Balancing Soup

I can’t believe it’s nearing the end of February and I still haven’t experimented with vegetable soup. One of my favorite things about winter, along with warm scarves, cozy fireplaces, and hot chocolate, has always been my mother-in-law’s vegetable soup.

Deeply missed for different reasons every day since her death in July, today I find myself wishing for one more visit over a bowl of soup. Now, when I answer the phone, I no longer hear her voice. No more, “I made a soup. I know how you like it.” No more plastic containers of leftovers in my refrigerator.

Elise thought of her MawMaw when she showed up for shift at The Foundry in Thibodaux. The cooks wanted my daughter to taste their vegetable soup.  She looked at it and asked, “Where’s the meat?”

“Elise, it’s vegetable soup. There’s no meat in vegetable soup.”

“Well, where’s the pasta?”

“Elise, it’s vegetable soup…”

“My MawMaw’s vegetable soup always had meat and pasta. This is not vegetable soup.”

Yes, MawMaw’s soup had meat and potatoes, pasta and tomatoes, carrots, beans, and other things I can’t remember at the moment, all cooked together to produce a delicious flavor predominated by no single elements. It was the balance of all of the ingredients that resulted in the dish I miss.

Balance. Now there’s a word that crops up often. It’s the backbone of healthy diets, tires that offer a smooth ride, stable budgets, and even the scales of justice. If that’s not enough, just ask my mother, or anyone else who has suffered equilibrium problems, how important it is in your daily life.

I sometimes struggle when I try to balance the various roles I play and the activities in which I want to engage. Not surprisingly, working out at the gym is usually left behind while I fulfill my grandmother duties. Cleaning up the yard isn’t as tempting as making tutus, and cooking isn’t as enjoyable to me as reading. Regardless of how I feel, I know that a balanced life is usually healthy and productive, and yes, even enjoyable. Living a balanced life continues to be a goal.

I pray that both the grandmother and the gardener in me continue to grow; the seamstress and the chef are both given a chance to develop; and the reader realizes the need to put down the book and join her friends at the gym. Maybe I’ll bring them some vegetable soup.

Olivia Renee

Dear World,

            Some days, like today, I feel a tremendous need to apologize. Although there is plenty enough time in my day, 24 hours, the same as the President, the Pope, and the patient publisher  who honors me with a column in this paper, I don’t seem to check off many of the items on my ‘To Do’ list.

            For example, the light is streaming in from my front door and one of the sidelites. The other sidelite has the new window treatment I made following my daughter Victoria’s design. I have enough fabric, matching trim, thread, and every intention to finish this project. Stay tuned. As soon as the window covering project is complete, I will move on to Elise’s skirt. Trust me, (Elise seems to), it will not only be cute, it will be finished by the time of her cruise. I promise. So while I’m listing projects, I must confess to a smocked bonnet I’ve yet to complete, two T-shirt quilts I never started, and a couple of ideas for a book.

            But have you heard? My second grandchild, Olivia Renee Roth, was born on the first day of February, at 8:29 p.m. I’m very sure about the time of her birth because I snapped a picture of the clock as soon as I saw her for the first time. Then I jumped into action. I needed to capture  her first moments of life and I did. Over and over again. In addition, I took a few pictures with my phone and sent them to the anxious friends and family members in the waiting room. And all the while, I was trying to catch the emotions spilling out of my heart so that I could offer them up to God in silent, yet fervent prayers of thanksgiving. Oh, how I love this new baby!

            So, while on the outside, I may look like a scattered,  middle-aged woman whose dreams include reaching her driver’s license weight, on the inside, I am running. Many times during the day and sometimes in the middle of the night, I run to the side of my Father for a moment. Sometimes for a favor, but many, many times I just need to say ‘thanks.’

            Thank You, God, for the joy I experience over sunlight pouring through an uncovered window, Victoria’s creativity, and the ability to find more enjoyment in sewing than shopping. (But it’s a close race.) Thank You ringing of my phone, and the beeping of a text message, and the precious people behind each one, but most of all for the ability to talk to You without the need of technology. And thank You, thank You, thank You, for another limb on my family tree. Olivia’s life has already brought a change to mine. My heart has again grown to comfortably and gratefully embrace her.

            Soon enough I will return to my projects, but please be patient, and quiet, while I rock Olivia. It’s now my top priority.

With love, Ronny

In His Shadow

I’m on call. On any day, at any time, day or night, regardless of my schedule or the airing of Downton Abbey, I might receive a call that Monique is in labor.

                For years I have told Monique I would not be present when she gave birth. Citing her dramatics and whining episodes, I have told her when the miracle of birth is complete, she is to call me and I will bring a nice little gift to the hospital.

                Now that my firstborn is days away from delivering her own daughter, she is ignoring everything I have previously said. Not only has she requested my presence in the birthing room, she has also given me a job to do. A job! In the midst of her labor and delivery, I have been asked to be the photographer. The photographer!

                I do enjoy the hobby of photography and have filled the space on my computer with snapshots of family celebrations, school plays, graduations, sporting events, and most recently, Adeline, my first grandchild. Someone recently commented, “Adeline doesn’t take a bad picture. “

                I immediately explained the secret to any success I may experience as a photographer, “I delete the bad ones.” I am not about to exhibit pictures of poor quality. And now, on the brink of my second granddaughter’s birth, all I can think about is whether or not I will succeed in capturing the first precious moments of Olivia’s life.

                So, here’s my plan. As soon as I get into the delivery room, I’ll become aware of the lighting, take a few test shots, and adjust my position or the camera’s settings, or both. I can’t risk shadowy pictures which might hide the baby.

                Shadows. Although dreaded in photography and on dark, lonely streets, it’s where I run to when afraid. I cling to the shadow of the Almighty. Nestled close to the Father, I find rest, a break from the heat of whatever battle I’m facing, and protection. Trusting I will only experience those things He allows in my life, I turn to God for support and direction. The plea of David, in Psalm 17:8 becomes mine. “Keep me as the apple of your eye, hide me in the shadow of your wings.”

                It’s not that I always expect to be spared difficulty or pain, although I believe we have no idea how many tragedies we’ve escaped,  I simply find peace and strength from faith in an ever-vigilant, always loving God. Perhaps Christian musician Mike Donehey said it best.  Paramedics reported he lost his pulse more than once on the way to the hospital after a car crash. He was told he would never walk again, yet two months later, he was up, moving, and eager to play soccer. Donehey is quoted as saying, “Sometimes God redeems us from struggles. Sometimes God redeems us through struggles.”

                I guess you could say that every day, and every time, during the bright sunny days and through the night seasons of my life, God is on call. Hopefully, He’ll offer a little guidance on this delivery photography. I can’t wait to see what develops.

Parenting!

    When,  oh when, is parenting going to get easier?

                Although the invitation had been extended for a couple of weeks, my husband and I were only recently able to join his sister, Kim, at the beach. We thought our plan was perfect: drop Victoria off to join her classmates on a bus bound for the DC March for Life, then drive to Alabama.

                The day before her departure, Victoria suffered from a migraine headache triggered possibly by exhaustion, tension, or Physics. She saw a doctor, received the appropriate medication, and assured me that she was fine to travel.

                Two days later, in the middle of the American History museum, she called. As soon as I answered her call I heard sobs, followed by, “I’m so weak.”

                “Victoria, drink a real Coke. Nothing diet or caffeine-free. Sit down for 20 minutes , then see how you feel.”  I prayed with her, ended the call, and tried to control my mind. Thoughts of my child fainting in the middle of the First Ladies’ Inaugural Gowns, or passed out next to the Star Spangled Banner were stopping me from focusing on my next job: booking a flight to Washington. Well, that and pretending to be calm while shopping for golf clubs with my husband.

                About this time, I remembered something I had read in the devotional book, Streams in the Desert, Volume 2, “Quiet tension is not trust. It is compressed anxiety.” Despite my calm exterior, and a few purchases for my granddaughters, I was not quite flowing in the faith I profess. And that bothered me as much as my decision to let Victoria get on the bus. My prayers suddenly became twofold. I wanted Victoria to be able to enjoy the trip she had looked forward to for months, and I also asked for the faith to be able to handle these tiny turbulences of life with total trust. Slowly, a real faith-filled peace replaced my anxiety.

                Two hours and twelve minutes later, I finally received word from Victoria in a text message, “I’m fine now. “ And I was, too, thankfully, even before I read her text.

My future may hold many more urgent calls to my Father. Like Victoria’s call to me, they may begin with, “I’m so weak.”

I just wonder if God thinks of me and says, “When, oh when, is parenting her going to get easier?”

The Truth about Victoria's College Decision

I’m a stickler for the truth, and have occasionally investigated the stories I receive in email on www.snopes.com. It’s not a trust issue. I just don’t want to spread tales that aren’t true.

            Some of these urban legends have wonderful meanings and full circle conclusions. They would make fabulous fables. And I admit to being more than a little disappointed to learn that a cut onion placed  in my room will not really absorb the flu virus. I guess as long as I’m going for full disclosure, I should also admit that, despite snopes, I will continue to rub Vicks VapoRub on the bottom of my feet at night to prevent nighttime coughing.

            Something else I recently researched had to do with eagles. I’ve heard many interesting stories about eagles, including the belief that if an eagle strays too far from its home, pressure on its eyes urges it to return home. The suggestion being we, as Christians, likewise experience a type of pressure, or spiritual nudge,  to return to the Father.

            I love that story;  however, I’ve yet to be able to confirm it. I even asked Veronica Sylvest to check out the story with her husband and her son. Still nothing about the pressure of eagle’s eyes. I want it to be true. I want it to be true for eagles, for Christians, and for my own children.

             I have, not quite jokingly, told my children they are allowed to live within a two hour radius from me. It can be two hours away in any direction. The choice is theirs. (I’m not trying to control their lives.)

            The reason for my request is, of all things, Grandparent’s Day. When I taught, I was often upset for the children whose grandparents were unable to attend the annual celebration because they lived too far away. I decided as long as my grandchildren lived with two hours from my home, I could drive to their school for lunch, check them out of school after lunch, take them to the park, zoo, mall, and/or Chuck E. Cheese, return them to their parents, and still be able to drive home that night. (Perhaps my husband is right when he says my mind never rests.)

            Somehow, in all of my instructions about their future homes, I neglected to include conditions for college. Therefore, I blame myself for Victoria’s inclusion of Northwestern University in her list of college possibilities. Northwestern is in Natchitoches! Four hours away! What is she thinking?! (Please don’t answer.)

            When my soul was finally settled,  and I had not only accepted, but actually embraced the fact that my youngest is confident enough to consider such a move, she approached me with a simple question, “You are going to visit me if I go to Northwestern, aren’t you?” I explained the distance, the hours of driving, and the unlikelihood of a lunch date. I did add that perhaps I could plan an overnight stay every other month. Even as I was speaking, I thought, my radius has just expanded to four hours.

            And that’s the truth.

Ronny may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com