food rules

One of the best take-aways this past weekend was my grandma's recipe box. Because it is such a treasure, I will be scanning all of her handwritten recipes and making a book for all of my cousins, siblings and aunts and uncles. It's only fair, since many of her recipes, like brunswick stew, tijiana torte and shredded wheat bars, are legendary in my family. It wasn't that my grandma was a gourmet cook, but she was a comfort cook, and a healthy one. And she made healthy delicious.

Yesterday I read Michael Pollan's newest book, Food Rules. It's an easy 30 minute read, as it's just 65 brief rules, or policies, on eating. Other than drinking a glass of wine with dinner, I'd say my grandma followed them all. For a frugal, sugar-loathing farm girl who was eco-saavy long before the term was coined, this woman, with her arsenal of wholesome favorites and fridge full of leafy greens, was ahead of her time.

Eat what grows as a plant and not what's made in a plant. Check. Stay away from refined flour. Check. Don't eat anything with ingredients your great-grandmother couldn't identify. Check. Only eat at a table. Check.

As I read this excellent little book that I believe every American should read - and take to heart - I thought about how incredibly healthy and vital my grandma always was, and how she cooked and ate. As Pollan simply says: Eat food. Mostly plants. Not too much. That was my grandma's diet and way of feeding her family in a nutshell.

I think it's time to get back to that simple, whole foods diet. Considering the general state of health in America today, I'd say it's long overdue.

Read the book. Then go look for your grandma's recipe box - when dinner wasn't prepared in a factory, encased in plastic or served out of a window. You know, the good old days. It''s not too late to get them back.

my tribute

This past Friday I had the honor of giving a tribute at my grandma's funeral. Summing up her life, influence, character and gift to her family and a very large world of friends is a nearly impossible task, especially when you are allocated three minutes. But my tribute in concert with the other 11 family tributes offered on Friday morning created a beautiful mosaic of this one very precious woman. I am posting mine here in case anyone wants to read it and so that I will always have and remember it.

::

Some of my earliest memories of my grandma Gaye took place at her and my papa’s townhouse in Emerald Green. I remember everything about that home – the floorplan, the furniture, the bumper pool table, the bread dough rising on the counter, the flower-strewn patio overlooking the river. That home was one of my favorite places on earth. On one visit in particular, I remember a duckling. In my child’s eye, the story went like this:

It was early spring. My grandma relished spring. An absolutely avid nature lover, my grandma, this particular spring, was keeping close tabs on a duck who had chosen to make a nest in a bush outside her door. Soon the ducklings hatched and a few days later the mama duck led her brood in a little parade to the river. All but one. For hours my grandma fretted and fussed over this duckling that had been left behind. Night was falling. The temperature was dropping. So Gaye did what only my incredibly loving and compassionate grandma would do. She slipped outside, gathered the duckling into her nightgown and took it into bed with her. (Now, I am sure many of you are wondering where my papa is in this story, as it would be hard to imagine him agreeing to a duck in his bed. But this is my memory.)

I tell you this story because for me it creates a tiny picture of what my grandma’s love was like. She didn’t think twice about showering it. She didn’t worry that she would love one too much and another not enough. She didn’t care what the neighbors thought – because she loved them, too. She never grew tired and weary. She just loved. Big love.

Her husband knew it. Her siblings knew it. Her children knew it. Her YFC family knew it. Her church family knew it. Her friends knew it. Her neighbors knew it. Many times, even strangers – and ducklings – knew it. But, best of all, for me, her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren knew the fullness of her love.

In all my life, I will never forget listening in week after week while Gaye taught my son Liam (number 18 of 27 great-grandchildren) his ABC Bible verses. Often with tears in my eyes, I would sit in the other room and listen to her tell my son, in the most tender voice imaginable, “I’m so proud of you.” “It’s great.” “What a good job you’re doing.” And, as though it burst right from her heart, “I love you, honey.”

The day she passed away, I walked Liam to Kindergarten and asked him if he understood what it meant that Gaye had died. Quite matter-of-factly he told me that Gaye was very old and her body was very tired and she had gone to heaven. “Don’t worry, mom,” this five year old said. “She is so happy to see Jesus, and Jesus is so happy to see her.”

This statement from my son has made me wonder how often Jesus welcomes someone home who loves like our Gaye did. We are sad, so sad, to lose the woman who loved us each so tenderly, so individually and so completely. But like Liam said, we can be sure that she is so happy to see Jesus, and Jesus is so happy to see her.

spring

I have to write a poem on Spring,
Of trees that bloom and birds that sing.
I like the birds the trees and Spring,
But hate the poem I have to bring.
I like to hear the birds sweet song,
But hate to study all day long.
I love to roam among the trees
And study Botany as I please.
If I could do just as I wish,
If I could hike and hunt and fish,
The Spring would then most truly be
The season best designed for me.
The School would be my last retreat;
You'd never see me in my seat.
I'd have the time of my young life
With bat and ball and gun and knife.
I'd never try to write on Spring
Or trees or flowers or anything;
I'd just have fun the whole day long
And feel within my heart the song.

This poem was written for a school assignment 90 years ago by my grandpa George Olson who would be 101 tomorrow. How much he would have loved his great grandson who just happened to title his kindergarten chalk art assignment "Spring." Considering that tomorrow will also be the celebration of my grandma Gaye's 93 amazing years, Spring will forever be our season for remembering the poetry of two beautiful lives.

what i am thinking of

I am thinking of my grandma. It is still so strange to imagine that she is gone from this earth. After 42 years of her very significant and loving presence in my life, her total absence if nearly impossible to comprehend. And so, I am thinking of her. Specifically . . .

:: I am thinking of her long, elegant fingers cutting fabric on a big board laid over the bumper pool table in her basement. And those fingers kneading bread dough on her floured countertop, and expertly french braiding my hair into a crown around my head.

:: I am thinking of the great spread of food she would lay out on the table for any meal - whether it was just lunch for her and my papa and me or dinner for 25 family members. Always healthy and homemade and special.

:: I am thinking of her shredded wheat bars, bread and applesauce, brunswick stew, spinach souffle, and corn soup.

:: I am thinking about the way she belly laughed when we read the letters my papa's insanely conservative mother sent him at college, warning of the evils of candy and jazz music. Although she had every reason to, she never spoke ill of or sarcastically about this woman who often made her life very difficult.

:: I am thinking that she never spoke ill of or sarcastically about anything.

:: I am thinking of the birthday calendar that hung on the back of her powder room door and how happy I always was to see my name penned on it. And how she always remembered my birthday.

:: I am thinking of all the times I slept over at her house and how she sang to me in the darkened bedroom and rubbed my back and her sheets smelled so fresh and in the morning she was always in the kitchen making breakfast when I woke up. And when she saw me she would throw her arms around me like she hadn't seen me for a year.

:: I am thinking about how she loved beautiful things like a tree peony, a golden finch and a pretty-smelling lotion. And how her life was never about accumulating pretty things but always about seeing God's handiwork in everything.

:: I am thinking of how lovingly she spoke to my children and the incredible way she would swoop them into her arms. Even in her last days here, she squeezed them.

:: I am thinking about how earnestly, specifically and regularly she prayed.

:: I am thinking of her radiant smile.

:: I am thinking about the way she bubbled with joy and awe at the sight of her 27th great grandchild, so new and tiny. How holy that little visit seemed and how lucky I felt to happen to be there. How she couldn't take her eyes off that baby.

:: I am thinking of the amazing greeting I received at the door of her and my papa's hotel room in Nairobi. Never a hug so big in all the world.

:: I am thinking that my grandma made an astounding choice to leave a plain mennonite life, sell her house and possessions and to go to Japan with her husband and four small children. She had no idea what was in store. She just knew that God was calling them there. Before comfort or security, she heeded God's call.

:: I am thinking she was as brave as she was beautiful.

:: I am thinking that staying tethered to God was her secret.

:: I am thinking that being known and loved by this extraordinary woman for the last 42 years is just about one of the best gifts I've had in this life.

:: I am thinking that losing someone who loved you this much is something you never really get over.

strange but true

My son can't get enough of the spray bottle - when it's pointed at his face. On this particular occasion, I let him spray and spray until he was soaked, and he still cried when I took the bottle away. Based on his current skill sell, we have determined that he is either going to be a deep sea diver, a synchronized swimmer, a clown, a contortionist, a siren or a comedian. As you might imagine, he's pretty fun to have around.

amazing grace

Grace Dourte Wolgemuth
August 30, 1916 - March 17, 2010

My beautiful grandma died today and for once I am at a loss for words. I will miss her hugs, her singing, her friendship, her kindness, her applesauce, her hands, her smell, her shredded wheat bars, her compassion, her prayers, her laughter, her meals, her questions, her voice, and her beaming smile. She was truly amazing and I feel tremendously lucky to have been loved by her all these years. I will miss her so, so much. But I'm happy because she's whole now, and finally home.

unseasonably mild with scattered showers

This has been a tough week for me. Long on work. Short on patience. Really it's the lack of time to expend any creative energy that's gotten me down. Working on boring projects to pay the bills; constantly tidying; doing load after load of laundry; rushing from here to there and back again; never picking up needles and yarn, a book, a pen or a pile of fabric. It takes its toll on a girl, and the girl's family. So, thank the Lord for the weather. Oh, blessed spring-like weather. The squish of the mud, the sight of the tender green tips poking through the earth, the heady smell of rain, it's nearly enough to make this girl cry.

Here are some other bright spots this week:


:: a blooming pussy willow tree! Every year the sight of these tender little buds popping open gives me hope that spring really is coming soon.


:: a pile of the most amazing and lovely vintage fabrics that my friend Sabine offered me this morning. I am swooning. All I had to do was look at these and imagine the possibilities to feel my creative energy returning. This weekend I am definitely sewing.


:: our daring aquatic boy. who, I ask you, could resist him? nothing, nothing is as wonderful for this child as submerging himself in the bathtub. pool pass? check.

What's been keeping you going this week?

fast cookie

I had 15 minutes to eat this morning and no bread, no milk, so I made cookies for breakfast. I highly recommend whipping these up when you're craving a baked good but don't want all the butter and flour and guilt. And, truly, start to finish, a batch takes less than 15 minutes. If you're wondering whether something this simple and healthy can actually taste good, we blew through a batch and a half today. And I was controlling myself.

Easy Peanut Butter Oatmeal Cookies

1/2 cup peanut butter (crunchy, natural peanut butter is best)
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 1/4 cup quick oats
1/2 teaspoon baking soda

Mix all ingredients well. Drop by tablespoon onto cookie sheet and press down a bit. Bake at 350 for 8 minutes. Makes 10-12 palm-size cookies. (If you're using unsalted peanut butter, I recommend adding 1/4 teaspoon salt.)

Since batch one was gone by early afternoon, I made the recipe again using almond butter. Considering it wasn't breakfast, I also threw in a handful of chocolate chips and dried cranberries. This recipe is gonna be a favorite around here.

not far from the tree

Last Saturday I took Liam with me on a run to Joann Fabrics. I was looking for inspiration for the recipe book I volunteered to make for Laurie; Liam was just along for the ride, so I thought. But the boy had plans of his own. In the same way that his mom comes up with sewing and crafting ideas, Liam's plans evolved as we wheeled through the store. At first when he started asking for items, I absentmindedly said no. No, you can't have some fabric. Why would you want buttons? This paper is really expensive. (oh, yeah, 50 cents.) But after a stream of nos, I saw his sincere disappointment and decided to relent and let him purchase a few things. His choices: a black nylon remnant, black buttons and a sheet of scrapbook paper. I figured he didn't really know what he was doing, but the items were relatively inexpensive, so I let it go.


When we got home, in no time at all, Liam cut out a cape and then glued scraps of fabric onto a strip of cardboard to make a sword. The only real help he needed was for someone to thread the needle so he could sew on the button. Then he started snipping away at the scrapbook paper, wielding his glue stick, until a dragon emerged. And suddenly the whole story became clear. He did have a plan. Like his mom, it most likely came to be as he studied the fabrics, buttons and paper in the store, or not even until the scissors were in hand. But I never would have dreamed that those three cheap little items could have become a magical world. I am still in awe. It's amazing what that boy can show me when I just say yes.

comfort food from friends

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art.... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival. -C.S. Lewis

This weekend some neighbors and I said goodbye to a dear friend whose move came on more quickly than any of us anticipated. On Sunday twelve of us gathered to eat comfort food and give Laurie our last big hugs. We all brought our favorite feel-good (READ: insanely rich and delicious) dishes: chicken-only pot pie, spoon bread, mashed potatoes, cheesecake, flourless chocolate cake. (It was so good/bad, I didn't eat a thing for the next 24 hours.) As a going-away gift, we made Laurie a binder of our favorite recipes so she could take a tangible memory of each of us with her. After all the meals these neighborhood friends (and more) have made for each other in both sad and happy times, it was a perfect gift.

Unlike many of us, Laurie is quiet and unassuming. (The "many" of us, clearly, are loud and crazy.) But Laurie is always there for people. She sends notes, she checks in, she shows up, especially when things aren't going well for someone. I know at least one of us would say that she is a Godsend. But I'm not sure she always knew it. On Sunday, a lot of women spoke up (including some of the shiest) to say how much they had been touched by Laurie and how sorry they were that they hadn't spent more time with her.

By chance or, I'll admit, by a design that wasn't my own, I don't have this regret. I got to spend a lot of deep and meaningful time with Laurie. For almost two years, she and I got together once a week, usually on my three-season porch in the wee hours of the morning, to talk about the things that were making us worried, happy, upset, hopeful, you name it. Then - often in just the last 10 minutes we had together - we prayed for each other, our families and our neighborhood. Because I am kind of shy about praying out loud, it's not an arrangement I would have sought out. We started getting together to pray for our neighbor's son Gabe and we just never stopped.

I am not smart enough or selfless enough to handpick the friends who will make the biggest impact in my life. I love the serendipity of being thrown together with a person you might never consciously choose to bond with - and then to discover that you connect with this person in such a soulful way, only God could have arranged it. Laurie is a reminder to me to always strive to look beneath the surface, to embrace something that seems uncomfortable and to spend time with the people you love and admire before you only have one night left to do it. I will always miss those dark mornings on the porch with Laurie. And I will always be so thankful that we had them.