The Laundromat

I went to a laundromat yesterday. We are getting ready for a camping trip and I had a large load I wanted to wash so I decided to do one load in a big machine.

Off I went to drop off the load. On the way I was thinking how thankful I am for my own washer and dry at home. I remembered the very first washer and dryer we purchased back in the late 70’s and the feeling of such luxury; to be able to do laundry in my own home. I am grateful to this day for that convenience, and even more so after visiting the laundromat.

After placing the laundry in the machine and figuring out how much it would cost, I discovered I didn’t have enough change. I needed 50 cents more. I checked the change in the glove compartment of our car but it had been depleted recently. I tried the change machine in the laundromat and, of course, it didn’t work. I noticed washing machines take credit cards now so I tried my VISA but that didn’t work either…at this point I was frustrated…knowing it was my own fault for not bringing enough change. I was on my way to an appointment and didn’t have time to go get change elsewhere before the appointment.

There was a woman sitting on the other side of the room so I asked if she had change for a dollar. She said no, but she said she would give me two quarters. So I gathered all my dimes and nickels and pennies, which totaled 43 cents, and gave them to her in exchange. I thanked her profusely.

I started the washing machine and headed to my appointment, planning to return afterward to pick up my clean laundry and bring it home to dry in my own dryer.

After I drove away a thought suddenly came to me: why didn’t I give the woman my dollar for her two quarters? That would have been the better way. I was so focused on getting the correct change for the machine that I didn’t think beyond that problem. Of course she was gone when I returned to collect my laundry.

May God bless that kind woman in the laundromat; and may I remember the lesson learned.

Blue Jean Sunday

Image result for free clipart blue jeansImage result for free clip art three crosses

Blue Jean Sunday is the nick-name of an outreach event that happened at Emmaus Church, last Sunday, a very different Sunday morning for us all. We came prepared to participate in one of several groups: a prayer walk around the neighborhood, a clean-up crew for a near-by stream, a landscape crew at an elementary school, assistants for the senior center church service,  a group to visit to the assisted living home residents across the street, a group to hand out fliers inviting neighbors to the free community meal at our church coming up soon (and monthly during the school year) or a group to stay back to prepare a luncheon so the congregants could return to reconnect and visit about their experiences.

After a brief service of communion and prayer each group went their way. I went to the assisted living home. The residents seemed hesitant to come and meet our group of eleven in the recreation room so we went and knocked on doors inviting them for donuts and coffee. That worked. Both men and women started coming out of their rooms, walking to the rec room and began opening up. When we left we had probably interacted with 15-20 residents.

These images come to mind when reflecting on my time at the home:  Jerome playing Dominoes with a resident and then praying together after a couple of games, a high-schooler from our church (unable to connect with a resident from the home) connected with an elderly woman from our congregation who was a part of our group, three residents sitting in a row enjoying the donuts we brought along to share, the resident dog eating all the crumbs that fell from the donuts, a couple from church offering residents to pet their small dog they brought along, all this going on around me as myself and others were carrying on conversations with residents that were hanging around. There was a lot of commotion in that small recreation room, but somewhere along the way it all translated into joy.

The feedback at lunch from other’s experiences seemed positive too. I believe ideas are percolating in our pastor’s mind and we will be having more Blue Jean Sundays.

The Joys of Biking

My husband is an active member of the Faribo Flyer’s bike club. They ride their bicycles all over southeastern Minnesota, usually on Saturday mornings and Wednesday evenings. Sometimes I join the trail riders on Wednesday nights. After the Wednesday night rides both the road riders and trail riders meet up for snacks and fellowship.

Sour Cream Raisin with meringue.
Old-Fashioned peach pie

Once a year Vicki hosts the groups and spends the day making homemade pies, usually four to six pies.

Raspberry and blueberry cream pie with lemon zest.

On this particular evening I did not pedal nearly far enough to burn off the number of calories I consumed after tasting so many treats from the delicious array of homemade goodies available that evening.

Nanaimo pie…a Canadian treat…think Almond Joy.

Vicki’s four homemade pies, another homemade blueberry pie (made by Tim), Mary’s weekly deviled-eggs contribution, and homemade Sun-dried tomato/pesto bread and cheese made for a delicious feast!

Blueberry pie.
Mary’s deviled eggs, the sun-dried tomato and pesto bread, and cheese.

It’s a good thing this pie-making event happens only once a year!

Vintage Bands and Meals

One of the smaller groups playing in the Vintage Band Festival.

The Vintage Band Festival came to Northfield so we went downtown to Bridge Square and listened to several of the bands play and entertain us. It was a wonderful Minnesota summer day with blue skies, low humidity and a cool breeze. We found a spot in the shade, set up our chairs, and had a delightful afternoon listening to good music.

A good turn out for the Vintage Band Festival.
Some people brought their own shade to the festival.

That evening, for dinner, we had a “vintage-style” meal. We dusted off our 1980’s bright yellow fondue pot, bought a can of sterno, cut up meat, and boiled chicken broth (a healthier alternative to the peanut oil we used to use). We questioned our good judgment since it had been a long time since we made fondue but the meal turned out well and we had a delightful evening, outside on the deck, enjoying a wonderful Minnesota summer evening.

The “vintage” fondue pot.

Love-call

One of the few bird calls I recognize is the cardinal’s. I often hear their song outside my window during the summer. It is unique and I love it. Cardinals are a favorite of mine.

Last week I was up in northern Minnesota at a friend’s cabin on Daggett Lake and I heard the loons calling …another recognizable bird call I love to hear. Loons are a favorite too.

I thought about how we don’t hear the loons in town or cities and how wonderful it was to hear their song again, along with the flapping of their wings as they take off across the lake. It’s almost a guaranteed sound when you are up north.

Even though it might be great to hear the loon call all year ’round I am grateful to hear the beautiful cardinal’s song in the city and the unique song of the loon up in the North Country.

I was thinking these thoughts as I enjoyed sitting on the dock (a morning ritual) taking in the beauty of the lake and quietly listening to the sounds when I picked up my daily devotional book and read these words:

“As you listen to birds calling to one another, hear also my Love-call to you.”*

Whoa…how timely… and what a personal God we have!

*Jesus Calling by Sarah Young

Uncle Craig

My brother, Wayne, and me.

When talking with my nephew at his daughter’s funeral service yesterday he mentioned this experience of losing a baby made them remember “his Uncle Craig” and it took me a moment to register that thought…I’m his Aunt Valerie.

Craig was my mother’s second child. Craig Richard was born on October 19, 1951, three years after my older brother and two years before me. He lived for five hours. My mother never talked about that experience. He is buried at Ft. Snelling along side our mother and father.

Melody Lucinda

Today we attended the funeral of Melody Lucinda… She was my nephew’s (my brother’s son) stillborn daughter…perfectly formed in the womb yet died at 39 weeks. We sang the hymn “In My Heart There Rings a Melody”. It was a sad but touching service.

My nephew penned these words on his Facebook page:

“Well… today, 7/20, at 39 weeks 2 days, our daughter Melody Lucinda arrived.

Unfortunately for us, she arrived at the gates of Heaven into the arms of Jesus instead of into the arms of her parents. She leaves behind a Melody sized hole in our hearts as we grieve and mourn her loss.”

He also included this Bible verse:

“the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” -Job 1:21

Her obituary reads: “Melody Lucinda, infant daughter of Daniel and Stephanie  was stillborn on Friday, July 21, 2017 at Woodwinds Health Campus, Woodbury, MN. Melody was able to be cradled in the loving arms of her parents and extended family. Her middle name is in honor of her mom’s special aunt Lucinda LaVoie, who preceded Melody in death in 2007.”

The organization calling themselves Halos of the St. Croix Valley ministered to Stephanie and Dan. Someone from the organization showed up in the middle of the night, right after Melody was birthed (the hospital called them). They came to take photos and hand and finger prints and did things grieving parents would not think to do but wish they had later. Melody Lucinda’s hand and foot prints were on display at the service today.

 

Old Frontenac

We did not know what to expect when we went for a drive through Old Frontenac, Minnesota. To our delight and surprise we discovered a very interesting place. This old town is on the National Register of Historic Places, tucked away off Highway 61, along Lake Pepin, where there are old historic houses, unpaved streets, and on this day, American Flag buntings hanging off the large porches. It was fun to drive around and envision what life was like when this town was in its heyday back in the 1800’s; imagining who lived there, in all those large, and many of them restored, country homes.

After doing some research when I got back home I learned of this town’s national historic significance and found information on many of the houses. I now want to return to Old Frontenac with stories in hand.

Another fun discovery on our drive through this historic town was the Old Frontenac Cemetery…an inviting road: dirt, one-lane, tree-lined and canopied, with decaying tombstones on both sides…a few with gates surrounding the grave markers; some well-kept and others a tangled mess of overgrown weeds.

As I grow older I find myself intrigued by cemeteries and enjoy exploring the older ones. We have been known to stop for a picnic lunch at random cemeteries on our bike rides…they can be very interesting, picturesque and peaceful.

Although we didn’t have a picnic at the Old Frontenac Cemetery it captivated us with its unusual types of grave markers, its several tombstones surrounded by fences, and one mysterious tombstone all by itself, enclosed by a iron fence with the gate partially swung open and the plot overgrown with tall weeds… do-do do-do, do-do do-do (to the tune of The Twilight Zone theme sound.)