nora is SOOOO good act looking casual in times of distress!

The deserted children thought of walking to our house, as they just had done on Thanksgiving night with Nora’s dad two weeks ago.  But Nora remembered her legs hurt for three whole days last time because they ran a lot of the way down the hill. That was out.

Then the police helicopter started circling the house and Nora secretly hoped it was going to land and save them. No such luck. They devised a plan to knock on a neighbor’s door, ask to use their phone, and took their time analyzing all the houses. They finally decided on the house next door but were working up their courage when Grandpa and Grandma pulled up and saved the day! Whew!

So we had a talk about which neighbors are the safe ones to go to, but this will NEVER happen again, I can guarantee it. At least until she’s 16…. or has a cell phone.

 

Goodbye Butterflies!

My grandmother gave me this butterfly quilt years and years ago…. probably 25 or 26 years past.  It was filled with that old fashioned batting that made the blanket hug you and keep you warmer than the average quilt.  At one time the colors were vibrant and cheery, the sweet soft pinks, turquoises and lavenders of the 40s.  The pea-green backing was less than my favorite color, but hey, it was on the back.  This quilt was well loved! Several times over the years, before it was completely shredded, I thought of re-doing the blanket stitch around each butterfly…. but that task never made it high enough on my daily to-do lists. So the butterflies slowly flew away as did the days of the quilt’s life.

It became my son’s favorite blanket that he used on his bed for years.  It was under a presentable comforter so I didn’t care how ratty it looked.  Then he went on a church camping trip and took it as his only blanket…. making us look worse than homeless people.  I tried to simply talk him down from using it, but NO!  This was the coziest quilt in the galaxy.  I waited to confiscate it until the dark of the night when it had fallen off his bed and he was snoring.  Hidden under my bed is where it remained for several years because I was not sure if I could throw away the quilt my grandmother handmade and gave to me.

Yesterday I was obviously low on nostalgic sensibilities.  The quilt came out from under our bed and I seriously took in each butterfly, analyzing if they were still redeemable.  Some had no wings.  At all.  The ones that did have wings also had holes that could not be repaired.  Rolling up the shabby blanket as I headed for the garbage can I realized that if I didn’t take a picture the memory of the butterfly quilt would fade.  Hence, the photo and the story written for posterity, so my grandchildren will know the tale of the pea-green, vintage quilt that they never got the pleasure to wrap up in.

Goodbye butterflies!  You served us well!

P.S. O.K., after writing this, I went and got it out of the garbage and cut out and saved a few of the butterflies.  I figure I could frame them for the laundry room or for my future sewing room.  I guess I have a bit more nostalgia today than yesterday.  Thankfully it wasn’t garbage pick-up day!

Here we are …

Here we are on Easter Sunday … three generations of shining faces.  That’s my mom and my two daughters with me, in case you are new to MSJ.  We are an international crew.  Grandma and Larisa born in Canada. I was born in the USA and Nora in Colombia.  And we’re okay with all that.  Free trade and all that. “All that” really does include a lot of passports/fees/paperwork/fingerprinting…. and it’s all good.

Family dinners are a joy to behold.  Lots of laughter.  Lots of thankful hearts.  Not only for the resurrection of our Lord, but for the family with whom He has surrounded us. 

Favorite quotes from this year’s Easter dinner:

Seven-year-old nephew, when asked what he wanted to drink, “I’ll have rootbeer.  But if there’s no root, I’ll just take the beer.” (We are not a drinking family, so it was quite amusing!)

Eight-year-old daughter, after her father said, “There are E G G S around the R O O M.  We will H U N T after C H U R C H.”  “Hey, I think you guys spelling so I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

My pound-dropping husband, “This is the leanest and greenest Easter dinner I’ve ever eaten!”

He is risen indeed!

I’m the one on the OUTSIDE???

Growing up in the 60s and 70s, I was a fortunate kid who had both sets of grandparents until my teens.  Most of our family vacations (in the station wagon with the 8-track tape of the singing Statesmen) were spent driving to and from one of my grandparents’ homes.  My maternal grandparents lived in White Rock, B.C. a block from the beach and they had a trampoline in the back yard and wild blackberry vines that grew down the hill from their home.  All of those were important items on my list as a kid.  They lived in a four-story yellow house that stood out like Big Bird when we were on the beach looking toward land.  The reason they lived in a four-story, gargantuan home was because my Grandmother took care of 10 women who had special needs, all who lived in the top floors of the canary-colored house. Grandma and Grandpa lived in the lower floor in two cramped bedrooms, a kitchen and livingroom.  I can’t remember where we slept when we stayed there, but I have fond memories of that house.

The Ladies ate at a large diningroom table in a window-laden room facing the ocean on the second floor.  It was a ways from the kitchen, where my grandmother cooked for all 17 of us inhabitants.  We ate at a squishy kitchen table that was at the back of the house in a nook with windows across the far wall.  Our view was the driveway and the neighbor’s fence. The table was formica with a gray and white pattern of triangles, and there were secured benches all the way around the table.  No chairs.  There was no room for chairs.  I felt like a sardine lined up with my siblings and sometimes my cousins. And I loved it.

The day we arrived, Grandma gave each of us a see-through pill bottle with a white snap-on lid with our name written on it in a rainbow-shaped curve. It was for vacation allowance.  Each and every day she handed out a quarter to me and my brother and sister.  The coins fit perfectly in the little bottles. I have always relished things that fit perfectly.  True to form, my brother would save his coins all week so on the last day he could carefully purchase a yo-yo, or a rubber coin purse that squeezed open or a candy bar.  I lavishly spent my quarter every day.  On junk candy.  And I was okay with that. Because the next morning, for at least 20 minutes, there would be another shiny quarter that would fit perfectly into the bottom of my pill bottle that said L-I-N-D-A in the rainbow-shaped curve.

There were “other” cousins that also came to Grandma’s yellow beach house on Buena Vista Drive.  Three girls, close to the same ages as us, but we weren’t “real” cousins.  We spent a Christmas or two together when we were very young, eating at Grandma’s, but we never swapped gifts.  I never gave it much thought but somehow felt sorry for them because they weren’t Grandma’s “real” grandchildren.  I considered them on the outside.

In my 16th year of life, I came to the realization that the Grandmother that I loved, was married to my Grandfather…. after my maternal Grandmother passed away years previously.  She was my STEP-Grandmother.  But how could that be?  She was not like Cinderella’s Step-anything!  She loved us and fed us and gave us vacation allowance.  THEN I realized that I was not a “real” grandchild…. I was on the outside!  The three girls were on the INSIDE! That shocked me for days.  It was my first real-life experience knowing unconditional non-blood related love.  We were family and that was all that mattered. And I loved it.

More tomorrow, on my beloved Grandmother.

A Swedish Tribute

Grandma Nikander’s Swedish Pancakes have been one of my favorite delicacies since the late ’60s.  Naively, I assumed it was a secret family recipe brought across the pond by scarf-donning ancestors, handed down and down and down to my Grandma in Eastern Oregon.  It probably was handed down, but I learned later in life that other people call them crepes… and eat them for every meal of the day…. and they aren’t very secret.  I vaguely remember visiting my Grandma in her later years, when she was no longer able to make her Swedish pancakes.  I thought the world had come to an end.  Little did I know that I would be standing over the stove flipping them for another 70 years.

My youngest son requests these drool-producing paper-thin pancakes at least once a week.  They are also a family favorite of the next generation, and to no surprise….. they are mouth-wateringly delicious.  They are a tad on the sweet side, yet airy and light…. I prefer them slathered in melted butter and sprinkled in powdered sugar.  We leave them rolled up…. always.  My boys pour maple syrup on them, but my daughter follows my powdery taste for sugary goodness.

I’ll even share the secret Swedish Pancake recipe!

In a blender mix: 3 eggs (without shells), 2 cups of milk, 2 Tbsp Sugar, dash salt, and 1 cup of flour.  I have used whole wheat flour, but honestly, they taste better with the white not-as-good-for-you-bleached-flour. 

Heat a non-stick frying pan to med-high heat.  I use #6.  Butter the pan before each pancake.  My soup ladle measures out the perfect amount of batter to cover the bottom of the pan.  I have to pick up the pan and swirl it to get a perfect circle.  When the surface of the batter is no longer shiny, flip the pancake.  When lightly browned, roll up and serve…. quick.

A perfect pancake for Thanksgiving morning.  Try it.  You’ll like it.

Christmas Favorites

Somewhere along this getting ready for Christmas journey I came across four questions to ask each family member.  Questions that make each of us stop and really THINK!  The point was to make sure we hit on a fav of each person to keep that memory alive for them.  Here are the questions I asked each of my kids, my husband and myself:  (OK, of course they couldn’t just answer the questions.  They had to ask me questions about why I’m asking questions.  Questions like: Are you going to use this in a talk?  Why do you want to know?  Are you asking the other kids?  What’s this for???  Sheesh, like I’m the gestapo or something.)

1.  What is your favorite Christmas food? This particular question brought on answers to make you salivate…. Nanaimo Bars, Grandma’s Spritz cookies, Auntie Julie’s sweet potatoes, stuffing and gravy, etc.  Pretty standard answers, if you ask me… and easy to duplicate (with just a few phone calls…. hint, hint, Grandma!)

2.  What is your favorite Christmas song?  Sadly, Elvis hit the list of 2 of 5 household members…. Blue Christmas.  Good grief.  That’s a sad song.  Thanks to my mother, we have a dancing Elvis statue in his gold  suit with Elvis strumming the guitar to “I’ll have a bluuuuue Christmas without yoooooou.”  I’m embarrassed to report that it was the first Christmas song Keeve could sing.  Not too many traditional songs made the list as we tend to listen to Christmas albums of contemporary artists, like Mariah Carey (All I Want for Christmas is You), Harry Connick Jr. (A Happy Ho Ho Ho to You), Steve Tyrell (Winter Wonderland), Go Fish (It’s About the Cross) and yes, Elvis.  Here is our favorite from Go Fish that includes a comedian:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAckfn8yiAQ . 

3.  What is your favorite Christmas activity?  This was a great idea to ask because I had no clue about a few of the things my kids came up with: watching It’s a Wonderful Life together as a family while drinking hot cocoa, carolling, playing games, seeing all the ornaments from our trips, baking goodies and sitting in the dark looking at the lit up tree.

4.  What is your favorite Christmas memory?  Of all my question asking surprises, this one won.  All five of us mentioned one or both of these times:  our family Christmas in Flagstaff and the Christmas we delivered gifts to a family in need.  The Flagstaff Christmas is worthy of its own blog… in the next few days, I promise.  And the gift giving one is here:  https://mysistersjar.wordpress.com/2008/02/11/5-from-my-sisters-jar/  

We spent this evening telling good-ol’-family-stories… that only THIS family could possibly laugh at.  Those including calls to 911, paramedics, trips to the hospital, surgeries, hallucinations after anesthesia, barfing from the top bunk, Great Grandma killing a bird, etc.  SEE! Only THIS family!   What fun!  Make some family memories this season of Jesus’ birth.

With Friends like this…..

 

In times of trouble, who could ask for better friends than these?  As far as tough times go, these photos are from one of the toughest times in our marriage…. when my hubby separated his Achilles Tendon and had 3 or 4 surgeries (see, I’ve already blocked the details…)  The picture on the left is of our friends, Andrew Edwin and Jill Rene, who loving brought my convalescing husband his favorite dessert (black forest cake), a stack of movies for his week of confinement on the couch and they fully bandaged and wrapped themselves in sympathy.  Yes, Andy’s eye is taped shut and Jill is sporting a wrist brace.  Such thoughtful people.  As if Rick’s wound sucking machine attached to his leg would be less noticeable with these two around.

And Darla.  Little did she know the detour her day would take with one simple phone call to my house.  I’ll give you the brief rundown of the morning.  I awoke to find that the washing machine had died.  Kaput. Do not resuscitate.  DEAD. The kids slept over and Grandma and Grandpa’s house because Rick had surgery #3 early that morning.  Surgery went reasonably well, except for the entertaining hallucinations Rick experienced coming out of the anesthesia.  He insisted that someone stole his shoes, his wallet and his clothes.  He repeatedly asked in a LOUD voice for beer in the wake-up room (he doesn’t drink beer!?!) I was WAY too uncomfortable to bring him home in that state, so we hung out for a while until my real husband partially returned.  We did make it home, but only to discover that Grandma had nearly passed out at her house and my kids had to call 911 to get the paramedics.  They were in the emergency waiting room by themselves.  I couldn’t leave my newly discovered boozer alone, so I called my brother to gather my children from the hospital. 

Then the downstairs toilet, which my drugged husband would require, backed up all over my tile floors.  Disgusting.  Called the plumber.  Called the home builder.  Called the plumber again.  THEN, my Dad, who was at the hospital with mom, decided to walk across the street to grab a bite to eat and GOT HIT BY A CAR.  Good grief.  He was banged-up but ok.  He had Mom’s emergency room doctor check him out since it was so handy.

Enter: Darla’s phone call to see how surgery went.  I lost it.  I’m not sure which incident was the straw that broke the camel’s back…. the washer…. the start of a week of nursing my husband who had a gaping leg wound…. my mother needing an ambulance ride…. my children having to take care of their passing-out Grandma… the toilet… the kids being left unattended in the hospital…. my dad getting hit by a car….   So within the hour Darla arrived to clean my stinky tile floors wearing this attractive outfit.  “It sounded like you needed comic relief,” she professed. So true.

I love these friends.  Everyone needs friends like these.  Thanks guys.

?#4 from My Sister’s Jar – Dear Grandma

 Leroy and Eddie (my dad) Nikander c.  1942?  and (my grandparents) Rev. Gus and Mary Nikander  c. 1927?

Write a letter to someone in your past.  Thank them or relive a favorite memory you have of him or her.

Dear Grandma Nikander,

You have been with Jesus now for 14 years – I know because you passed away right after I gave birth to Larisa.

I have many childhood memories of carefree visits to your home in Heppner, Ore.  Your Swedish pancakes were my favorite breakfast that you fixed.  You’ll be pleased to know that Auntie Margaret included the recipe in her church’s cookbook – and gave me one.  So I make them weekly for my kids, who love them as much as I did.  They asked for them this morning.

We ended up having so much in common but I didn’t really discover it until years after you died.  I love family history and would love the opportunity to ask you questions about your grandparents.  I have the family Bible they bought in Oregon City.  It is a treasure to me.  And I’m so thankful that you wrote the names and dates on the backs of all the old family photographs.  (Rob and Christy don’t care about them AT ALL, but I do.)

Three weeks ago Mom had a luncheon for her friends and she used the hand-painted set of china dishes that you made.  That was one long project, to be sure.  It is beautiful.  I used to relish browsing through your shelves of ware and picking out a piece of china to paint at your side.  It made me feel so grown-up to sign my wobbly name on each pathetically painted masterpiece.

I have taken my family to Heppner to see your home and Grandpa’s church.  We went through the museum and read your name on so many items that you donated.  Generous.  I found it comical that the two weirdest items in the whole museum were from our ancestors.  Hmmmmm.  Who in the world used the Ultra-Violet Ray Machine?  And what for?  The other priceless contraption was the multiple-octopus-looking hair curling device that had more wiry black arms than Medusa had snakes. I bet that made your mama look purty.

I think I’m the only grand-kid who cares about the history of the family ~ see, you would have liked me.  It is through your ancestors that blood lineage was traced back to a patriot of the American Revolution and I have become a member of the Daughters. The only other DAR hopeful is my niece, Katelyn.  We’ll see.  There only seems to be one person from each generation interested in family genealogy fluff. 

Last Fall your boys turned 70 and 75.  You would be proud of their dedication to their families and to the Lord.  They have not departed from your training in the way.  The Lord was faithful to his promise. Your five grand-kids have had 13 great grand-kids.  When we adopt our girl from Colombia, you will have 14.  There is not one, sadly, that inherited your dark, curly hair.  Grandpa’s Finish blood ran strong with mostly blondes.

I look forward to seeing you in heaven.

Love, Linda Ann  “The Other One”