Hope

Hope is wonder. Sometimes it's the only thing. Sometimes it's the only thing you're waiting for...all you need.

Out of the deepness. Darkness. To keep you going.

Hope can be magical. Like a gift. You can get. Or can give.

The sweetest thing.

Hope is a grace. Like a reprieve. From the stress. From the worry. The lines carved, being carved on our faces while we wait. For hope. For a chance.

It's sinking,I can give it away. It feels so sweet to give it away, like a chocolate melted on the tongue, an embrace, like a thing long savored.

Like a wind. Like a breeze brushing across your face. Clearing your view, whispering across your skin.

Like a message. A secret. A schoolgirl whispers to her friend. A thought across, as two eyes meet. A smile, a communal flicker. Hope passed, given, gifted. 

Waiting, backwards thought, can shift. Like light. The shadows move the day. Thought shifted forward, hope. Grace in a space, the smallest space. Not forever, but for now. To be given, to be gotten, shared, gifted, graced.

A release, an air released.

Sighed out, and hope to fill the space.

The spaces.

Hope is for giving.

going places

Duck shirt, hot pink starfish short shorts. Not because I bought them that way, but because she's grown.

Turquoise tennis, battered old ball cap. Not because her brown hair's a mess, though it is, but because it's from him, our music man.

I'm standing on my porch, snap shot saving these moments in my mind. Always. It's these pictures I'm filing away that I know will see me through my white haired rocking years.

Away she goes. Pedaling, moving farther and farther until she's gone. Today, it's towards the library. And as is so often the case, she wants to do it on her own.

As for the library, I love it. Stacks of bound, ivory colored pages. Streams of thought through the years pressed between parchment. A body can travel anywhere, meet anybody. For free. It's the poor girl's travel and entertainment guide. All you need's a water bill. Those books call for me. And I can spend hours flipping through magazines. Going places.

I guess my momma passed that onto me, and now E loves it, too.  A thousand and one trips flash through my mind. Watching E pedal towards our home town library is a new one I've added this year. And I'm savoring it.

We have a pretty great library here in Schertz. It's large and airy. The staff is real nice. Helpful, too. I can picture E clearly. Soon, she'll be walking through those double doors. Maybe reaching up to adjust the strap on her backpack. She'll smile at someone and look around, all lit up, savoring her independence.

When I go, I like to sit in a cozy chair by the tall, clear windows and read a little. Sometimes I rest my eyes and look out through those windows to watch the children play on the playground. I wait for E to come to me with questions. And treasures she's found.

Today, well, that won't happen, but if I'm lucky, she'll call me on her cell.

white shorts

Confession:

I feel a kind of shock each July I walk into Wal-Mart and see school supplies on the shelves. It's an awful feeling. I turn my head and push my cart away quickly.

This is strange and confusing for me. You see, I LOVE school supplies.  Crayons, markers, sticky notes. The list goes on. I get a thrill picking out a twelve plus pack of colored dry erase markers. I buy more map pencils than any normal person could possibly need.

But summer just really got going! I'm still wearing my favorite pair of white shorts. White shorts exude summer to me. I feel unfaithful just thinking about presharpened pencils and all the glue sticks I could want.

I can't think about what's coming. Not yet.  This tearing rips through me. I want first pick! I want to see what's new! But then I remember the summer to do list on my ice box at home, and that it is only partly marked through. I wrote it at the beginning of summer. I was optimistic. Aren't we all?

I lean for a moment, I sway...

And then I decide.

My commitment at this point is to summer. I push thoughts of packs of red pens from my mind.  "I have time....I have time," I chant as I turn my eyes to the rack of sunscreen and striped towels just feet away.

Before I know it, ya'll, I'm standing in the check-out line, leaning over the cart counting my items. That's when I see it. The prettiest plastic multi-pack of colored sharpies money can buy.

"How'd that get in there?" I say to no one in particular. The corners of my lips may or may not have turned slightly up at this. I can't be sure. Strange things happen in Wal-Mart, ya'll,

brownies

Mmmm...

Here's a little chocolate to sweeten a Sunday. As if it needed sweetening...

Brownies

6     Tbsp cocoa powder
2     Tbsp oil
1/2  cup butter
2     eggs
1     cup sugar
1     tsp vanilla
1/2  tsp baking powder
1/4  tsp salt
3/4  cup all purpose flour
       nuts

Now I'm lazy in the kitchen and don't care to do more dishes than necessary, so I'm going to tell you what I do.  I'm sure my methods can be improved upon, so you just do what makes sense to you. Also, this is a very old recipe and not terribly sweet. Which I kind of like.

Okay, here goes...

First, pick out a pretty baking dish. This is important. Enjoy this part. I mean, this is why we buy them, right? Pick out one a little big if you like your brownies thin, a little small if you like them thick.  I like mine on the thin side. Besides, making them thicker requires more cooking time, and I just can't wait that long for brownies.

I just mix everything right there in the dish. Now, remember, these brownies don't have to be pretty, they're not for company. They are for you. And if you are anything like me, you are in your pajamas anyway, so who cares. And I said less dishes, so let's proceed.

Now, put the cocoa powder and oil in the dish and mix 'em up well with a fork.  Then add a stick of butter and put the dish in the microwave for a few seconds until it melts. Take it out and stir until you have an even consistency. Next the eggs and sugar go in and the whole time you're just mixing and mixing trying to get a smooth texture. Add all the other ingredients in the order listed above, mixing as you go.  Except the nuts. I like to put those on top. I tried to get J and E to jump in, but they didn't even break a smile.

Next pop your pretty dish of promise into a preheated oven of 350 and wait patiently for 25-30 minutes. This is this hardest part, but it will pass. Stay patient. They are done when they smell done. I don't know how I know this. My husband says set the timer. Don't tell him, but I only do that when he's watching. Like I said, they're done when I smell done.

These yummy sweet things taste real good with a little homemade whip topping, but my hands are hurting from all this typing and, really, there are brownies in the other room, so you're on your own.

Brownies are good, but Scripture is sweet, too. I'll leave you with this...

"Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him." -Psalm 34:8

a grown woman

My mother tells me I'm a grown woman. I wonder at those words. Am I really grown up enough to make some of the decisions grown ups are called to make?

Like, I'm qualified to make decisions concerning insurance carriers and tax documents? Really? I'm not feeling it.

My mother stayed at home and raised four kids while she watered the rose bushes. She's the smartest woman I know. Talented, too. She can pray the rosary while she does just about anything. Like make Saturday morning pancakes (Mmm...) and syrup from scratch. Mama reads hefty archaeological texts for fun. And has no problem making decisions about insurance carriers and tax documents.

Daddy is candy. He went to work every morning in a tie and swung a five iron on the weekends with generals and their daddies. He can fix anything and gives the best hugs, hands down. He's a natural story teller and a pretty great listener, too.  He was always smart. He married Mama.

Together, they made four pretty wonderful, pretty good looking kids. Just kidding about that last part, I have to remind myself I'm not writing fiction. Anyways, they're proud.

I'm thankful I'm the youngest of four. I like being the baby. Always have. There's security in that like no body's business. They all had to do it first. I got to watch. And sometimes laugh.

With two sisters in the house I always had something to wear and someone to help me with homework. Theoretically speaking. Help is truly an interesting word, but that's another story.

When I got older, there was always someone to explain, to guide, or just assemble something for me. My job was to look on and pretend to help. In fact, just recently I helped my sisters put up an electric fence. It seems some pooches like to dig under hidden places to escape lives of leisure. I like a bit of excitement, myself, from time to time.

I got to hold the wire. And hand out twist ties like a pro.

And then there's my brother who has helped with every one of my cars at one time or another. It seems I like to leave the lights on. And run out of gas.

Don't get me started on the number of times I've moved. From here. To there. Nine times in my twenties, that was fun, now let's stop.

And they always showed up. Every time. All I had to do was take the teasing....

I guess I am a grown woman. I'm just glad I didn't get here by myself. And that they're still showing up.

her own bed

I am standing in the kitchen, and she is staring at me eyes wide, waiting. E is ready for an answer. She looks so darn cute; I get distracted for a moment.

I mean, she is in her sleepy clothes and her hair is, well, unruly.  It’s like it’s reaching up and out to catch the morning light streaming through our windows. Reaching, reaching, just like E. So grown up, yet just so…not.

She is serious, though, so I better focus. You see we’ve been talking a lot about a certain slumber party these past weeks and my opportunity for procrastination has run out.

“Am I going, Mom?”

She knows me well and waits patiently. She is careful to do everything right. Say everything right. And I want to say yes. Don’t tell her, but I always want to say yes.

“Please?”

And then I hear myself asking the same questions I’ve already asked, and she’s already answered. She doesn’t remind me of this, though. She only answers them again. She has the patience of a saint!

“Who will be there?” I ask. “What will you do?” and “What will you watch?” *Gasp* I love this last question, because it lends me the notion that I might have an out. I fantasize for a moment about her sleeping in her own bed. Me, tip toeing in to kiss her goodnight.

“Mom?”

You see, I don’t want her to go. I never want her to go. I’m selfish like that. I like her company. She’s been leaving me since the day she was born, ever independent. Okay, I’m being dramatic. There are times, you know there are times.

But it is the unknown that's always creeping into my mind. The what if?...

“Lord?” I lift my eyes. “Now would be one of those times, Lord, when you could dump down on me some of that great wisdom you’re so generous with.” 

peanut butter

Hello, Love!

This is what I ate for breakfast.

Peanut butter, well, it ought to be celebrated, don’t you think? I, for one, am a great proponent of the occasional indulgence. Hear me, now, occasional. There are things I have learned in this life.

“There is such a thing as too much peanut butter, dear.”

Those are the ever relevant words of my dear mother. They bear repeating. Evidenced by a receipt from the doctor listing such things as constipation and my name.

By age eight, I had already formed a severe affection (affliction?) for the creamy substance. It should be eaten, and often. Preferably with honey, between two slices. If not, a spoon would do.

Today my love of PB lives on, though tempered by the knowledge I gained in that cold, sterile place long ago.

It should be eaten, and often.