The Nostalgia of Lilacs ~ Dana

This last weekend, Jen and her family went camping and on our Instagram account, Grace In the Details, she posted a lovely picture of a lilac bush in full bloom. Her caption read, “Can’t you just smell the lilacs?” And my answer was a resounding, “Yes!”

When I was growing up in the 1970s and 80s, my great-grandmother, Nana, lived in a small house in San Bernardino, just two doors down from where my Grandma Betty still lives today. In Nana’s back yard was a big, gorgeous, super-fragrant lilac bush. Every time we came to visit her, we left with something: homemade banana date bread, a lunch sack filled with walnuts from her walnut tree, or when the lilacs were blooming, a bouquet of the delicate violet flowers with a wet paper towel wrapped around the stems, keeping them moist until we could get home and put them in water.

Sometimes I would get to keep Nana’s lilacs in my room and I can still remember falling asleep with their sweet fragrance ready to fill my dreams.

Fast-forward to 1997 and I found myself living in the beautiful city of Innsbruck, Austria. My first year there, we had a harsh winter with record amounts of snow. So when spring finally made its appearance, it was none too soon for this California girl. I had made good friends with Harry and Renate, an older couple who lived and worked near where I lived, in Ambras, a little village on the outskirts of town. One day, Renate brought me a huge bunch of lilacs from her garden and I thanked her profusely in my broken German.

That night, back in the room that I rented from Frau Päer, I was overwhelmed with emotion and wrote the following:

The bunch of lilacs that sit in a vase on top of my refrigerator fill my room with their nostalgic scent. As the sweet perfume encompasses my senses, my mind reels back 20 years. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and remember the feeling of the sand from the sandbox between my toes. I feel the chill of the cold water from the garden hose. I can hear the women’s voices from the kitchen, Nana finally calling me in for lunch. A kiss and a glass of red Kool-Aid greet me. I take three big gulps and I can feel the cold, sweet liquid flow all the way to my tummy. In the folds of her skirt, I find her hand and she leads me into the house. The kitchen is hot but the dining room windows are open and a gentle breeze blows over us. Mom and Grandma are already sitting down as I climb into my chair, taking my place as the fourth generation. In front of me on a deep green glass plate is my lunch of cottage cheese, peaches, jell-o with fruit in it with multi-colored mini marshmallows on top.

We finish everything and move into the living room, where the air conditioner blows in. I could turn on the TV. I could play in the bedroom. I could go back outside. But instead I lie in the middle of the floor and listen to the lady-talk. I move from woman to woman, letting each run her fingers through my hair, rub my back, or fan my face. We passed hours this way, and to me, time stood still. Now 20 years later, a continent away, what I wouldn’t give for one more hour.

I didn’t know we had lilacs in Austria. I didn’t know one tiny violet blossom meant so much.

As my older self, now a mother, re-reads these lines, I think, “I want this childhood for my girls.” Because folks, it was magical. And I remember that it was the little things that touched my heart the most: reading books with Nana, watching the fire in the fireplace reflect in Grandpa Art’s glasses, wrapping up in Grandma Betty’s robe on a chilly morning after I had spent the night, listening to the Beach Boys in Mom’s Trans Am, building bookshelves with Dad.

No tutu photo shoots. No themed birthday parties (although my 9th birthday party at Mc Donald’s was pretty freaking rad). Not that there is anything wrong with those things. Trust me, my girls have had some pretty awesome photo shoots. But I’m going to be honest. Those things are for me. I want to see them in tutus around a little table with a vintage tablecloth and silver spoons and cupcakes!

But what my oldest really wants to do is, “go to Grammie’s house and play on the bed.” Childhood is magical, not because of the big moments that we create for our children, but because of the everyday love that they feel. I want them to remember picking up tacos at Baker’s and taking them to Grandma Betty. I want them to remember swimming at Grandma and Grandpa Light’s. I want them to, someday when they’re off at college, smell orange blossoms and remember picking oranges with Grammie and Zha-Zha. I want them to remember dance parties in the kitchen with Mommy, and planting veggies on the “Fulwider Farm”, because those are the moments that I will always hold dear in my heart.

And maybe the tutu tea parties.

Ten Years

Ten years is a long time to be married to someone. –Gwyneth Paltrow

Dear Gwyneth,

I’ve been married ten years in November and it has gone by in a silly blur. When we got married, my nephew Wyatt was a tiny bump under his mom’s bridesmaid dress. He’s going to be nine in June—nine! Behind him came seven more grandkids in seven years and all of them are now walking and talking.

I don’t feel like I have aged a day, even though there’s a whole lot of gray hair and twenty extra pounds that give a lie to that story. Shea is thinner than he was on our wedding day, but the gray ghost has caught him by the chin and we’re going to make a lot of money in retirement hiring ourselves out as Santa and Mrs. Claus for parties.

We still fight over the same stupid things we fought over when we were dating. And we laugh at the same stupid jokes. Sometimes we look around at our three kids, two dogs and home that we’ve lived in for almost all of those ten years and say to each other “When did we become grown-ups?”

Before, I prayed for and waited almost patiently for this life. The last ten years have not always been joyful and we have faced some dark valleys, just like everyone else. But even when those folded up socks in the laundry make me want to scream and throw Shea over the mountain, I am grateful that he has given me this life.

So I don’t think ten years is a long time to be married. Not when we’re standing in the shadow of our parents, who have been married 30 and 46 years respectively. Not when I witnessed both my grandparents’ 50^th wedding anniversary celebrations. Not when some of my closest friends, who are our age, have been married 24 and 19 years. Compared to them, we’re still rookies!

And Gwyneth, this idea of “conscious uncoupling” is dangerous. If it was a way to divorce without anger and resentment and with the children’s emotional and psychological health intact, I could get behind it-ish. We don’t speak divorce in this house, but there are legitimate reasons for it to happen.

But that’s not what you’re saying. You’re saying you got tired, distant, bored. That you’ve had enough and there isn’t any more you can learn from each other. That it just isn’t working.

You’re not saying much else, so we don’t know the nuts and bolts. And normally I would say that it’s not our business, except that the conscious uncoupling made it our business.

You want reform the definition of divorce and hide behind the “science” that humans are living longer and are not psychologically or emotionally equipped to be married for decades. That we should stay in our marriages as long as they have something to teach us, and then, like graduating from college, move on to the next experience with no guilt, shame or sense of failure.

Without even a nod to the mountains of research that tell us what divorce does to kids.

Look, if you aren’t willing to work on it, if your anger is too big and your ability to forgive too small, that’s fine. We’re human and we understand those emotions. We’ve all felt a like a five year old at one time or another.

But own it. Say that you have failed, let down your families and your children and yourselves. Be humble. Don’t whitewash it, like it isn’t a trauma.

And keep this conscious uncoupling stuff to yourself. You are entitled to your delusions. But don’t call my marriage and the marriages around me “exceptions” to your delusion, because we aren’t. Most marriages that make it ten years have more resilience in the long run. Not yours, I get it, but who knows what could have happened if you hadn’t put a limit on it before you even started.

Don’t drag the rest of us into it, even though misery loves company. We aren’t faking it, or denying ourselves personal growth by staying with our partners. We’re still learning and growing and our endoskeletons are just fine, thank you very much.

Jen

PS: You’re on a roll, with your conscious uncoupling and your comments about regular working moms, and not in a good way. I have found that when the world seems to be against you, that’s more about you than the world. Might be time for a rethink. Just sayin’.

Afternoon Tea ~ Jen

When I asked my mom what she wanted for Christmas, she hemmed and hawed. She and my dad have been working empty nesters for almost 15 years so if they want something they buy it, and they don’t want much.

This makes it very hard to buy presents for them.

A few days after this conversation, my cousin liked an article on Facebook. I can’t find it, but it was something along the lines of “Don’t buy my kid more presents, give him your presence.” Great idea.

So I gave my mom Afternoon Tea for Christmas.

We finally got around to going this past weekend. We waited for the weather to warm up a bit so we could wear dresses and strappy shoes. The tea was at the Mission Inn, which is an amazing historical landmark in downtown Riverside, CA. Anne Rice fans will recognize the name—she loves the place and has featured it in one of her more recent novels. It’s hard to explain the Mission Inn—a mix of castle, Spanish Mission, old Hollywood and Garden District Haunted Mansion. Several Presidents have stayed there, and just this visit we noticed a secluded, tiny spiral staircase winding up from the corner of the Presidential Lounge to…the Presidential Suite? There are lots of nooks and crannies and spiral staircases—I counted four and wasn’t even trying—and hallways leading up and down and sideways. Very mysterious in a way that makes you feel like you’re ten again and need to sneak past the bellman to explore.

In the midst of it all is a gorgeous courtyard, sheltered and shaded by four stories of mismatched balconies and box windows. And here, by the gurgling fountain, is where we had our tea.

I did some research and found out that what we had was Full Tea—served in the afternoon, with savories and sweets—and not a High Tea, which is served later and more like dinner. The Mission Inn Restaurant serves a Full Tea menu from 2 to 4 pm, complete with finger sandwiches, scones and pastries. Everyone gets their own generous teapot, with matching china cup, saucer and plate. Kate enjoyed learning how to properly pour her tea. The food came on tiered plates in the center of the table—and it was more than enough. Crab croissants, egg salad and salmon, sun dried tomato and basil and chicken salad sandwiches for the grown ups; turkey, ham and peanut butter and jelly for the girls. Then brownies, cheesecakes, custards, macaroons, and mousse for dessert.

We couldn’t finish it all so we brought some home to Gabriel. He had begged me to find somewhere else for him to go instead of “that tea”, but he was happy to eat the sweet leftovers.

It was an elegant afternoon, where everyone sat up straight and used their best manners. We chatted and laughed and when we were done, we showed Grandma some of the special places we found on our last trip to the Mission Inn.

Then we strolled over to one of Dana’s Favorite Places, Mrs. Tiggywinkle’s, to check out the Easter decorations.

Presence…a lovely idea. In fact, I think this one should become an annual tradition.

A Real Bible, Just Small ~ Jen

“Mom” Gabriel says one day when he comes home from school, “For my birthday, can I have a Boys Backpack Bible?”

“A what?”

“A Boys Backpack Bible. It’s small so it can fit in my backpack.”

“Is it a kids bible? With pictures?”

“No, it’s a real Bible, just small.” This with an eyeroll.

Pretty much, when your eight year old son asks for a Bible for his birthday, you make that happen. Even if the good folks who make the backpack Bible don’t make a Catholic version.

Don’t worry my Catholic friends, Grandma was in charge of getting the Bible and when she was at the Religious Education Congress last week, she let some publishers know they got out maneuvered by the Protestants in the boys backpack Bible market.

The adults in my family, Catholic and non-dom church alike, could not wait to see what this backpack Bible was all about. When Gabriel opened it last weekend, we snatched it out of his hands and passed it around.

I can report that you need to be eight to read the teeny tiny print required to make the Bible backpack sized.

I can also report that there’s an insert called Grossology, with a list of scripture where gnarly things happen. And before you wonder if that’s appropriate, I found Gabe huddled with the Bible looking up those scripture, book, chapter and line. You know, studying.

There’s also a list of Good Guys and a list of bizarre happenings.

I think this is brilliant. Christians believe the Bible is a dynamic, inspired book but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. Especially for kids. But here’s this approach—to meet the boys where they are and show them there is something for them in there.

Yes, there’s a girls version, but I haven’t seen it. We could get into the whole gender specific argument but this Christian mom is going to shake it. My eight year old is reading his bible, people. ‘Nough said.

The company who makes this bible is called Zondervan and they have a ton of different and accessible bibles for kids and young adults.

I did some preliminary research and couldn’t find a complete bible in a smaller, light size for Catholic kids. There are lots of kid’s versions here, but they don’t appear to be scripture. I am sure there is something out there that would do and I just didn’t find it.

And even if there’s not, Grandma made sure some people know that needs to change.

What We Have Failed To Do ~ Jen

In my church we say an Act of Contrition towards the beginning that I have always felt nailed Jesus’ call to action right on the head. It goes, in part, like this:

I confess to almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do…

What I have done and what I have failed to do.

Months ago Dana wanted to write about our stance on the LGBT community and I balked. She gets pretty fired up about the issue and I was scared to offend some of our readers who do not share our opinions. The blog was new and growing and still feeling its way.

So the Supreme Court decision on Prop 8 came and went and we stayed silent. And the controversy over Russia’s intolerance of gays came and went and we stayed silent. Not yet, I said. There’s too much to lose.

In a way, I was right.

Last week in Kansas, the Republican dominated House of Representatives passed KB 2453, which says the following:

Notwithstanding any other provision of law, no individual or religious entity shall be required by any governmental entity to do any of the following, if it would be contrary to the sincerely held religious beliefs of the individual or religious entity regarding sex or gender: (a) Provide any services, accommodations, advantages, facilities, goods, or privileges; provide counseling, adoption, foster care and other social services; or provide employment or employment benefits, related to, or related to the celebration of, any marriage, domestic partnership, civil union or similar arrangement; (b) solemnize any marriage, domestic partnership, civil union or similar arrangement; or (c) treat any marriage, domestic partnership, civil union or similar arrangement as valid.

Although KB 2453 was passed in the name of religion, it has nothing to do with religion. It has to do with power and fear. But not feeling fear.

These people want to cause fear.

You think they didn’t know that we would all draw the same conclusion? That provision (a) of KB 2453 sounds similar to this:

Between mid-1933 and the early 1940s, the Nazi regime passed dozens of laws and decrees that eroded the rights of Jews in Germany. Some were seemingly insignificant, such as an April 1935 edict banning Jews from flying the German flag; or a February 1942 order prohibiting Jews from owning pets. But others withdrew the voting rights of Jews, their access to education, their capacity to own businesses or to hold particular jobs. In 1934 Jews were banned from sitting university exams; in 1936 they were forbidden from using parks or public swimming pools and from owning electrical equipment, typewriters or bicycles. Jews were also subject to cultural and artistic restrictions, forcing hundreds to leave jobs in the theatre, cinema, cabaret and the visual arts. – See more at: http://alphahistory.com/holocaust/anti-jewish-laws/#sthash.V0qUpHSt.dpuf

Today, various news outlets are reporting that the Republican dominated Kansas State Senate will not pass the bill into law, with its leaders claiming the bill is discriminatory and so, even though they stand for traditional marriage and family values, they cannot support it.

As if they were not working with their colleagues in the lower house all along. They floated a test balloon on Friday to see if it would fly and it didn’t. Today, state Senators got to stand in front of news cameras and take the high road.

But what if it no one noticed that the bill passed the House? Would the Senate have gone on to pass the bill this week? Would institutional discrimination have become legal? And from there, in the name of Jesus, what would have happened next?

These are the questions I asked myself. And then I knew that if real followers of Jesus do not speak up against those masquerading as followers of Jesus, then hatred and bigotry and evil will win.

I am sorry. Sorry that we’ve kept quiet. Sorry for what we haven’t said and haven’t done. Sorry that while we’ve talked about love, truth, Jesus, family, friends and faith, we haven’t seemed to extend that to all our brother and sisters. Even though in our hearts and in our lives and the way we are raising our kids, we are doing it. We are teaching them to love, and walk as Jesus walked, and to know, as Pope Francis tells us, that it is not for us to judge.

Dana and I are children of God raising children of God to live among children of God. We are pro-strong marriages and pro-strong families. We have gay married friends who are welcome in our homes and in our lives and we thank God for them. It’s who we are. And I think we’re done being quiet about it.

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