2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 31

I grew up Mennonite, which usually shrouds my identity in a certain level of confusion. 

          “Do your parents drive a buggy?”

                          “Did you have electricity growing up?”

                                                 “Were your clothes handmade?”

Because in the media Amish = Mennonite and vice versa, most people are sure my family looks like this:

But, the truth of matter is that Mennonite does not equal Amish.  My family looks just like your family.   We drive cars, have power and all the modern conveniences you do, wear jewelry, cut our hair, and buy the latest fashions. 

In considering the many aspects of Mennonite culture, there is something easily distinguishable that fits in perfectly for us today, March 31.  I can tell you about it in three numbers: 606.

‘606’ is what Mennonites refer to as our version of the hymn, “Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow.”  (It’s actually the song’s page number in the old brown hymnal.)  It’s been regarded as the most Mennonite-y symbol of our Christian denomination because it’s a piece old and young in each congregation know by heart.  It’s traditionally sung a capella, with four-part harmonies that would make any choral purist smile, to commemorate a special occasion like dedicating a new building or surpassing an offering goal.   It’s fast-paced, emotion-packed, and a complete blessing.  It is engrained in who we are as a people. 

I’m sharing this song with you today because we’ve reached a milestone together: one we can celebrate as a writing community!  Slicing each day in March was no small feat; with heart we wrote, we read, and we commented.  We emerged stronger through the feedback we gave and received, the way we shopped for writing ideas in our peers’ blog posts and then tried them out, and most importantly, how we held exercised discipline each day through the “B.I.C. Principle.”  (Thank you for the wise words, Ruth!)

So, from me to you on this final day of March, here’s a little slice of celebration:  #606.  I hope you enjoy its simplistic brilliance…  Congratulations, fellow writers, on working so hard this month!

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 30

Dear Mommy,

I know we're just five minutes from home

and we've ridden in the car for almost an hour,

but I just couldn't keep my eyes open anymore.

I loved that Grandma came down to hang out with us,

and we had vanilla bean frappuccinos on the way to the outlet mall,

and enough snacks to keep me busy while we found new clothes and laughed.

We even had McDonald's take-out on the way home.

I want you to know that I think spring break is great

because I love it when we can do anything we want.  All day long.

I also love it when Grandma comes to visit.

She is the cheese to our macaroni.

Love you,

R

P.S. I think the clothes you picked out for me today rock.  Thank you. 

P.P.S. Sorry for the chaos in Stride Rite earlier...I just got excited about new shoes.  I wish you would've listened to Grandma because I really liked the Star Wars ones.  They lit up.  Next time, please?  Just think about it.

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 29

That night, the amphitheater's grassy hill was covered with a rainbow of blankets and the summer sky's tapestry transitioned from amaranth to star-kissed indigo.  That night, the band's harmonies enveloped us like the cool, comfortable breeze.  Sitting there, cozy, between Mom and Dad, I noticed my family looked like so many others spread across the moonlit space.  Twenty-something kid sandwiched by fifty-something parents. 

What was it about this show that made it a family affair?  This is what we were brought up on: late-sixties/early-seventies rock full of honest, poetic lyrics.  This is what we were here to experience.  Together.  The sound of our homes, our lives.  To reconnect and remember.  To celebrate. 

Just as Graham Nash struck a familiar chord on his keyboard, the crowd stilled in reverent recognition.  In appreciation.  In delight.  "I'll light the fire.  You place the flowers in the vase that you bought today."  He sang; we listened as if this were the very moment we'd waited a lifetime to experience.  Everything else dulled, dimmed, dismissed.

"Staring at the fire, for hours and hours, as I listen to you play your love songs all night long for me.  Only for me," his iconic voice and clear, crisp piano accompaniment enriched the splendor of our surroundings.  The hum of the audience grew to a crescendo as he launched into the first song I would ever teach my little one a few years later.  Everyone sang, almost involuntarily; family by family.

"Come to me now, and rest your head for just five minutes.  Everything is done."  Bandmates David Crosby and Stephen Stills swept in with harmonies, magical and pure, anchoring my memories of family car trips and my dad singing for me.  Only for me.  "Such a cozy room, the windows are illuminated by the evening sunshine through them, fiery gems for you.  Only for you."  Everyone sang louder, uniting for what was to come...

"Our house is a very, very fine house.  With two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard.  Now everything is easy 'cause of you.  In our house..."  With heart, Crosby, Stills, and Nash sang, the parents sang, the kids sang, all holding back tears for the changing times since this tune's birth in storied Laurel Canyon in 1970.   (This is where Graham lived in a little craftsman bungalow with his then-girlfriend, Joni Mitchell, who played her love songs all night long.  For him.  Only for him.).  

"La, la, la-la-la-la, la, la-la-la, la, la-la-la-la, la, la-la, la, la, la, la, la, la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la, la, la, la-la-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la, la, la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la," the music center, turned choir loft, resounded its makeshift chorus. 

"Our house, is a very, very, very fine house.  With two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard.  Now everything is easy 'cause of you.  In our..."  Clunky chords signaled the song's close.  "I'll light the fire.  While you place the flowers in the vase that you bought today."

I blinked with eyes glassy and wet.  It was then that I knew these three minutes would take deep roots and sustain me for a lifetime.  That even years later, my mind and heart would hear the spontaneous chorus of parents and their kids "la, la, la-la-la-la"-ing together in uniform time.  That someday, even when my fingers are too arthritic to play this tune on my own piano, I will remember how I once sat on a summery, star-kissed indigo night in the middle of my parents enjoying this song by one of their favorite groups that had grown into my favorite too.

(And this has nothing to do with that fact that now we have two cats in the yard...)

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 28

It's been three years.

When I wrote about the parallels between my son's "Thomas and Friends" obsession and my little "Grey's Anatom" crush fetish a few weeks back, I didn't mention this small detail.  I haven't watched even one episode in as many seasons.  Before Reid was born, I made the command decision to stop.  I felt like I cared too much...like I was personally invested in each of the main characters' lives...like I was completely unavailable for one whole hour each Thursday night because any interruption was uber annoying.  In short, I wasn't my best self by allowing conviction and compulsion to cohabitate. 

So I stopped.  Cold turkey.  No Derek and Meredith drama.  No modern, introspective songs.  No more of Izzie's cancer scare.  And no weekly catch-up chats with my mom who still watched... 

It's been three years.

But today, I allowed myself a couch afternoon while the little slept peacefully in the next room.  Today, when I flipped away from HGTV accidentally, an episode of Grey's was just beginning.  I watched it (and that's probably a misstatement).  I drank it in.  I felt the residents' sorrow over George's recent passing.  I nearly cried with Meredith at the episode's end when she finally allowed herself a moment of grief.  I cheered for Izzie as she gave the business to the girl whose life George died trying to save.  I melted when Karev admitted that he's nothing without Izzie and that her cancer had evicted his heart from their relationship --- he was just too scared. 

So, just like that old friend you hold onto fondly and see every once in awhile but when you do everything is the same as always...that's Grey's Anatomy to me. 

Write on,

b

 

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 27

Hot Dish?!?

As a child, my round tummy and chubby cheeks served as a barometer for what my mom had most recently cooked.   Big tummy; the new chocolate chip cookies in the freezer.  Chubby cheeks; the ooey-gooey-cream-soup-based tater tot casserole we enjoyed two nights ago and then polished off as leftovers for two consecutive lunches.  Yep; I was that kid.  And even now, if I'm honest at parties and in social circles, I still love the same foods (and they still have the same effect!).  My comfort foods.  Foods that remind me of happy times growing up.  Foods that feed my soul first and my stomach second.  Foods that just plain sound good whatever the weather.

My husband and I have food in common; not the same foods mind you (that would be too easy)...but the love of food.  As Food Network junkies, we commingle our desires for the unhealthiest of unhealthy (cheesy, fried delights) and cooking acumen.  Mostly though, I think we watch to live vicariously through others because rarely do we really eat in this covetous, throw-caution-to-the-wind-kind-of-way.

As fate would have it though, a recent show surveying a variety of State Fair offerings from across the country made my heart race, my pulse quicken, and my memories of my mom's cooking leap forward.  It all started with the introduction of HOT DISH at Wisconsin's annual event one year.  (Hot Dish?  Seriously?  Could a meal's title get any more generic?)  To let the rest of the U.S. in on their geographic verbiage, Hot Dish refers to a ground beef casserole that is cream of chicken-soup based and covered with tater tots.

Ah!!!  THEY CALL TATER TOT CASSEROLE HOT DISH???!!!  So, it must be a German-Swiss thing since central European immigrants are scattered all over the Midwest...?

But, to kick things up a notch and State-Fair-ify this properly traditional offering, one quick-thinking concession stand transformed his favorite entree into a forkless, plateless wonder. (Obvious answer: Stick it, batter it, fry it.)

My favorite casserole, unctuous and savory, is now a fair food.  My favorite casserole, topped with tater tots, is portable.  My favorite casserole, with creamy ground beef, is probably available for the bargain price of $7.00 for a portion less than my bulging tummy would seek.

Should this spectacle arrive at my state's fair next season, I think I'd have to protest.  A casserole, such as this, involves an oven, a Pyrex, a table, a family, and a complement of applesauce.  It is not fast food; it is soul-feeding food.  It's my childhood.  It's my comfort.  It's the leftovers I can't wait to finish because sometimes they're even better the next day.  And, to save everyone the suspense, it's even worth the chubby cheeks.

Write on,

b

Carol's Tater Tot Casserole (For Wisconsinites: Hot Dish :))

• 1 pound ground beef, browned with 1 diced onion.  Drain.
• Add 1 can cream of chicken soup to meat, spread into a greased Pyrex    (Your call on pan size---thin or thick casserole?)
• Layer frozen peas on top, salt a smidgeon for taste
• Arrange tater tots over peas, covering entire dish
• Bake for 1 hour at 375 degrees until browned, bubbly, and gooey
• Serve with applesauce. 
• Enjoy :)   

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 26

A Wal-Mart sits conveniently a few miles from our house; but, we don't always go there.  We have a love-hate relationship with it. 

It's big.

      It's well-stocked.

It's busy.

      It's cheap.

It's dangerous after dark. 

      It's close. 

Sometimes I'd rather drive an additional 15 minutes to enjoy a Super Target shopping experience; today, however, I just didn't feel like making the commitment.  Besides, I've come to find out my Wal-Mart has a well-kept secret... 

I discovered it by happenstance a few years ago.  On one of those afternoons when I needed something specific and was under a tremendous time crunch.  I had no other choice but to hit up the store I hate any evening of the week and twice on Sunday.  It was Wal-Mart or nothing...and nothing wasn't a suitable option in our situation.  I drove the few minutes, fuming the whole way that we didn't live nearer a store I love.  But, arriving in the parking lot around 1:30, the clouds parted and the shine shone brightly.  This just couldn't be; so few cars.  What a coup from the typical Tuesday-after-work-trip on which my schema is based.  It was a cake walk to find a cart, make my way through the aisles, and score my necessities.  The patrons were kind and the employees weren't yet burned out from the post-work-harried-shopper sort 5:00 brings.  It was incredibly pleasant by this store's standards.

My Wal-Mart is full of retirees and stay-at-home moms while I'm usually at school.  I was reminded of this again today as Reid and I started off our spring break by traipsing through the store to pick up a few beauty items before launching into the gaggle of groceries.  The time was 2:00.  Ladies smiled at us; stay-at-home moms shared the secret-code-gaze all mothers offer up when in GROCERY LAND with a persnickety toddler; shoppers said "Excuse me," when meandering past in tight aisles.  In fact while in line, an elderly gentleman behind us struck up a conversation when he noticed Reid scoping out the, oh, 23 different types of yogurt he added to the conveyor belt while our order marched to check-out.

"Does he like yogurt?"

"Yes," I smiled politely from the other end of our lane, "he does.  Do you?"

Self-evident, b.  My mind wandered as I attempted to figure out how much time 

it actually took him to pick out his flavors and organize them in the cart...

"Yes, I sure do," he smiled, "Does wonders for the digestive system."

Sure that I heard him incorrectly, I smiled politely and offered a friendly chuckle. You know the kind.

You see, our Wal-Mart is close, dangerous at dark, cheap, and well-stocked.  But, the most important thing about our Wal-Mart is that it is not busy while everyone else is at work

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 25

Part 3: And, the pieces connected...

This is the third, and final, installment in my "Bridget Jones"-like singleton tale.  If you missed the preceding two, please check out:
http://www.livewriteteach.blogspot.com/2012/03/2012-slice-of-life-story-challenge-23.html
http://www.livewriteteach.blogspot.com/2012/03/2012-slice-of-life-story-challenge-24.html

I had on my favorite outfit at that time --- a red turtleneck sweater, Gap Long and Leans, a warm chocolate brown coat, and my soft red, brown, and cream scarf.  I was comfy.  In my outfit.  In my own skin.  I knew tonight's coffee date was just another blip on my relational radar.  At least I knew I was guaranteed to completely love my chai latte. 

Parking, I mentally replayed our planning conversations.  "Meet me by the front door.  I'm reading a bright pink book right now, so that's what I'll be carrying with me if you're not sure who to pick out of the coffee shop's evening crowd."  I looked at the clock, fidgeting with my purse, my scarf...well, anything that was still long enough for me to mess around with it.  I wasn't late, but later than I wanted to be.  I wanted to avoid the whole awkward ordering sitch by arriving first and taking care of my own drink.

Through Starbucks steamy windows I could see someone waiting just inside.  Yes.  The guy in the picture.

I pulled out my smile, my hand, and my name.  "You must be Tom," I said matter-of-factly while taking the surface detail survey every single girl completes when meeting a guy for the first time.  Shoes and belt match, check.  Well groomed, check.  Warm smile, check.  Nice eyes, check.  Athletic, check.

We ordered, each committing to a grande, but were foiled.  The small crackerbox of a shop was cramped beyond capacity so we ended up at a bake house down the street for the second part of our date.  Like a duck to water, our conversation smoothly transitioned from pleasantries to deeper topics and back again.  We laughed, inquired, created, reminisced.  Well, until the bake house closed.  "Do you think we should try Starbucks again?" he asked.  My eyes grew big...as big as my heart had grown over the past few hours.  He's not done with me yet.  "Sure," I sweetly supplied.  And, we did.  

This time, a  round table in the back our little java haven served as the perfect space for us to continue connecting the dots.  And, little by little the pieces in my heart's puzzle began to match.

I used to love that Jake designed buildings around our city; Tom does that too.

I used to love that Tom 1 was musical; this Tom is too.

I used to love that Rob had dark, beautiful hair; Tom has it too.

I used to love that Paul was funny; Tom is too.

My epiphany: this Tom is the complete package.  If I would take every little thing I loved about every other guy I dated in years past, this guy has it.  He's not perfect, but neither am I.  What I began to see was that we could be perfect for each other.

"It's late.  It's a school night.  My mom's a teacher and she never likes to stay up late, so maybe we should go.  Can I call you again sometime soon  Maybe we could go out for dinner?"

"Yes, I'd like that," I blushed with weak knees and a warm heart.

And, that's where our whirlwind courtship began.  Right then, right there.  A couple hours past my tall; a couple prayers answered at the corner of 62nd and Guilford.  I never looked back to singledom and neither did he. I never grocery-shopped at Wal-Mart on a Friday night thereafter.  

Epilogue:

Exclusively dating for five months, we became engaged and were married  in a holiday ceremony downtown four months later.

Yes, I was 29 when I said "I do" but 29 is better than 30, right?  I was sure it was...

Two-and-a-half years later we had our first child.

We just celebrated our five-year anniversary, and yes, every fourth week of March we try to fit in a coffee date, at Starbucks, to remember the night we met :).

Write on,

b