Posts filed under ‘family’
What Moms Need
Today I blogged over at Canadian Writers Who Are Christian. Go there to read my post, What Moms Need.
While you’re there, read posts by other Canadian Christian writers.
And for all the mothers reading my post, may you be blessed with love and time with your family, yes, even with long-distance calls.
My mother on her wedding day
Jottings from a writer’s notebook
It hasn’t always been my practice to carry a notebook, but since I’ve taken up writing, I make sure to have something to write on, whether it’s a small notebook or a few pieces of paper, and at least one good pen. I practise what I tell my students to do— to gather fodder for story or poem, inspiration for a day when the well seems to have run dry.
There’s a notebook, usually coil bound, at my bedside table for the late or middle of the night inspirations, a notebook in my car, and one in my purse, albeit a tiny one. And pens—well many pens around me—but not always many in my purse.
My office was recently renovated and is now back in working order, and so I have not yet located all of the small notebooks with jottings in them, but I did find one such book. Here’s an undated entry from a dog-eared notebook that bears the dates 2005, 2004 on other pages:
“We are like grass withered and brown; our bodies perish, our souls flee. Surely there is some trace, some remembrance of our time here when eternity comes.”
What triggered this entry, I wonder? Was it someone’s death? Was it a note to self to leave something to remember me some day? Was it before my book in which I wrote about growing up? I don’t know, but I think there’s something here to work with. Was this soul fleeing from the tired, worn-out body at the moment of death?
Another jotting that sounds like the making of a poem:
“Earth’s morning jolted from a dreamless sleep, seamless as the evening sky.”
Poetic, and again no date or reason for writing it. Where was I? What was I doing? Maybe it doesn’t matter when or where, only that it’s there.
One, dated April 7, 2005, about my relationship with God:
I, sinful and weak
break my word to you time after time
year after year
but you have not turned me away
have not given up on me
Who would give me so many chances…
Indeed, who else?
Some of these entries are jottings during our pastor’s sermon. Words, phrases that I want to remember, sometimes in a notebook, other times on the back of the service bulletin that I save with my other notes. I quickly scribble down the line so I can write about it later—Sorry, Pastor, I’m still listening, sort of. My mind is taking a rabbit trail from your sermon. Always a writer’s mind here, you see.
Even now, I have three pens laying on the desk beside a newer notebook, even while my fingers work on the keyboard. I still love using pens for my first draft. My fingers can more easily keep up with a flow of words when they come to me than typing on a keyboard, for when I type, I keep correcting things. If L. M. Montgomery could keep up to her story while using pen, then it’s still a good thing, and I have the best of both worlds when I can use the computer for revision.
Another jotting, and I know where it came from:
Dimpled hands reach
arms wrap around me
something to hold on to
grabbing hold of hair ears
whatever can be clasped by tiny fingers
wet kisses on my cheek
I return the hug gladly
Not polished, nevertheless, something I want to remember. Who knows where it will appear someday, or in what form.
I’ll keep on carrying notebook and pens, because I never know what gem I may discover. Stories comes from living life, not only from sitting behind a desk, typing.
What treasures do your notebooks hold?
A Celebration of Black History Month with Maranatha Lutheran Church
Imagine worship with a steel marimba band, organ and guitar. Imagine families gathering at a chapel at Waterloo Lutheran Seminary on the campus of Wilfrid Laurier University for worship and celebration. That, my friends, was the celebration of Black History Month on February 24 2013 with our sister congregation, Maranatha Lutheran Church of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada (ELCIC).
Many other members of the Carribbean community had also come that day to celebrate the annual event with Maranatha. I was there, along with other council members and spouses from St. Philip Lutheran Church, having been invited by the Maranatha council. The Keffer Chapel was full.
Greeters welcomed us into the sanctuary, where the Starlite Band was already playing and people greeting each other. M. Guerra-Francis led in some welcome songs: It’s Me, O Lord; Go Down Moses; and He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands. Our voices were truly warmed up by the time we had sung all three hymns.
Rev. Peter Kuhnert, pastor of Maranatha, opened the service with words of welcome and dialogue on the theme of Faith, Education and Community.
Communion being prepared by Rev Peter Kuhnert and worship assistant
Communion: “All are welcome”
After the service, we went upstairs in the seminary building to a classroom where tables were set up for a meal. Mrs. Bell and Ms. Elaine had catered a full course Caribbean meal that members of Maranatha church served in a buffet line in another classroom. The food was delicious and the conversation around our table was enjoyable.
The afternoon program included music and entertainment, speakers, and greetings from our Member of Provincial Parliament, Peter Braid.
Entertainment by the Cameron Heights Chamber Choir under the leadership of Alan Xaykongsa. Delightful and lively African music that had us clapping or singing along
More Caribbean music, by a member of the Starlite band on guitar, accompanied by Chloe Callender.
Leaders in the Caribbean community of Kitchener-Waterloo spoke on the theme of Faith, Education and Community. Speakers were Marcia Smellie, Edwin Laryea, and Sylma Fletcher.
Pastor Peter Kuhnert gave closing greetings.
I cannot speak for anyone else, but I went home filled with the sights and sounds of that event, remembering new faces and the names connected to them, as well as conversations with others I already knew, … and oh, that African music too.
For more photos of the Black History Month celebration go to LINK Newsmagazine and select the first album.
Photos on this post by the gracious permission of Sylma Fletcher.
Canadian Writers Who Are Christian–What is a Mission Statement?
Yesterday, I posted over at Canadian Writers Who Are Christian, as I do once a month. Read my post on mission statements and while you’re there, take a look around and read posts by other writers such as Peter Black, Eleanor Shepherd, Linda Hall and Rose McCormick Brandon. May this reading be a blessing to your day.
C. R. Wilker, author of Once Upon a Sandbox, pub. 2011 by Hidden Brook Press.
Available from selected book outlets (Fanfare Books, Stratford; Merrifield Book Shop, Woodstock; and Chapters Waterloo, Waterloo, ON), author, and from publisher.
book cover
Saturday Snapshot–Steckle Farm and Storytelling
In February 2012, I attended the Steckle Farm Family Fun Event as a guest storyteller. Many things were planned: toboganning on the hills around the farm as well as seeing the animals. Only thing, there was little snow last winter. A few days before, we got snow, and those winter events could go ahead. The staff at the farm were delighted.
The sheep came close to the fence so the children could reach out and ruffle their heavy winter coats.
Two small children I happen to know were attracted to the bunnies in the barn.
The miniature ponies in their heavy winter coats
Staff member, Krista, leading the calf from the shelter
Fun on the hills with tobogans and sleds, then hot chocolate afterwards
And me, in between stories, with my coat on. Families kept coming and going at many intervals and the fireplace kept going out. It was so cold outdoors and in the Honey House
The heritage barn, parts of it date back over 100 years
Saturday Snapshot meme hosted by At Home With Books. Post a photo, suitable for all eyes, that you or a family member have taken. Link it to the hosting blog and then go and see all the other photos linked there.
Saturday Snapshots-Fishy’s gone back in the lake
Last summer we went camping with our daughter and son-in-law, and on that trip, a grandchild learned about fishing. Here she looking out at the lake after the caught fish was thrown back in the water.
Let’s catch another one, Daddy!
At Home With Books hosts this popular meme. Post a photo taken by you or a family member, one that’s clean and appropriate for all eyes. Then go and link with Alyce on her blog and see all the other photos.
Liebster Award
My blog has been awarded the Liebster Award by fellow blogger Violet Nesdoly, whose poetry I enjoy reading. She’s a novelist too.
The deal with this award is to nominate other deserving blogs as well as to tell a little about myself.
To accept the award:
1. List five random facts about yourself
I enjoy photography and scrapbooking.
I offer workshops on memoir writing.
I teach creative writing
For exercise, I love to walk, sometimes with a friend, but also by myself.
As Violet mentioned, I love stories, both listening to them and telling them.
2. Pass the Liebster award on to other blogs (up to as many as five).
See my list below.
3. Proudly display the Liebster button on your blog! (which I have just done)
Whether those nominated choose to pass along the award or put up the award on their blog is their own choice. Here are the blogs I have nominated for the award because I enjoy reading their posts:
The Promise of Home by Rose McCormick Brandon, who in recognition of her grandmother being a home child, dedicates her blog to the memory of those children who were sent off from their home as children. Touching stories.
Kingdom Poets by D. S. Martin, also a poet, who gives such interesting information about poetry and those who write in the genre.
Sunny Side Up! by Kathleen Gibson. I so enjoy reading her posts that often are quite humorous but very real.
Learning from our grandmothers
We learn about who we are by exploring the history of our family. Storyteller Dan Yashinksy says in Suddenly There Were Footsteps that he is connected to his ancestors by stories his grandmother brought over from her native country. He said that was almost all she brought with her.
I, that sense, I have been fortunate. I have learned about my grandparents by spending time with them in their homes or their visits with us, albeit one grandmother more than the other.
Needing to know more about my history for my own book, I asked a lot of questions, asked for stories too. Some of them were uncovered as my parents shared their own memories the year of their 60th wedding anniversary.
My father’s parents moved off the farm when I was a small child and went to live in the city. Because of that and since they went to Florida every winter for a number of my early years, I didn’t spend as much time with Grandma Flora as I had with my other grandmother. Grandma Flora died when I was twelve. She was 75 years old.
The time of story sharing and asking questions was one of discovery. I asked family members— my father, his sister and my mother. Grandma Flora had grown up on a farm, moved to the city with her parents when they sold the farm. Then as a young adult, she worked in a special order of a department store where she would have honed her sewing skills and learned millinery— hat making.
My father’s parents on their wedding day.
Credit: family photo collection.
While I’m not a hat maker in the millinery sense, Grandma Flora’s attention to detail was as important in her work as it was to me in my business, and now as I edit the work of other writers. The few family photos we have show Grandma Flora dressed attractively, and her daughters were too.
My dad says that she would have been embarassed about the school photo. My father had not told her about their picture day, and so the day the photo was taken, he was wearing a safety pin on his overalls where the fastener had broken. She would have been sure to fix that ahead, if she had known.
But it wasn’t only in her sewing where careful attention to detail was important. After marriage, she and my grandfather moved to a farm. She kept a large garden to feed her family, canning food for winter as the harvest produced more than they could eat over the summer and fall.
She liked beauty and order in her home, using pretty wallpaper to decorate the older house. She was also involved for a time with the Women’s Institute, thus being interested in happenings beyond her home and in her community.
My maternal grandparents on their wedding day
Credit: Family photo collection
My maternal grandmother, Grandma Ardena, lived longer. She was in her 80s when she died and so we had much more time together. From her, I learned how to make pancakes, tie a comforter, and watched her at her crocheting and tatting, when she had time for it. When I lived with my grandparents one summer, we played card games together. My crocheting lessons with her don’t count. I wanted to learn, but I just wasn’t ready then.
True, I have learned more about Grandma Ardena since then, and with maturity, have understood her better—her sense of humour and the way she went about things—and about her life as a farmer’s wife and mother of eight children. So I could say I learned more from Grandma Ardena, but that’s just the way life worked.
If you have the opportunity, ask questions. What do you know about your family? What have you learned about them or from them? How does it affect the way you live your life and pass on stories to your succeeding generation?
Saturday Snapshot–Memories
A photo of my sister Mary and I, ready to walk to school.
As you can see, we were dressed alike, right down to the ponytails and ribbons in our hair. We walked a quarter mile to our country school; our parents did not drive us there. My sister is fifteen months younger, but the taller of the two of us.
Saturday Snapshots At Home With Books
To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link on the host site. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see.
photo credit: L. Wilhelm, parent
Immortalized in Stone
Today’s Challenge from WordPress
December 27, 2012.
Your personal sculptor is carving a person, thing or event from the last year of your life. What’s the statue of and what makes it so significant?
Has Michelangelo come back to life or is it another sculptor as gifted as he is? Under the hammer and chisel is a statue coming into being, but what is it?
Ah! I know now what it is. A child. The curls sticking to his head under a hot sun. No wait, it’s a little girl. See her delicate nose and ears. The child leans down, intent on what she is doing, focused on something under her hands.
As the sculptor works, chopping away here and chiselling there, I see that the child has one hand on a toy as if she is pushing it. The other hand is flat on a surface. A tractor is released from the stone, body, tires, even a steering wheel.
I walk away and come back in awhile and I see the great block of stone under the child has turned into a box of some sort. A sandbox. Child playing in a sandbox, pushing the tractor through sand. She’s imitating her father driving a tractor in the field, but there’s no motor sound. Only concentration.
An image cast in stone of a child—me, at an earlier age—and representation of my book, Once Upon a Sandbox, that was shortlisted for an award earlier in 2012. An exciting event in my life this year, celebrated at a gala awards night, in the newspaper, and by appreciation of my friends and readers.
book cover
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