Good bye 2023

 I’ve been busy today, putting away Christmas and getting my house back in order. It doesn’t even look like Christmas was at my place. The tree was shoved out the door, and placed in the outdoor fire pit awaiting its  destiny of being burnt and its ashes returning to the ground. 

My dad gave me a glass angel Christmas ornament with my mom’s name on it. I know you’re probably thinking how sweet that was of my dad, but it’s bittersweet. You see, my mom died this past summer after being  in a car accident with my dad. Thankfully, this accident wasn’t my dad’s fault and the details of the accident are not really necessary. They were on their way to get groceries on Friday June 2, 2023 in the afternoon and my mom never got to go home. She did get to spend 7 weeks in 2 different hospitals trying to heal from her injuries, but…..

While my mom was in the first hospital she spent her first five days in ICU, where she was sedated. Slowly, they began to wake her up and she was able to breathe on her own and she was moved to the trauma centre. My mom was on amazing drugs/painkillers that made her tell amazing stories about the places and people she visited in her sleep. Looking back, I’m grateful that these medications gave her a  chance to escape the hospital room that she was in. She would tell us about her adventures and the people she visited with. Her stories gave me a chuckle, quite often she was in a bathroom, an all white bathroom that had many different levels, and she thought how she didn’t want to clean it. Another time, she was staying with a friend in that friend’s apartment and it was just so lovely. One day, her and my dad took a road trip to Pickering to attend a funeral, she commented on how nice the trees were on her drive as they were just beginning to change. Sometimes, her stories took a dark turn, and she was filled with fright and anxiety as she was stuck hiding in church, trying to find help and a way out. 

Of all of her stories, she had one that stood out as she told it with such earnest as she truly believed she was there. And who am I to say she wasn’t? I’m so glad my friend was there to hear this story as it was so good. 

My mom, with her one eye, swollen shut, her battered face, and her broken bones, looked at my friend and  I and said, “I’m so glad you are hear, you’ll never believe what I saw.” 

And then she told this story. 

“I was with a pastor, and I was helping him build his church. While we were building, these huge boulders were in the way and we didn’t know how we were going to move them. The pastor hired a team of horses, black horses, so big and beautiful and he hitched these horses to the boulders. But before he made the horses pull the boulders out, he whispered a prayer into each of the horses’ ears. He prayed to give them strength to pull the boulders out so that church could continue its build. And then the horses pulled out the boulders and to see it with my own eyes, was truly amazing! So, remember, if God can help those horses, he can heal me, and here am I still preaching from a bed!”

 My friend and I looked at my mom and agreed that God can heal her and He can do amazing things and we were happy that she got to witness such an amazing feat of strength by these horses. She told this story with such excitement that she needed to sleep right after. 

Of course, as you know, my mom didn’t heal from injuries, and she passed away after 7 weeks of trying really hard. God healed her in His way. 

People are funny creatures, and never know really the right thing to say to someone with sadness. My favourite is when people mention that my mom is looking down and watching over us. She’s not. 

When my mom was alive her motto was, “No news is good news.” Which meant to her that if you didn’t hear from her, or if she didn’t hear from me, everything was good. She wasn’t really a phone person. I could go a month before I ever called her on the phone and she would do the same thing. In her senior years my mom became a person that wore hearing aids. She didn’t like them and quite often wouldn’t wear them. She said that when she wore her hearing aids she felt my dad was too loud. So, in her senior years, conversations with my mom on the phone were yelling conversations. I would go up to my bedroom, sit on my bed and yell into the phone. I would have a yelling conversation for 15 minutes and then say good bye to her. I would then go back downstairs and announce to my family that I had been talking to my mom and they would reply back, “We heard.” It got to the point it was funny. I would talk to my sister and mention that I had had a yelling conversation with  mom, and she would laugh and mention that she too had had a yelling phone call with her. Because… yelling conversations were hard on ones voice box, phone calls were only once in awhile. That doesn’t mean we didn’t talk, my dad is a driver, so in person visits and conversations were easier, especially for my voice and for the people that lived in my house. 

This is why she’s not watching me  from up above…no news is good news and she’s busy. They say we can’t even fathom heaven, it’s the most perfect place for each individual. I like to think that heaven for my mom is one big yarn store with all the best yarn with the most vibrant colours. She’s busy, knitting socks out of gold and silver yarn, her arthritis doesn’t bug her, in fact, nothing bugs her, and she can knit and knit. Plus, she’s visiting, there’s people she hasn’t seen in years and she having the time of her life. If my mom was going to check on anyone, it would be her grandkids, and not her kids as she knows we are fine. That’s how she raised us, to be independent, think for yourself, do your own thing, no news is good news kinda people. 

Which brings me back to the glass angel my dad gave me. I had to put it away, in a box in the basement. I like it, but not the reminder it brings me. My mom is gone, she’s not a yelling phone conversation away. I’m not going to ever hear again, “Hey Lene!” in her Dutch accented voice. 

I’m  ready to say “Good Bye 2023” there’s been a few highlights, but the last 6 months were hard, Hard in way that I had to learn to listen to myself and give in to my anxiety and learn coping skills. Hard in way that I had to quit drinking booze because it was my coping tool for most of the summer which intensified my anxiety. Hard in way to take a rest from people and social situations that didn’t give me any joy. Hard in way that I had to address that most things I was doing was just numbing things to cope with everyday things. Hard in way that I had to learn to ask for help, to lean on friends and my husband. Hard in way that I had to ask God to show me and tell me what to do. And He did. 

I’m ready to say, “Hello 2024!” Of course it will bring challenges, and my anxiety will rear its ugly head, but I’m hoping it will also bring closure and joy. As my mom taught me, “You pull up your boot straps and carry on. It too, will get better.” 

On my way to better. 

From the 4th line and with love,

Arlene

M.I.A. I.R.L

 Yes, I’ve been missing for quite sometime. And if you know me and read my previous posts, you’ll know how much I love TV shows. I love it! I can not explain in enough words how much I love quality TV programs.

Over the past two years with CoVid being ongoing….sometimes we were allowed out the house, and then the government said, “No. Stay in.” With that whole shit show going on…my family hunkered down in early 2020 and decided to buy all the streaming platforms. Give me Prime! Give me Disney Plus! Give me Netflix! Give me Crave! So many TV programs at my fingertips! In 2019, my family was on the run…work and the kids’ evening activities. We were at swimming lessons, Cubs, basketball, curling, and tutoring lessons. So, when all that stuff got cancelled, we didn’t know what do with ourselves on those long March evenings. 

We were thankful for all the Marvel movies that we watched in order. That took a bit of time, and because school was online, we could stay up later and sleep in. We didn’t have to travel far for school or work. Down the stairs, hang a right into the living room and continue on into the kitchen. We watched every movie series I feel ever created. Harry Potter, Jurassic Park, Rocky, and every movie in between. Dumb movies, thought provoking movies, scary movies, hilarious movies and movies that make you cry your eyes out. That was 2020. All the movies.

2021 was a bit different. Sometimes my kids were at school, and sometimes they were learning online. Sometimes, we had evening activities and sometimes/mostly they were cancelled or modified because of CoVid spikes. My one kid was able to have a modified baseball season and play tennis in 2021 because those sports were played outside. Just having those 2 sports brought my kid so much happiness. The younger boy was happy being able to tag along and have playgrounds to play on. 

I got really caught up…not just in family evening TV watching, I was watching my own shows…by myself! Folding laundry…watching my show. Washing dishes…watching my show. Curling my hair…watching! In fact, most of my chores were done with a screen in tow. There are so many great things to watch. I watched my own shows, and my daughter and I would pick a series to watch and then we would spend our days saying things like…”Are you caught up on Orange Is The New Black?” “Are you watching Younger? You should.” “Try Nine Perfect Strangers.” “Can you believe The Handmaids Tales?” “Don’t tell me, I’m not caught up yet.” I was also busy trying to convince her to watch a few of my favourites. “Watch Wentworth! It’s so good” “Good Girls!” “You should try Downton Abbey!” And so gross of us, we watched “Tiger King.” 

The TV habit carried well into 2022, even though we are  mostly in school, and we have most of our sports back. We had sports all summer long, we have sports and activities RIGHT NOW! And we still watch TV! There’s nothing like after a long day, an evening of running around to activities, that we gather around my favourite thing, the TV. We slip into our comfy clothes, we find our blankets, we pick our spots to sit and we find the show that we our watching. We are currently watching “The Modern Family” and just finished “Malcolm in the Middle.” Next on our list is “The Office.” 

For the most part, everything that we have watched has prompted questions or discussion about something. Sometimes the topics are hard, like consent. Just watch “Back to the Future” and you’ll see why. A difficult conversation took place after watching “Coach Carter.” Same with “The Blindside.” “Rudy” became a fast favourite and never quit trying. After a comedy, we just walk away with the joy of laughing, we don’t always need a life lesson. 

Once again, the escape of TV took me away, to many different lands. I travelled the world, went to the future and slipped into the past. It was sometimes easier to live in a fantasy world then live with what was going on in the real world. It was my way of coping. 

The world seems a bit more normal, and my TV watching has waned…a bit? It takes me a lot longer to get through a series. Our days and evenings are filled. Sometimes we don’t have time to sit down and watch. But to the writers and creators of these great programs, I “Thank you” for filling a very large void in my life these past two years. I would not have got through it if it wasn’t for TV shows. I suppose I could have read a book or two, but libraries were closed! TV was never closed! 

Thank you TV.

From the 4th line,

Arlene. 

P.S. I’m not great at proofreading or the grammar stuff…so…🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

Thanksgiving

Every other month, I do the mini message at my church, or as my brother refers to it as "my show." If it truly was my show, I'd have fireworks, and a steel drum band playing as I walked in. I'm assuming that the church budget doesn't have any extra money for fireworks and a steel drum band, so it's left up to me, to use my best "Johnny Olsen" voice and tell everyone to "Come on down! You are NOT the next contestant on the Price is Right! It's just time for the mini message!"

We had our Thanksgiving Service yesterday, and I complied a list of the the little things that sometimes I think we forget to be thankful about. I spelled out "Thankful" and had each kid stand up at the front of the church holding a letter.  It also helped that I talked to a woman this past week who is 91 years old, and she was thankful for plumbing and proceded to tell me when she was a young mom, she had to lug water from the barn each and every day, because they didn't have plumbing in their house. She was also thankful for modern appliances,  because she hated washing dishes, and scrubbing clothes on a washboard. She's a fascinating walking talking history book!

T...is for tractors, trucks, technology and the such,
T...is also for Thanksgiving, just one of the holidays were we eat too much.

H...is for hockey, Canada's sport that's fun to play,
H...is also for helmets, a safety item to keep your concussions at bay.

A...is for...well it's apples. We put them in pies, sauces, and tarts.
A...is also for kitchen appliances which come in handy to cook and store all those apple parts.

N...is for nails! Fingernails for that pesky mosquito bite itch.
N...is for needle, with thread, for that neckwarmer that needs a stich.

K...is for Koffee...if we spell it in Dutch,
K...is also for ketchup, we use it on much!

F...is for furry friends, family, and French Fries,
F...is also for feeling fabulous when Friday finally arrives!

U...is very useful for spelling words like umpire, uniform and umbrella too!
But I'm thankful for the U so I can spell "unique" which describes each one of you!

L...is for loving, living and laughing out loud
L...is for being God's little lights, shining like beacons in a crowd.

Happy Thanksgiving!

From the 4th line,
Arlene

Writing prompt: What I remember about my algerbra teacher

Write down everything I hate about math.

Ooops! My mistake! I read the writing prompt wrong and it automatcially makes me think about how much I hate math. The real writing prompt is: Write down everything I remember about my algerbra teacher.

Easy...nothing. Probably because I wasn't in class because I had written a note and forged my parents' signature on it to get of that disgusting class of numbers and equations.

I love this writing prompt because I could end it right here, walk away and go fold some laundry that doesn't require me to figure that "x = MCsquared or to the power of 2 or 312.5"  or something to that affect. Or is it "effect"for you grammar people.

As much as I hate math, I can do math. I can add, subtract, multiply, divide and a few easy fractions if need be, such as in baking. When my 1 cup measure is dirty, I know I can use two 1/2 cups to make 1 cup. When I start dealing with 2/3's and 3/4's it's time to wash some measuring cups.

I've had a few math teachers in my time and I can remember each and every one of them. Some better than others.

I remember the teacher that taught me long division in Grade 5. She pulled me out of recess to go over the many steps it took to figure out the quotient and the reminder. While my friends were outside playing baseball, or hanging off the monkey bars, I was inside, trying to figure out how many times 7 went into 994. I'm sure she had the best intentions, but she kept bringing up how she was missing her recess too. For which, I instantly felt bad about because I just wasn't catching on to this whole long division as fast as what everyone else was. I did remind her that it was her idea to stay in for recess and not mine, she sighed and we continued on with long division. To her credit, I get it! The answer is 142!

I'm going to skip over to Grade 7. That's when math began to get really difficult for me. So difficult, I didn't listen at all. My head is a very busy place. I have lots going on in there. I'm great at daydreaming, I'm excellent at holding conversations with people inside my head. All the while maintaining a listening look. You may think I'm listening to you, but if you are boring me, I'm not listening. I'm probably focusing on something on your face, like a stray eyelash, or sands of sleep still stuck in the corner of your eyes. I'm probably thinking, while you are talking, "Do I tell this person that they have an eyelash on their cheek? Did they know they walked out of their house with a very visible foundation line on their face? Hmmm. Do I tell this person or pretend I didn't see it?"
That's what happened to me when math got hard. I left. Not physically, but mentally. I left the room.

It's very hard to come back into that room of math when you have been gone for so long. I found out that I missed large pieces of the math puzzle and that put me very far behind. I would have to stay in from a lot recesses to make up for my mind absence, but that didn't happened at all. My math teacher at that time was also the principal of the rinky dinky little school I attended. He wasn't about to miss his recess. He had cigarettes to smoke, phone calls to make, and children to frighten. He didn't put the "pal" in principal at all. I think he tried to be funny, but his big bushy eyebrows and large teeth just made him look like a clown that forgot to put his make up on. Or maybe us students were wishing he would wear clown make up to hide his face.

By the time Grade 7 was coming to a close and summer holidays were just on the horizon. I was failing math miserably but somehow I passed on into Grade 8. (My dad would say at this point, "By the skin of your teeth!")  The principal who didn't put the pal into play, dangled in front of me, a summer math work book and a threat. If I didn't complete the summer math work book, chances are I wouldn't graduate Grade 8 with my friends.

I had good intentions of working on that math work book and good intentions of having it completed by the end of July. That's all I had... was good intentions and tons of summer fun! Very quickly the end of summer was approaching and school was gearing up to start and I probably  had only done 10 pages of that work book. To my surprise and absolute delight, there were answers in the back of the book, so you could check your work. I spent the rest of my last week of summer at home filling in the questions using the answers.

I said before, I have a busy head. While I was very busy filling in the questions with the answers I found in the back of the book, I was also being very busy in trying to tape songs off the radio at the same time. Thus, I got sloppy in my work book. My answers for the questions didn't match the page number or even the question number. I didn't care, the book was complete, and I finally managed to record "Every Breath You Take" by the Police without the DJ talking over the beginning of the song. That was success in my books!

I was hoping that my teacher/principal would have forgotten about the work book. He hadn't. I wished that I had been more creative and lost that work book in a hay baling accident or had a cow eat it page by page. But I hadn't. I did hand it in and I thought I had pulled the wool over his bushy eyebrows. But I hadn't.

Then one day, my parents were at school, and it wasn't to "pick me up early out of the goodness of their hearts and save me from this wretched hell hole" visit.
 It was a "we talked to your teacher/principal who doesn't put the "pal" in principal and he says you are borderline retarded" visit to school. Which floored me and upset me. All the mentally challenged people I knew lived in a group home and we would go and sing to them at Christmas time. Was I destined for a life in a group home?  You'll be pleased to know that I didn't go to a group home. I got to live at home with my family. I received a long winded lecture, that I remember not listening to. I do remember being told to pull up my boot straps and try harder. I do remember telling people that I don't get math. I do remember being so mad at my teacher/principal that I wished him dead. If his comment was to encourage me to do better, to rise to the occasion, it did the opposite. I quit math.

Some how, I passed Grade 8. I got to graduate with my friends even though I cheated my way through that work book. I like to think that my teacher/principal  moved me along, to get me out of his bushy eyebrowed sight. We both hated each other, for different reasons. I hated him to the core of my being. He brought out the worst in me. He made me hate school and learning. He did teach me about snappy come backs. He would say to me, "You need to know math if you are ever going to wall paper a room." And I would reply back, "I'll paint my walls! And if I run out of paint because I didn't do the math, I'll go to the store to buy more!"  He probably hated me because he thought I was unteachable, when in fact he only knew one way to teach and I  learned that when I moved on to highschool.

Grade 9 was a new game. New school, new town, new people. I liked my math teacher in Grade 9 and it wasn't his fault that I only just barely passed his class. It also wasn't his fault that I harboured a lot of resentment towards math and teachers. I had left Grade 8 and entered Grade 9 already behind the eighth ball, because of me mentally checking out of the room when it came to math. Plus, I didn't understand that my math teacher genuinely wanted me to succeed in math, that was confusing. A high school teacher that cared? I was told by the rinky dinky school principal  that once I entered high school none of the teachers would care about their students. That principal was wrong. I passed math because my Grade 9 math teacher did care about his students.

There's so much I could say about Grade 10 math, but I'm not. Long story short, I failed Grade 10 math and was expected to spend 2 weeks of my summer vacation at summer school. Which I didn't do. First of all, who wants to spend any time at summer school learning math. I sure some people do, but not me. Second of all, summer school was being held in Fergus, a long way away from my home, at least 40 minutes by car, or two hours by horse and buggy. Thirdly, the bus wasn't going to pick me up at my house, I was going to have to bike 5kms away from my house, leave my bike in a ditch at the side of road and pray no one stole it, to catch the bus that would drive me to math hell. No thank you!

When the new school year started I was in Grade 11 but having to redo my Grade 10 math. Was I determined to study hard and conquor this subject? Nope. I just wanted to get by. There was one problem, I had a very funny friend in my math class, that sat beside me. My friend didn't get math either, and we both spent our time laughing, cracking jokes and ducking pieces of chalk that were being thrown at us by the teacher. Yes, we were a disturbance, but a very funny distrubance indeed.

I know you can hardly stand the suspense. Did I finally pass Grade 10 math when I was in Grade 11 and get the credit I needed to graduate? Yes....but barely. I owe it all to my fine persuasion talking skills and a very nice vice principal who did put the pal in principal. Him and I had a chat, post final math exam time. I'm pretty sure I didn't do well on that final math exam, and I explained to my vice principal that I was going to avoid all careers that required me to do math.  Rodeo clown was high on my list of career choices after florist and clergy. He agreed that I should avoid math at all cost, and assured me that I would never have to enter a math class again, unless it was something I really wanted to pursue.

I passed with a 51%.

Life is better with calculator.

I didn't become a rodeo clown.

I still hate math.

From the 4th line,
Arlene

Your Face Is Going to Freeze Like That.

They other day I sounded like my mother. My boys were acting up and I said what my mother had said to me when I was kid standing in the Peoples store in Listowel.

"Act your age, not your shoe size."

I remember thinking this is an odd thing to say and then I remembered thinking I don't get it. I got it about twenty years later. (I'm slow to catch on, I pretend to "get" a lot of things only to "get it" months later) I was eight years old and my shoes size was a three. So...according to my mom, I was acting like a three year old at the Peoples store. I was probably belly aching for gum and my mom just wanted to shop in peace and quiet. I get it now.  I too, want to shop in peace and quiet, and I refuse to take my boys to any store because I know the belly aching is going to start up about who's going to push the cart. Then I'm going to spend the rest of my time walking and whincing everytime one of them rams the cart into the back of my legs. "Pay attention! Watch where you are going! You know, when we get home, you are going to have to bandage my bloodied legs!"

So, the other day, the guys were acting like knuckle heads and I was wishing that I could just crack their skulls together and they would wizen up. But I didn't. I just said, "Hey you two. Act your age, not your shoe size."

I'm not sure what I was expecting, maybe I was expecting both of them to have an Oprah "Ah ha!" moment and they would stop their nonsense and both quit what they were doing, which was pushing each other over while they pulled their winter gear on. Maybe I was hoping they would stop, look at each other and the older one would say to the younger one, "Mom's right, we should act our age and not our shoe size."

I didn't get that response at all. What I got was a lot of confusion and questions.

"What?"

I said, "Act your age, not your shoe size!!!"

"I think my shoe size is a three, but my winter boots are a four. You said shoe, right? Like my basketball shoes or my tennis shoes? I have indoor shoes at school...I think those are a three? I don't know what my baseball shoes are. Remember when we bought my new hockey skates? Those are a four!"

And because I didn't want my children to go through life wondering what this phrase meant... like I did, I explained it to them.

"It means that you are seven years old acting like your three years old, or four years old, depending by what foot wear we are going by. I say your acting more like your winter boots...four."

That's when Dean had his Oprah moment.

"Hey Marty. What size are your running shoes?"

"I don't know. Ask mom."

"Marty's shoes are a size 13."

"Woah! Marty you're acting like you're thirteen years old!! You're acting like a teenager! Ha Ha!"

"Wait a minute! Marty's winter boots are a size one, I thought we were going by winter boots size! He's 5 years old acting like a year old!"

"Ha, Ha! Marty's one year old! Marty's one year old! I'm four years old!"

"Now your acting like a mean seven year old!

"Mom!!! Dean's says I'm one year old. I'm not! I'm five!"

At this point I was wishing I had never said anything. I didn't know this short one liner was going to be up for such debate. Knocking their skulls together would have been faster and the point would have been made.  Like I said before,  I didn't do that.  I thought it and that's the difference.

By this time, their winter gear was on, and they were out the door grabbing their sleds and heading toward the snow hill. Shoe and winter boot sizes all forgotten and who's acting like what age.

"You made your bed, now lie in it." It took me years to get this one too. That's a story for another day. Curiousity kills the cat.

From the 4th line,
Arlene

Tales about Vacation Bible School

     Vacation Bible School finished up this week and I was able to be present and help out for the last day. It just so happened that VBS fell on my work week and I wasn't able to volunteer as I had in the past. I helped out in other aspects....I cut out a lot of paper crafts during the month of March, my right hand was temporarily formed in the "scissors claw" after spending night after night of cutting.

      The name Vacation Bible School is deceiving. It's not a vacation by any means. It's work for a lot people that run the show.  By the time everyone gets home from Vacation Bible School, they are tired and spent. I completely understand, that was me last year when I was the leader of Kid Video. So....totally not a vacation by any means. The bible part is easy because the message is delivered so that every child can understand how God works. The "school" part is a hard sell, because no one wants to go to school in the summer, but yet, every summer, 80 or so kids show up on the church's doorstep looking for fun and some bible adventure. And the moms that drop their kids off, are the same as the moms that dropped their kids off 40 odd years ago. Frazzled moms looking for their kids to be occupied and out of their hair for a few hours. I get this, because my mom was one of those moms, 40 or so years ago and I am one of those moms today.

     I grew up going to Vacation Bible School in my one horse town. It had classes from kindergarten to Grade 8. When I was a VBSer, it was a two week long program, run like a school, minus the math. We  had work books, and we were told to spell things properly, and be neat, just like regular school. We had recess, where we played tag and Red Rover.  We had snack time, we ate homemade cookies and drank glasses filled with Kool Aid and Tang.  We had music, we sang and all of our songs were written on paper, placed on easel. We had a nice lady play the piano so we could sing our hearts out. "We come to magnify the Lord. We come to magnify the Lord!"  We studied the bible stories, and learned to incorporate our own little lives into the lessons. We had arts and crafts as well. We made wooden bowls out of fancy popsicle sticks. We burnt the tips of matches and glued them onto a cardboard cross. We made string art using nails and a hammer, and mobiles out of a clothes hanger we brought from home.  We worked out of a classroom and had the same teacher for the full morning. We stayed in that classroom only be let out for recess and for the final singing at the end of the morning.
   
     Oh, I failed to mention, I went to Mennonite Bible School. I am not a Mennonite. But when the closest town is only 5 minutes away and  mother wants us all out of the house for the morning for two weeks, you go to Mennonite Vacation Bible School whether you want to or not. I think all the mothers on the 6th line wanted their kids out, so whoever was doing the morning pick up to get all of us kids to VBS, had us crammed into the car like sardines on a hot summers day. Who cared about seat belts? Who cared if there were seats in the vehicle?  If the mothers could, they would have grabbed a tractor and a hay wagon and loaded it up with kids just steal a morning without their children hanging off their legs.  Back in that day, my mother was a smoker.  I pictured her sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee and cigarette with the radio tuned to "Swingin' Wingham" relishing her quiet and mulling over in her mind what to start first while we were all away.

      Now I can only speak for myself about my experiences at VBS, but while my mother was washing up the breakfast dishes, and getting a load ready for the spin washing machine, I was happily lining up outside the little Mennonite Church waiting to go and begin the day with singing. I had friends at school, I knew people, so bible school was a fine place to be. I always wanted to get to bible school early, if you were one of the first kids in line, you got the coveted job of holding the collection plate for the money we kids brought in to save other kids from behind that mysterious iron curtain. We prayed for those kids behind the iron curtain, we raised money for the kids behind the iron curtain, that iron curtain baffled me. Why didn't those kids just move the iron curtain and step in front of it. Everyday I came with money for the children behind the iron curtain and  it must have helped, because I know now, that the iron curtain is no more. The Vacation Bible School kids made a difference!

      There were only a few times that I didn't give all of my money to the iron curtain kids.  Confession time!!!!

      A few times, when my car load of kids arrived early to VBS, my friend and I would walk the block to the local grocery store and buy nickel gum. Not even good gum, it wasn't even Double Bubble gum, it was the knock off Double Bubble gum, but still candy is candy. I was easily swayed to go, it wasn't even my idea, it was my friend's idea.She was a year older than me, so of course she was wiser, and  I liked the idea of going to get gum. My mom gave me a quarter everyday to give to the iron curtain kids. I had perfectly good reasoning behind my decision in going with my friend to get knock off Double Bubble gum.

     "I don't get ever get gum so I'm kinda like a kid stuck behind the iron curtain, I'm stuck behind the I Don't Ever Get Gum Curtain therefore I deserve gum too."

     I felt justified. It wasn't my fault that the kids behind the iron curtain couldn't move the curtain. If the curtain was that heavy, why didn't their parents move the curtain so they could move out from behind it?  Besides, I didn't spend all of my money, I always had a dime leftover to put into the collection plate for those kids. It was a win/win situation, I got gum and the kids got a little closer to getting out from behind that curtain. And then.....

     I got caught! My mom told me that she had talked to the owner of the local grocery store. He had mentioned that he had seen me and my friend in the store by ourselves. He thought it odd that we were in the store without our mothers and with our town being so small, he knew that we belonged at Vacation Bible School. There went my gum! It was probably at this point in my life, that I knew that I wasn't meant to be a "bad girl." I did keep on trying to play that part, but those are tales for another day.

     The best part of Vacation Bible School, besides all the singing that we did and crafting, was Mrs. Brownsberger.  She lived beside the little Mennonite church and she was an elderly Mennonite lady. She was a soft, round lady, with steel grey hair that was scraped into a bun and she had a white mesh cap covering her hair. She had kind eyes, with deep wrinkles in her face and she made caramel covered popcorn balls for us kids every once and a while. At the end of the morning, we would stand at her back door and she would hand out popcorn balls. I always thought Mrs.Brownberger was 100 years old, but looking back and thinking about it, I'm pretty sure she was 100 years old.

     The other best part of Vacation Bible School, was the finale. On the last morning, we would spend our time rehearsing for the evening finale. Our parents were invited for the big show, the dads would quickly do their milking and their evening chores, so they could drive the whole family into town, so the VBS kids could showcase their singing, what they had learned during the two weeks, and show off our crafts. After the presentation, it was time for cookies and coffee, walking around to the classrooms to pick up our workbooks, our crafts and say good bye to Vacation Bible School friends. "See you next year!" we would call out to each other. After VBS had ended, chances are, I wouldn't seem them again till the next summer. They went to a different church, a different school, they lived on different concessions and travelled in different circles.  After all, they were Mennonite kids, and I was not.

     Vacation Bible School has been running for years and years. This program can not run without the help of many volunteers. Back when I was at Mennonite VBS, it was stay at home Mennonite mothers that ran the program with the help of their teenage daughters. In this day in age, it takes all kinds of people to help keep this show up and running. Some of the volunteers are stay at home moms, some are part time working moms who can manage to juggle their schedule to help out. Some moms, use their week of work holidays to come out and volunteer, some moms are teachers and even though they have the summer off, it's kind of them to come in for a week and teach. Some moms have an empty nest at home, but they see the need and happily come to VBS and spread some joy! Some moms are retired but take great pride in seeing their grandchildren enjoy VBS while they help out in the kitchen preparing snacks for kids. Lots of our volunteers are community teenagers, of course getting their volunteer hours, but also taking such great care and showing such compassion when they lead their charges around to different stations. We also have a dad, that does such a fantastic job, front and centre, on stage, getting the kids energized for a fun filled morning and then recapping what the kids have learned at the end.

     It takes a village to raise kids and all takes is one seed to be planted in one child heart's to know that all the work that is involved is worth it.

     Cheers and thanks to everyone who has ever volunteered for any "kind" Vacation Bible School!

From the 4th line,
Arlene






 

   

 
     

Writing Prompt: Worst Thanksgiving Dish You Ever Had.

     Here she comes, flying through my front door with her car coat flapping behind her.

     "What are you up to?" She smiles that gaped toothed, heavy on the lipstick smile at me. Do I tell her she has lipstick on her front tooth? Just as I'm about to say something about the lipstick, she takes a puff off her cigarette and says, "I forgot how you dislike my smoking." She purses her lips like she's going to whistle at me, but instead she struts across my kitchen floor and extinguishes her cigarette in an empty milk glass that needs to be washed. The lipstick on her front tooth has disappeared, no need to say anything.

     "You aren't going to be drinking out that glass again." She flops onto my kitchen couch and stares at me, with a look at disdain on her face, but yet she has a twinkle in her eye.

     Meet my friend Esmeralda. I wasn't expecting her today, but that's how she does life. She's my brazen friend, she says what she wants, does what she wants, dresses how she wants, takes the bull by the horns kind of woman. After she sheds her car coat, I'm amazed at how she can pull off a flirty little sundress....at her age. Those shoes, killer heels. I'm silently coveting her shoes. Her feet are so dainty compared to my stepsister feet. Her voice is raspy, like she has been out on tour singing in smokey bars chatting up the gentlemen looking for a free drink. She probably has.

     "Well, enthrall me with your wonderful tales. I've been gone so long and you know how I don't do social media. Look at me and tell me dear one, what have you on your plate this go around?"
 She swings her legs with those beauty shoes still attached to her feet and lounges on my couch, waiting for me to speak.The twinkle in her eye doesn't leave, but there is a spark in her tongue.

     "Oh Esmeralda." I begin. "I've been working on a writing prompt. The worst Thanksgiving dish I ever had."

     She looks at me in anticipation. "So? What is it? What is the worst thanksgiving dish you have ever eaten? Certainly it couldn't be worse than when I was in the South of France and we ran out of wine!" She shrieks with laughter! "Imagine! Me running out of wine! But that's a tale for another day!" She's off again, laughing so hard her eyes fill with tears.

     "It goes a number of years back." I say to Esmeralda. "A lot of years back. The worst thanksgiving dish I ever had was a turnip casserole with broiled marshmallows on the top. It was the worst. Who ever thought of that combination must of had had a surplus of turnip and marshmallows hanging about and thought what a great idea! Turnip and marshmallows on their own are boring, but together, a Thanksgiving treat! Blech!  It was when I was dating that guy and he invited me over for dinner at his parents' place. Do you remember that Esmeralda?"

     "Do I remember it? I remember it like it was yesterday. That was the guy I told you not to go out with,  but you wouldn't listen. Plenty of fish in the sea I said to you, no need to drop anchor and settle in on that small fry. Back then, you did as you pleased. You were a smitten kitten with that one. No changing your mind. So, I stopped badgering you and decided to sit back and enjoy the show. You and that gorilla made it one good show. If reality TV was a thing back then, you would have had topped ratings. The drama!" I watch as Esmeralda fans her face with her hands and pretends to faint.

     I laughed at her antics. "Esmeralda! You're one to talk! How about 'Andre' the biker? One minute you were this demure pixie in ballet slippers and the next minute you were buying out the Harley store!"

     "With Andre, a lot of crazy things happened, but never turnip and marshmallows. However, one night in Las Vegas, we may have been partaking in some 'magic turnips' if you get my drift." Esmeralda is off laughing again and wiping her eyes remembering her time with Andre.

     "We've come a long way baby." I swoon at her. I push her over so I can have some room on my couch and I hug my long time friend. "How about before you leave I whip you up some turnip and broiled marshmallows, just so you can say you tried them."

     She gives me that smirk I have come to love so much and says in her most raspy voice, "No thanks, but magic turnips....maybe."

     With that she flings herself off my couch, pulls on her car coat and is half out my door, when she turns to me and says, "You know I'll be back my dear one." And she blows me kiss.

From the 4th line,
Arlene

Truth or fiction....you be the judge. :)