Comments on the World at Large: Materialism and Consumerism, oh my!

Comments on the World at Large: Materialism and Consumerism, oh my!
I appreciated Lynellen's comments very much. Brought to mind the ad on TV: "I want it all, I want it now." Ugh again! Thank you, Lynellen, for reminding us of what we have in Christ. His children truly have it all--for now, for eternity!

Mayberry...at last!

Ever since I learned our daughter and her family lived near Andy Griffith's hometown, I knew we would have to include Mt. Airy in our itinerary when we visited them. What a delightful day we had in that place! Yes, Floyd's shop wasn't really Floyd's shop. The name was on the window, but it wasn't the real shop, and the real Floyd was nowhere to be seen. And so it went with the Blue Bird Diner, and the squad car, and the jail. They weren't the real thing. They never could be. Because there was no real Floyd, nor was there ever a diner where the real Taylor-Fife gang ate the specials. Oops, there wasn't even a real Andy Taylor or Barney Fife! I know, I know; I'm sounding heretical. Please forgive me. I'm as true a fan of Andy, Opie, Barney, Aunt Bee, Floyd, Howard, Emmett, Thelma Lou, Helen, and Goober as ever there was. It's just that I have to admit that these dear folks and their dear town are really all fiction--wonderful, lovable, but fiction nonetheless.

     But that's okay. For one day, we pretended we were in Mayberry. And, since Mt. Airy is the real hometown of the real Andy Griffith, we sensed we were very close. We strolled in and out of charming shops, we ate at a picturesque diner, the kids bought Opie's candy and got "locked" in the jail. We wandered amongst others who love the show, who probably have cherished it for decades. We knew they were kindred spirits. As Dad and Mom, we loved being with Erin and her Ralph. As Grandpa and Grandma, we loved walking alongside the grandsons and feeling the granddaughter's hand slipping into ours now and then. We loved every moment with some of our most favorite people in the world.
     And, once again, we knew how real our blessings were. And how real the Heavenly Father who gave them to us.

a true aristocrat

His name is Dr. Victor Wellington Peters. He has been called handsome as a movie star, a scholar, and a Renaissance man, but more often he's called a saint. He attended UCLA, USC, and Princeton Seminary, earning a Th.D. He was a circuit-riding preacher in Canada and a missionary in Korea. He has created beautiful paintings and calligraphy, written poems and songs, led a choir, played the guitar, piano, and violin, and taught 30 (yes, 30!) subjects at Azusa Pacific University. He's been an associate minister at Methodist and Nazarene churches. The most blessed folks on earth call him Dad, Grandpa, Great-Grandpa, Uncle, Cousin, and friend. 

     Dad enjoys snacking on popcorn on Sunday nights, and believes every meal should end with dessert. He knows dark chocolate is one of the major food groups. Although he lost his beloved Ruth in 1999, he continues to meet each day with a glad and grateful heart, knowing he's in God's good hands. His four children, three sons-in-love, eight grandchildren, and twenty-one great-grandchildren rise up and call him blessed. On September 29, we will sing "Happy Birthday" as we celebrate his 106th birthday, and we'll thank God for our wonderful Wellington. Fruit pies and a six-layer mother-lode cake from Claim Jumper will be passed around. You're welcome to join us!...at least at http://web.mac.com/elonaofbearmeadow, where you can see more pictures and read more of his story. 

more of Marvelous Mayberry!

This summer Armon and I finally got to NC to visit dear ones: Ralph and Erin (our daughter) Ferguson, and their dear Ralph IV, Ethan, Prescott, Tassie, and Li'l Armon. Hubby knows my favorite TV show of all time is The Andy Griffith Show. Well, guess where I got to go? Mt. Airy, Andy's hometown! The Fergies and Armon's elbow are shown here enjoying the Blue Bird Diner. What a delightful time we had! Watch this space for more Mayberry moments...

"I don't talk to you, Cat"

We call her Ashes. We don't know where her real home is, but it mustn't be far. We see her nearly every day. When we exit the house in the morning, she's often curled up in our flower bed. When we return from a ride, she sees our car and trots up. Such eagerness for our company warms my heart. For indeed it must be ourselves that she loves. We never feed her. I pat her and say, "Hello, pretty girl. It's good to see you. You are a wonderful creation of God." Hubby is briefer. He says, "I don't talk to you, Cat. I don't talk to cats." Let me hasten to add: his tone is warm and there's a twinkle in his eye. He doesn't gush over her (that wouldn't be manly), but he is the one who named her Ashes. I'm sure she has another name, and I'm sure I don't want to know it. Perhaps such an elegant lady with amazing icy-green eyes deserves a more exotic moniker. But Ashes is what the fellow with twinkly eyes named her, without hesitation, almost as if he had received a divine revelation. So it's fine with me.

     And it's fine with us that our silver friend continues to visit, asking for nothing but a few strokes and a few words, even if the words are only "I don't talk to you, Cat."

a surprise

Hubby did something very unusual last month. He bought me a Mothers Day card. 

     We haven't bought each other cards for ages. You see, gentle reader, we have a little antique bucket full of cards we've bought through the years. When a special occasion rolls around, we pull the appropriate card from the bucket and say, "Wow, what a lovely card you gave me today!" or "Here's a birthday card for you!" Hubby and I chuckle at our cleverness and admirable thrift. We exclaim over the card and then it goes back into the bucket. 

     So you can imagine my surprise when Hubby handed me a brand new card. I thanked him profusely. But, between you and me and the garden gate, I must confess: I wish he hadn't been so wildly extravagant. Why, we could have spent that money on...on... Hmm... Come to think of it, I think that dollar could not have been spent on anything better. It's such a pretty card, and I did love the surprise. And now the card is enjoying its new friends in the bucket. Isn't all that priceless? 

     What's that? Yes, we are among the proud throngs who keep their local 99-cent store in business. I saw you there last week, didn't I?

hello, Empress!

Or do I call you Highness? Your Majesty? Anyway, greetings, dear lady. I hope you are having a good weekend!

a tribute to a gate

There is a gate between our backyard and another. In a region where folks love privacy and six-foot fences, a gate between properties is unusual. After we bought our home, our neighbor Peggy told us how that gate came to be. As happens only rarely, she and her husband were close friends with the couple who had lived in our house, the children of the two families were close to each other, and even their dogs were best pals! Well, wouldn't ready access to each other's yards be a splendid idea? Indeed it was. So splendid that the gate was always left open, and the families and their dogs visited back and forth freely and happily.

     I loved the story. And I was sad that Peggy, now a widow, and her bachelor son no longer had their beloved friends next door...uh, next yard. The gate was closed now. But there was no lock, and we did use the gate a few times. When our plumbing went catterwonky, I hurried through the gate to ask Peggy if I could check out the decor of her powder room. Now and then, when my husband and I left town, her gracious son used the gate when he fed our dog and parakeets.

Time wrought further changes. Peggy passed away. Her son stayed a couple of years more. Recently he sold the house and a new family moved in. Seeing strangers through the gate, our collies barked with concern, and I shushed them and brought them inside.

     A couple of weeks ago, I saw the neighbors in their yard. We smiled at each other and introduced ourselves at the gate. "Maybe you were wondering why the gate's here," I said.

     "Yes, we were," said the man. He and his cousin smiled at the collies who pressed close to me.

     Nice people. I told the story of the gate and they smiled. "I like that," said the lady.

     "We could put a lock on the gate," I suggested.

     "No, it's fine."

     Lovely people. "I'm sorry the dogs have been barking," I said. "We're thinking we should put up a board here so the dogs can't see you."

     "Oh, no, don't worry," the man said. "They don't bother us."

     Wonderful folks. I should give them a little welcome gift. I asked, "Do you like oranges?"

     "Yes, we do."

     "We have extra. I'll get them." I got a bag and filled it with oranges from our tree.

     They took the offering, beaming. "Thank you so much!" they both said.

     Today I was retrieving oranges from under the tree. I selected the best, put them in a bag, and hung the bag over the gate.

     Isn't a gate a lovely thing?

my father's house

My father's house. A Biblical phrase. And one with another lovely meaning.

     Several times a year, my sister Grace brings Dad from Las Vegas to his house in Pasadena, CA. I join them. What fun! Sleepovers, late nights watching Gene Kelly or reading in bed (we women, that is); yummy meals and morning coffee by chef Grace, long chick chats with Grace and her daughter Karen. Brother Mel comes by when he's in town. And Dad's friends come: a former seminary student Dad assisted with writing in English, a neighbor, a friend from his home church, another friend from long ago. 

     There's been a recent development that our family is delighted about: more and more folks are coming by who want to honor Dad and preserve his writings, paintings, and photographs. Because of their dedicated efforts, his work is being archived for Korean/Asian studies at Claremont School of Theology, Fuller Seminary, and the University of Southern California. What joy, seeing people appreciate this most humble saint of God!

     Once I grew teary as I told a friend, "When Dad goes to Heaven, this earth will barely note his passing. They have no idea what a wonderful, amazing man he is or what a huge hole he will leave behind." Shortly after that, I seemed to hear God say, "But I know. And we in Heaven will give him such a welcome home!"

     Until he receives that marvelous welcome in his Father's house, it is lovely to see the welcome he gets now wherever he goes, and the respect and love he receives from all friends, new and old, far and wide.

     Let's all look around and see whom we can appreciate and honor. This week. Today.

two Henrys

We celebrate two Henrys today! One is Henry Sherman Siemsen, born May 16, 1916, in Minnesota. The other is Henry's grandson and my third child, Byron Keith Henry Siemsen, born May 16, 1967, in California. Two unique creations of God, both wonderfully made.

     We won't mention here the many splendid qualities of both Henrys. But, dear readers, we will mention a short, lovely tale. Once upon a time there was a wonderful grandpa and  a wonderful grandma. When Grandpa went to Heaven, Grandma started to wear her sweetheart's wedding ring on a delicate chain around her neck. The day Grandpa was buried, Grandma said, "Grandpa wanted so much to be at Byron and Robyn's wedding. I am giving his ring for Byron to recieve at his wedding."

     There were tears when she said that. And there were tears during the ceremony when it was announced to everyone that Byron would be wearing his Grandpa Siemsen's ring. I feel joy and tenderness whenever I think of this amazing gift. It's another splendid connection between Henry I and Henry II, and another reminder of the eternal beauty of the family circle.

     I am thankful for both Henrys. I am thankful for everyone in my family circle. My life is so much richer because of them.

Happy Birthday, Armon!

You are 67 years rich today! As I told our clan, you are a man of chivalry. I like this definition of the word: "the combination of qualities expected of an ideal knight, esp. courage, honor, courtesy, justice, and a readiness to help the weak." I'd substitute the word "others" for "the weak," because you help so many. I especially admire how, instead of retiring from the work force,  you went back to public school to teach last year. I'm so glad that, just as God doesn't give up on us, you don't give up on your students. And, for nearly 45 years, you haven't given up on your grumpy old wife. How chivalrous of you! 

Happy Mothers Day, Mom!

Fifty-six years ago you, Margaret and I posed happily on the front lawn of our elegant house in Los Angeles. Now, your radiant, beautiful face is warming hearts in Heaven. How we haved missed you these nine years, Mom! Thank you for all you gave: laughter, delightful soirees, wonderful meals, a beautiful home, glorious Christmases, music, art, flowers, tenderness, compassion, wisdom, and a deep love for our dad, family, friends, and God. 

     I believe that, just as there was a space on earth only you could fill, there is a space in Heaven that was saved for you since time began. And, oh, how you have filled that space with beauty. 

Happy Birthday, Tassie!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TASSIE! Grandma is so glad you are here! You are a wonderful creation of God, and we love you more than tongue can tell! Wish you didn't live so far away, but Grandpa and I will give you a big hug this summer. And then maybe another one. If that's all right with you.

the child looking back

She looks so poised, this little girl.

Her dimples and her smile,

The large bow perched upon a curl–

All these my heart beguile.

Somehow the picture beckons o'er

And o'er. It's quite insane!

I have been doing something more

Than strolling mem'ry lane.

It seems I'm meeting someone new,

A stranger from afar.

She may as well be one who flew

Here from another star.

Or is it I, the ancient girl,

Who traveled here on wing?

If I let my thoughts run awhirl,

I'll 'magine anything:

That she's my soulmate from the past,

That she's my friend next door,

That she's a ghost who longs to last.

Some folks say something more:

That she's my mother since 'tis I

Who came from her. Oh, dear!

Is there a doctor who can try 

To bring some saneness here?

For now, I'll leave these musings wild.

I think I'll rest awhile.

And one old lady and one child

Will share a little smile.

Musings upon gazing at an old photo of myself

wistful wisteria

It started out as a humble twig with a handle of flower clusters. Now it tumbles merrily, jubilantly, over our aviary. Each spring, there comes a morning when I round a corner in our yard and catch my breath. I hurry inside and announce to Hubby, "The wisteria is blooming again! Come see!"

     How glorious our humble yard becomes when wisteria blooms. I would also say how glorious the air becomes with the fragrance, but my nose is a bit defective. (Hubby says I don't smell good.) As it is, I have to shove my sniffer into a cluster to catch the perfume...nearly catching stings from bumblebees while I'm at it!

     I grew up with wisteria. My parents gave us the priceless gift of a backyard that was Edenic, full of trees, flowers, butterflies, and birds. They gave us another gift even more precious: a home full of love, laughter, forgiveness, and faith. What amazing grace! (Actually, one of my sisters is Grace, and she is pretty amazing. So are you, Margaret and Mel!)

     I hope you had a wonderful home. Every child deserves such. If you did not, I grieve with you. And I'm pretty sure that, with your compassion and dedication, you have made a wonderful home for somebody, and someone is very grateful for it. Maybe it's a house, maybe not. Maybe it's an open heart. 

     I want to be a leafing tree. I want to be wisteria, so full of God's grace that maybe sometime, somewhere, someone sniffs the air and thinks, "What a lovely, ethereal perfume." And if they see but a glimpse of His beauty in me, I will be happpy.

to greening trees

Here's to smiling in the rain,

Here's to fighting through the pain.

Here's to sitting with a friend.

Here's to finding smiles to lend.

Here's to taking higher roads,

Helping pilgrims with their loads.

Here's to turning sixty-five,

Grinning at the chance to thrive.

Here's to sitting 'neath a tree,

Saying, "Tall and strong is what I'll be.

"Roots, keep digging through the sod.

Branches, lift your arms to God."

Here's to every greening tree.

Here's to you and here's to me!

my new lane

I'm a wife of one man (good start, eh?).  I also have four children, three in-loves, and eight grandchildren. Sixteen treasures, as beautiful and wonderful as are the treasures in your life!  And that's not including the extended family of parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, dogs, cats, parakeets, etc., and so she continues through the menagerie, ad nauseum... 

     I'm sixty-five years and three days old...I mean, rich.  How wonderful have been the lanes I've traveled!  No, not always fun or easy.  But always blessed. I am blessed to know that, by God's grace, I can survive, I can keep learning, I have dear folks around me who love me no matter how grumpy I am. Best of all, I still have my heavenly Father.  (I can mention God here, right?  Good, I thought so.  I knew I was amongst respectful and respectable folks.)

     Now I'm wandering down this new lane.  Blogging.  At sixty-five years and three days.  Many of you started down this lane long ago.  I admire your courage.  Or is it recklessness? Perhaps some of both!  We're throwing our thoughts out into the vast universe.  A little scary.  A little fun.  So far the universe isn't throwing these thoughts of mine back.  Good start, eh?

     Talk to you later, wonderful creation!