Back Porch Break

Family Markers

November 11, 2015 by Nancy 24 Comments

My sisters and I had a unique and humbling experience recently. We were asked by citizens of a neighborhood in Knoxville, TN, where I grew up, to attend the dedication of a historical marker erected in honor of some of our French-Swiss ancestors who settled in East Tennessee in the mid-1800s. Alongside the marker was an old mill grindstone, donated by our family.

My great-grandparents, Alfred and Elisa Buffat, founded the Buffat Mill which became the largest grist mill south of the Ohio River. Like other families of French-Swiss immigrants, they settled in the valleys of East Tennessee, close to the Appalachian Mountains, because the region reminded them of their home in Switzerland. The site for the grist mill was by a creek that still runs through the property today.

In 1976 my father donated some of the land he had inherited to the county for the establishment of a neighborhood park. It was in this park, by the creek, that the ceremony dedicating the marker was held on a drizzly day the end of October.

My sister Mary, Knox County Mayor Tim Birchett, and me. — My sister Mary, Knox County Mayor Tim Burchett, and me.

As I sat there with my sisters, listening to the mayor speak about the importance of community and legacy, I was fighting back tears. I knew how very proud my dad would be that his grandparents were being honored in this way. And I was proud of him for all he did to preserve their legacy. “You won’t know where you are going if you don’t know where you’ve been,” he would tell my sisters and me as he launched into another history lesson about our family. We would roll our eyes, impatient to go outside and play.

At some point the stone was moved to the front yard of our family home where it sat for decades surrounded by flowers and shrubbery until my sister Mary arranged for it to be donated this year. “I remember sitting on the stone eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich on days Mom would pack my lunch and send me on an adventure,” my sister Patty said. Now we sat looking at the stone in its place of honor.

Although I wrote a book about my great-grandmother Elisa in 2000, The Journey of Elisa, I don’t feel I’ve done enough to pass family history down to my own kids and grandkids, and I vow to look for more opportunities to do so. After all, don’t they deserve a chance to roll their eyes at me?

My friend Jan Keller, publisher of The Country Register, came up with a creative way to share family history. She and her husband visited the homestead of her pioneering ancestors in Eastern Colorado. The homestead once included an old rock well house and a windmill. Collecting a few of the rocks now scattered on the ground, she gave one to each grandchild for Christmas along with a little book telling them about their great-great-great grandparents! Jan said, “I told them their Grandpa Joe touched those rocks many times as he built the homestead, and now they have one they can touch.”

If Jan and I have such “family markers” in our families, surely you do also. If necessary do some research and learn stories about ancestors that you can share with those who follow you. There could be a grindstone or an old rock well house in your family’s history, too. Or perhaps your family markers include a productive farm or a grocery store that sustained a community for generations. Regardless, we all have family markers, and they are all worth remembering.

View a YouTube video of Nancy talking about The Journey of Elisa in 2011 here:

A Door With a Story

September 19, 2015 by Nancy 14 Comments

We just moved to a new house and I was so happy that we inherited a refrigerator with a magnet-friendly door from the past owners. No sterile, stainless steel, magnet-resistant fridge door for me. No sir! Centuries from now when archeologists dig around to learn more about our culture, I’m convinced it won’t be the computers at Norad nor the Space Center in Houston that will attract most of their attention. No, rather they’ll all gather around tables examining decayed construction paper or bits of ceramic magnets as they attempt to understand the hub of communication in our society—the refrigerator door.

Whenever I’m a guest in someone’s home I love gazing at their refrigerator door because that spot, more than any other, tells the story of their family. Families with young children have the most colorful and crowded refrigerator doors, with construction paper art, magnetic alphabet letters, and reminders about school activities, dental appointments, or soccer games. (Thanks to daughter-in-law Abigail McConnell for sending the photo of their family refrigerator above!)

For years I didn’t have any watercolor ponies or construction paper ladybugs on my refrigerator, and I really missed them. Finally, the grandkids were old enough to create refrigerator art for us. Then fairy princesses with ruffly dresses and long eyelashes and stick people families were held in place on our refrigerator by magnets reading, “My Grandchild Did This.” Heaven forbid a grandchild who visited us then didn’t see one of his or her creations hung in the refriga-gallery.

Given the use of refrigerators as art galleries and message centers, it’s no wonder refrigerator magnets are such hot-selling items in gift shops across the country. I gave up long ago trying to have any sort of design theme with mine, although I understand collectors of certain types of magnets are very serious about their choices. Magnet-backed photo holders are often my choice. We have one whole side of our refrigerator dedicated to family photos in magnet-backed acrylic frames, and our adult children still check to make sure they are well represented when they visit. It’s almost as if they believe if they aren’t on the refrigerator, they might not still exist. Otherwise our magnet assortment includes a few hummingbirds with broken beaks, a ceramic taco, message magnets reading, “Some Bunny Loves You” and “Slow me down, Lord,” and lots of advertisements for everything from pizza to dry cleaning. The archeologists will be hard put to understand what mattered most to us when they dig all this up!

On our old fridge, magnets that weren’t used for artwork held up invitations to special events, cartoons we particularly liked, or newspaper clippings. (I knew I was a real newspaper columnist when someone told me she had clipped one of my columns and put it on her refrigerator. Wow! Whatever else I write, I’ve already earned my spot in the annals of our civilization.)

All our magnets went into a plastic sandwich bag when we moved, so our recently acquired fridge is a “blank page” at this point. But this fall I’m sure I’ll post schedules of our favorite football teams and grandkids’ sporting events. From there the story will continue. What about you? What story does your refrigerator door tell about your life and your family? Make it a good one.

This blog post also appeared in an issue of The Country Register in the US and Canada. Pick up a copy at your local antique or crafts store!

Why Resist a Rest?

September 9, 2015 by Nancy 13 Comments

On the route I take for my morning walk there are several inviting places to sit and rest. Comfortable benches, picnic tables, big flat rocks…all seem to say, “Stop and rest awhile.” Yet unless I need to tie a shoelace I seldom stop. Why not? I am there for the exercise, it’s true, but won’t I still take the same number of steps if I take just a minute or two to sit quietly and absorb the beautiful mountain views? Why do I tend to resist a rest?

Rest is critical to our well-being and ability to function in this world. And it’s vitally important for those who are grieving. A close friend of mine recently lost her father. She has gone on a relaxing trip with her husband simply to rest. To read if she can. To gaze at a river flowing on its course. Just to rest. Such rest is necessary if we are to allow the Holy Spirit to sift through the memories we have of a departed loved one and separate the painful ones from the joyful ones, the ones that will bring us comfort in the days to come. To grieve well, we must rest well.

In fact, in Matthew 6:28 Jesus suggests we can put much of life into perspective if we will simply “consider the lilies of the field.” This time of year the lilies in the fields of Colorado are the wild Black-eyed Susans. Jesus didn’t say, “stop and consider the lilies if you need to tie your shoe.” He said intentionally noticing and appreciating them will reduce my worries and remind me that my real treasure is stored up in heaven. I can’t really understand that message unless I rest in it.

I find fall invigorating. Maybe it’s because my biological clock is still set to the beginning of the school year—and because I still love sharp pencils, clean notebooks, and new shoes! Yet it’s a busy time for so many moms, dads, and kids. I sense the buzzing all around me wherever I go, and I just want to say, “Take a deep breath, and make time to rest.”

Our elders can also find rest elusive, for any number of reasons. Some of them just feel “bone tired” as my mother would say. They are worn out by life in general, and by how difficult it can be to do the things they used to do so easily. In my senior devotional The Hope of Glory, I encourage these seniors to ask the Lord to give them the rest they need. He promises He will in Matthew 11:28 when He says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

On my next walk, I’m going to take time to sit a spell. I will consider the lilies. I will not resist a rest. What about you?

A Moving Experience: Part Two

July 29, 2015 by Nancy 18 Comments

In every move there is the physical side and the emotional side. Physically you are dealing with the logistics of the packers, the movers, the storage locker, what can’t be packed, where to put houseplants, pet relocation, etc. Even in a local move, the “to do” lists can be extensive.

Then there is all the emotional baggage. We prepared for the move we made in June out of a house we’d been in for 26 years for the better part of two years. All the fixing up and spiffing up that precedes a move had taken a toll on our personal time and our checkbook. We were ready.

Still, I expected the departure to be wrenching. Every place I looked in that house another memory would wash over me. (Imagine my consolation in knowing that those memories are still with me now although the house is not.)

I’ll never forget seeing our oldest granddaughter Francesca climbing up the steps from downstairs by herself for the first time. Her dark hair was in two ponytails that stuck out on either side of her head. She wore a red sweater with a black Scotty dog on it. As she climbed each step she was saying, “Juice! O’s!” letting me know it was time for breakfast.

Similar memories of visits from all 12 of our grandkids are permanently with us wherever we go. We shipped the stones with their handprints to their parents before the move, but we’ll never be without their impressions on our hearts. And in their hearts, they have so many memories of “Papa and Grancy’s house.” A collection of finds from the family room provided a history of those visits. Behind the bookcase that was too heavy to move for cleaning was one blue Barbie shoe, a marble, an orange plastic Easter egg, some cat toys, a green Hot Wheels car, a wooden block, and one red checker. Oh the fun we had!

And then there were all the gatherings that occurred under that roof! Graduation parties, engagement parties, showers, Bible studies, holiday meals with departed moms, dinner parties with friends…and on and on. God blessed us richly when He provided that home to us and our blended family.

How, I wondered, would I be able to say good-bye not only to the memories, but to the everyday joys I experienced there, especially in the last 20 years when I’ve been working from home and such a part of daily life in that house? I was saying goodbye to the deer who greeted me most every morning, the hummingbirds, the rainbows from the deck, the gardens I nurtured and cared for year after year. I was saying good-bye to the pink sunrise reflections on Cheyenne Mountain, and to neighbors we’d known for so long. It just seemed like too much good-bye. More than I could face.

But the Lord knew that. That’s why He showed us the new house He picked out for us just as we were ready to give up and look for an apartment to rent. We were energized by the discovery of the new house as we patched nail holes and cleaned at the old one. Amazingly, although there had been tears at unexpected times in the preceding weeks, when it was time to get into the car and drive away for the last time, I didn’t cry. Instead there was just a sense of blessing and relief flowing over my husband and me. The words from a favorite praise song came to mind and made their way to the refrigerator at the new house, where a month later even the cats feel right at home: He gives and takes away. He gives and takes away. Still my heart will choose to say, blessed be the name of the Lord.

A Moving Experience: Part One

July 28, 2015 by Nancy 15 Comments

It really happened. A large moving van arrived at our house the middle of June and the men loaded up what was left of our belongings after the two-day garage sale, the bulging boxes shipped to family members, and the donations. Then they took it all away. We moved.

My guess is, you know what it was like in the days leading up to the move. You weren’t there, but you’ve been there. You, too, know the sound of packing tape being pulled off the roll (and the aggravating attempt to find the end of the tape again), the desperation to grab hold of anything even slightly resembling a box, and the last-minute scrawling of “miscellaneous” on the last boxes of stuff that didn’t get packed anywhere else. (Turns out those are the boxes holding most of what you’re looking for after the move!)

Moving out of a house we’d been in for 26 years was a bit unsettling and emotional for us, but we knew there was a plan and we were excited to downsize and begin what we happily referred to as Act 3. Our cats, Molly and Beau, didn’t have the same level of reasoning and understanding, however.

The day of the move they were cloistered in an empty back bedroom with food, water, and litter. When we let them out at the end of the day, they slowly explored the completely empty house. We could only imagine what they mewed to one another.

“Well this is definitely NOT an improvement. What were they thinking? I’ll just jump up on the…the couch is missing!! Oh well, I’ll just hop on the…the kitchen table is gone!! How are we expected to live like this?”

Retrospectively it may not have been the best idea, but we decided to leave the cats alone in the empty house that night since we didn’t have to turn it over to the new owners for a few days. We wanted to get ourselves situated at The Residence Inn, where we would all live for 10 days, before bringing them over. Other than food, water, and litter, all they had was a sundry assortment of toy mice and jingly balls that turned up behind the furniture that was moved. Happy to see their lost toys, they would still have preferred a stuffed chair or a bed with a down comforter.

The next day they were most cooperative about being put into their cat carriers, however. My husband thinks they may have thought they had been left behind permanently and were relieved we came to get them. If so, that may explain how easily they adapted to life in a one-bedroom apartment at The Residence Inn.

“What do you think happened?” Molly may have asked Beau.
“I don’t know. Obviously they’ve had some sort of financial downturn,” Beau may have conjectured.

“Well, at least they kept us. We’d best just hunker down and make the most of it,” Molly may have concluded.

Whatever they were thinking, it’s true that there is bonding in adversity. The cat fights have drastically reduced since the whole moving experience began!

TO BE CONTINUED

Books-a-Bazillion

May 7, 2015 by Nancy 23 Comments

Ah, spring! Time for tulips, green grass, baby calves frolicking in the fields, and spring cleaning! My husband and I have been in the process of downsizing for a while now (or “rightsizing” as we Baby Boomers prefer), so spring cleaning is sort of an ongoing thing at our house. I’ve had no trouble at all sorting through clothes, linens, dishes, pots and pans, and even jewelry. So many items have found new homes or been relegated to the recycle bins. But there’s one problem. Our house is chock full of books, and I can’t seem to let them go.

My husband and I once fantasized about selling everything we own and buying a sailboat to sail around the world. We figured we could generate enough income via the internet to keep the galley stocked, and we could stay in touch with friends and family via e-mail. Only one thing—well, besides the fact that neither of us knew how to sail—was stopping us. What would we do with all our books?

It’s not that we never give a book away, sell a book at a garage sale, or take a stack of books to a used bookstore. We just don’t seem to have done any of those things frequently enough. Hardbacks, paperbacks, pocket-sized volumes and coffee table tomes…our house is full of books.

Even with all the moves over the years, we both still have textbooks from college courses we took in the late sixties. I saved valuable texts like the Norton Anthology of English Literature and the Harbrace College Handbook. He, on the other hand, has texts titled (I’m not making this up) Engineering Economy, Applied Regression Analysis, and Principles of Operations Research with Application to Managerial Decisions, copyright 1969. Now, excuse me, but William Blake will always be William Blake and the tiger burns just as brightly “in the forests of the night” in 2015 as he did in 1967. However, any manager needing advice based on what was known about systems operations in 1969 is probably managing a push broom—if that!

In addition to nonfiction titles and novels, we have a complete library of children’s books. Now I’m reading Dr. Seuss favorites like Hop on Pop, Mr. Brown is Out of Town and The Foot Book to a second generation. I suppose I could forgo the set of 1975 Encyclopedia Britannica Junior (minus Vol. 16, which one of my sons left at school), but I couldn’t abandon Tuggy the Tugboat for the most luxurious sailboat made!

We also have travel guides to every place we’ve ever been or dreamed of going. Those would come in handy on the sailboat, but where would we put them? At least I could toss overboard those for inland locations, like Beijing: An Illustrated Guide. We would need one whole foot locker to hold those classics we plan to read some day, including the Complete Works of William Shakespeare and the Complete Novels of Jane Austen, and another for the books we bought but haven’t read yet. We’d need all the books we’ve saved from foreign languages we’ve taken so we could look up how to ask directions to the post office in every port, and I’d need my full supply of cookbooks in the galley, with titles spanning trends from fondu to gluten-free.

You may be wondering why we don’t just read books on an electronic reader like a Kindle or Nook. Well, we do. But somehow that hasn’t replaced the joy of holding a book in hand and turning the pages one by one.

Although we do own a book titled Sailing for Dummies, I doubt we’ll opt for the sailing fantasy. Far more likely is that we’ll move to a smaller house with a lot less stuff—except for the books stacked floor to ceiling in every room!