Low Carb Laughter

A friend is going through a divorce and sought my advice, my input, anything I could share that would tell her how to survive. It sounds so lame to just say one day (minute) at a time; the next breath, the next step, do the next thing - but in fact, it's the truth. Today wasn't the day to share this little article that I wrote in the early 1990s, but a little further down the line, when she has learned that tears aren't terminal and she realizes that she's having a good day, maybe I'll show it to her and she can believe it too. 

“Oh-h-h, lady, please don’t cry!  I’ll be happy to cut you some better ones!”

The pathetic look on the butcher’s face made me realize how ridiculous I must have looked. I forced a chuckle through my tears and said, “No, no; these will be fine.  Thank you very much.”  I took the three carefully wrapped pork chops and went on my way.  Impulsively I knew what I would write in my journal that night. “Some day this is all going to be very funny…but today, the reality – the never-ending reality of the divorce is not funny.”

The bigger, more obvious adjustments to being a single parent were easier to handle.  It was the smaller ones (buying three pork chops instead of four) that would trip me up time and time again.  Ironically, however, it would be those same events that would draw on my sense of humor as I stumbled through new adjustments to enjoy a lighter side of life, reminding me how good laughter is for the soul.

One such instance involved moving from a very large home to a small rental.  That day I wondered if I would ever laugh again; but it has been said that truth is stranger than fiction and this was to be no exception.  The movers had gone and two teenage daughters were busy personalizing their new rooms.  Blaring radios threatened to have us evicted before we were even unpacked.  I sat in the middle of the kitchen floor surrounded by boxes, feeling totally displaced so I consoled myself with a diet soda and a brownie. Tears mingled with frosting and walnuts, leaving a soggy, messy napkin and an exhausted, weary soul.  I wondered briefly if I could crawl into one of those boxes, finding that when I awoke it had all been a bad dream.  “Oh God,” I cried.  “Please help me. I can’t do this alone!”   He very quickly and gently reminded me that I didn’t have to. I will never leave you or forsake you....for behold, I am with you always…the Lord is near to the brokenhearted…I will uphold you with My righteous right hand…do not fear; do not be afraid…

After a good cry (sidebar: what does that mean, anyway, a good cry? Is there a bad cry?), I took a deep breath and looked at the mess around me. Where was I to start?  The task was much bigger than my energy level.  But it occurred to me that the supermom of the old TV sitcoms would never have given in to discouragement so easily.  She would have rolled up her sleeves (in high heels and apron, no doubt) and begun settling in.  Refreshed by that visual, I did just that, although I paid little attention to where I was putting things.

The lighter side prevailed, however, when I looked in the mirror hours later and saw a ‘raccoon face’ looking back at me.  The tears had left their mark – literally. That explained the shocked look on the new neighbor’s face earlier. I had answered the door and there he stood with a pitcher of lemonade, a plate of brownies and a very surprised expression.  I vowed to use nothing but waterproof mascara from that day forward. The thought of how it would read in my journal assured me that I would indeed survive this shattered dream.  There had been times when I was afraid I wouldn’t and other times when I was afraid I would.  I wasn’t sure which would be worse.

Lonely days and sleepless nights challenged my decision making, but humor was not to be outdone.  The bigger choices (to buy or not buy a car) were relatively easy.  Much more difficult was which line to sign on the register at church.  Was I still a Mrs.?  Was I a Miss again?  Or was I, in fact, a Ms.?  Let it be said that while we think church “should” be the safest place (emotionally) to be, I found it to be the most difficult of all.  People who had been our extended family – the same people who shared ball games and potlucks and root beer floats after Sunday evening services – were now uncomfortable around me.  They cared about both me and my ex-husband and didn’t want to take sides.  I never doubted that they still loved me; they just didn’t know what to do with me.

Tears ran freely and often but were pushed aside once again when I realized the reason I couldn’t unlock my new car was because I was holding my house keys.  Ah, yes…my new car – my shiny, less-than-a-week-old car – until someone put her gear shift in drive instead of reverse and rearranged the entire grille and hood of my shiny blue Pontiac.  She was near hysteria as she apologized over and over, gasping for breath, tears fogging up her glasses.  “Oh, please, God” I cried. “Don’t let her have a heart attack. I don’t have time for emergencies!”  I assured her that we would just call the police and the insurance companies; then we’d both be on our way.   My composure surprised her as she tried to regain some of her own.  “Ma’am,” I said, “I just have to tell you; in the whole scheme of life, this is not a problem.  It is, by any standard, a major inconvenience and lesson in pride; but that’s the reason we pay insurance premiums.  Besides,” I added, “if I don’t laugh, I am going to sit down in this snowdrift and cry!”  Her laughter broke the tension and I knew that another sad-turned-upside-down situation would find its way into my book that night.  I sensed that God had sent an angel to my side and that he, too, was recording the moment.

As the next several years brought new lessons, new growth, new pain, I clung to Romans 8:28 when it felt like I had little to cling to. “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”  (NASB)  If I believed it, there was hope.  If I didn’t, there was nothing.  I chose to believe it.

You may call it humor, an attitude, survival or a simple belief that all things do indeed work together for our good.  I call it all of those things, but I also believe that laughter is a tool that helps soothe the wounds of forced change.  I look forward to the day when I can look back at the ‘Via De La Rosi’ and say that I was right.  Some of it is funny now and I am a stronger, better person because of it.  Thank you, God, for the gift of laughter and the ability to not take ourselves too seriously.

Author Barbara Johnson, in her book Stick a Geranium in Your Hat and Be Happy, says that a friend of hers once shared that her favorite Bible verse was “…and it came to pass”.  When Barbara asked her to explain, the friend simply said, “Well, just think.  It could have come to stay!” 

Amen to that!

P.S. to Long Gone But Never Forgotten

Sissy (my dear older sister Norma, now the matriarch of the family) emailed me after reading the post from this morning and in keeping with preserving memories, I just had to share this...

"I loved your article about Gramma Fella.  I remember Mom telling me about the night before she passed ( Gramma I mean).  She was at the Danville hospital and Mom had gone to visit her. She told me that Gramma said to her 'I am going home tomorrow,' and our mom said back, 'Mom, I know you want to but you can't go home just yet.'  Gramma said, 'No, not house home; home to God.'  She knew she was going, and yes she did go peacefully.  Wonderful memories of her.  I stayed mostly when she was working for Mr Cox.  It was such fun, I could walk uptown to shop, walk to the library and had freedom to go places that we didn't have out in the country. Always cried when I had to go back home."

Done in her class this week.

Sissy is a very young 83-year-old artist whose paintings flow from her brush as easily as words do from my pen (or keyboard).

Because we were a divorced family and I was the youngest of the original five with a 14-year age span, I have little or no memory of the extended family tree and the stories it holds.  I have been encouraging Sissy to write down glimpses of history like the one above because all that knowledge ends with her. She isn't sure she has much to offer when it comes to writing.  I beg to differ.

Long Gone But Never Forgotten

Since this blog is primarily for my loved ones, I want to honor a request to throw in some family history so that future generations would know some of their heritage. This is a good place to start.

Red and yellow checked outfit she made

I loved my grandma - GramFella I called her because I couldn't say Grandma Longfellow. I never tired of staying with her and would beg my mother to let me go there when she had to be gone.  GramFella was a Dutch English woman who survived incredibly hard times; she was a story teller, a tea drinker and lover of the Bible.  When she was in her 20's she was a nanny for a family with five children. I don't recall if they were a military family; but they traveled a lot so, of course, she traveled as well.
 

Her bed seemed sky high to a little person of four or five years of age. When it came time for sleeping, she would pick me up and put me between her and the wall so I didn't fall out. (Maybe it really was high after all.) She would tell me stories of her nanny adventures, but I always fell asleep before she finished. At breakfast the next morning, she would finish the story while we sipped sweet hot tea with warm bread and 'real' butter - wow!  Because I was her 'important guest' I would get to use one of her special English teacups and saucers. I don't recall ever breaking one but if I had, I would have been very sad. But she would have said, "It's okay.  Little girls are far more important than a teacup."

I was in the 6th grade when she died. The news came in an early morning phone call. From my room I could hear my mother talking in hushed tones and I dreaded what it might be about.  Grandma was gone. No, no, no! She was my best friend - I was safe and happy with her. We drew pictures together and read stories together and snuggled together under a blanket as we listened to the radio. She brushed my blonde curls and patted my cheeks and hands. How would I manage without her? I felt like a part of me died right along with her.  It was years later when I was having a really bad 'I want my grandma' day that I penned this little piece as though it were the day she died. I printed it in column style on cardstock and have used it as a bookmark ever since.

"I will miss her terribly, this lady of strength and wisdom; this person who has made such an impact on my life; this grandma of mine.  There is no one who hugs like a grandma; no one whose hands can be so wrinkled and yet so soft; no one who makes cookies that taste quite like hers. Only a grandma can ask how you are and really want to know; only a grandma can give you that special wink when she knows you've gotten yourself into trouble (again).  Only a grandma can share her life in a way that makes pain seem like a good thing. And when God decides it's time for her to come home, there is no one who can fill the giant void in the heart where only she lived. It doesn't matter that she's been ill for a long time; it doesn't matter that it was 'expected'...it doesn't matter that she went peacefully in her sleep. What matters is that she is gone and I miss her terribly."

Those of you who had or have a grandma like this are richly blessed. May I encourage you to cherish the memories, share the blessings and pass on her legacy.

Blessings,
Rosi

Silas says......

Dear Readers,

Meet Silas - my grandpuppy who lives in Sleepy Eye MN. I say grandpuppy but in essence he is the size of a small horse. Silas is - I am convinced - a dog of multiple personalities. I suspect that there is also a hidden comic within.  If only he could talk....he can't, but the expressions and body language do it for him.  For instance, when one of the lady people of the house instructs him to lie down, he looks and blinks and (so help me) smiles at them as if to say, "You are not the boss of me." The command gets more firm and still he smiles. However, when one of the male population snaps their fingers and points to the floor, he does obey....sometimes slowly and with a combination growl/yawn in protest. The caption should read, "I might be lying down, but on the inside I'm standing up."

For the people he loves, his welcome is exhuberant, big happiness and a giant paw in your lap. "You came! You came! Come in and I will let you scratch my ears and pat my tummy and will wait patiently for the last bite of your cookie..or toast..or pizza. I'm here for ya'."

For those he sees as a threat (the mailman), it's "I see you walking toward the door ...yep, closer, closer....just a few more steps to the mailbox." Then, "WHAT ARE YOU THINKIN' TRYING TO PUT YOUR HAND ON MY DOOR!?" One time I think I heard a lady down the block drop her sack of groceries at his 'If-I-could-get-past-this-door-I'd-rip-you-to-threads' bark.

There are always babies around and while Silas may stretch out to a full 6-feet and appear to be unaware of toys and toddlers, let a non-family member walk in the room and the ears go up, the eyes are fixed on the intruder and he says, ever so quietly, "Don't ...even... think of getting between me and those babies." To my knowledge, no one has tried.

And my favorite ....daily walks - big strong master with big strong dog who 'owns' the neighborhood (and the town); frequently folks cross the street just to avoid him. Periodically, there's a brave soul walking their dog and they stay on the same sidewalk.  Little dog doesn't know he's little and begins to protest loudly to his master. Silas shoots him a glance and says, "You there, little curly lunch-sized dog...bad choice."

Note to potential burglar, thief, intruder .....you might want to rethink that.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

That was the title of a 30-minute daytime TV show back in the late 50s and hosted by the one and only author, actor, humorist Art Linkletter.  Linkletter was a very tall grandfather figure who loved people, especially children. As a host, he had a way of making the audience laugh before anything really happened. It was the expectation and smile in his voice. You just knew something funny was coming up.

The setting was simple - his guests would be three or four young children - maybe ages 3-6, each sitting on a chair a few feet apart, most of them swinging their feet and waving at their parents.  He would kneel down beside them and chat with each one about anything they chose - food, siblings, Christmas, bugs - you name it. He immediately put them at ease so they talked freely.  At the end of the conversation with each child, he would say something like, "When you were getting ready to come here today in your beautiful pink dress, did your mommy or daddy give you any special instructions?"

They'd think a minute and then say, "She said to be polite and not fidget." He'd keep going. "So what did your mommy tell you NOT to say today?"  The kids talked freely while the parents stood nervously backstage.  Kids are so honest and their answers were priceless. "Ummm, she said not to talk about Uncle Ralph who had to go to jail because he stole money from the church."  ...or..."My dad said not to tell that his boss is a jerk." ...or..."She said don't say that we think the neighbor's new baby is really funny looking."  Oops.

I am involved in a group at church called M&Ms (moms and mentors), and at the first meeting, the young moms were asked to write down the funniest things their kids had said that week.  I was expecting answers like the ones on the TV show. Wrong - very wrong. Some were rude and others were crude. As the moms chuckled, I found myself thinking, "Hmmm, at our house that would have warranted a bar of soap.  Mommies, let me tell you what funny really sounds like."

There isn't enough space on one blog to list them all, but here are a few from the Braatz household list of "Kids Say the Darndest Things...

Two small girls debating over my "likstip" or "likspik"; same small girls over a lunch of "gorilla cheese" or "girl cheese" .....and a favorite; we had friends with a son named Jeremy; but in our house he was "Jiminy" or "Germany."

A 2nd grader being very hungry after school; she hadn't eaten her lunch because the teacher said that the potatoes were 'all rotten' - took a while to convince her that potatoes and cheese were a good combination.

A different 2nd grader proudly saying school was really good that day because they were learning about the "Silverware War."

And one last one.  We had decided to put a wood stove in a big dining room of our old house.  The littles (a favorite word in our family) stayed with Dad while mom ran to do Saturday errands.  As Dad took a big blade and started cutting the carpet out where the hearth would be, a very wide-eyed little girl gasped and said, "Ohhhhhh, boy, is Mom gonna be mad!"

Dear reader, when events like these happen in your world, I urge you to write them down. Trust me,  the day will come when you will either wish you had or be very glad you did.

Blessings,
Rosi

Be Careful What You Ask For

I’d like to be one of those people who – for as long as their joints allow -  get out of bed and fall to their knees to meet with God instead of heading to the kitchen for the coffee pot. However, I am not. Neither am I am proud of saying that until that first sip awakens my senses, there is a definite disconnect between my head and my heart.

I really want to be diligent. I want to thank Him for another sunrise and focus on His goodness before my eyes are even open. I want to ask for strength for the day ...or patience...or grace; always, always grace (sidebar: some of us need more grace than others.  A dear one sent me a cartoon that said ‘I asked God to give me patience because if He gives me strength, I might just have to punch
someone!’ )

I do thank Him and I do ask for strength – I just do it a bit later and differently, often with sleepy eyes and difficulty concentrating on the Word.  But He’s always there waiting; He knows my routine and loves me anyway. 

Very recently, while nearing the bottom of my first cup of java, I said aloud, “Good morning, God. And what might you have for me this day?”

I have several devotional books, and I usually read from one of them first then follow up with Scripture. That day’s reading was in Psalm 119. I don’t remember any verses before or after, but Psalms 119:7 (NIV) seemed to jump off the page as I read “I will praise you with an upright heart as I learn your righteous laws.”  The praise part was good, and surely an upright heart is good, but the words  ‘as I learn’ …as I learn …as…I….learn... played over and over in my head. Had I never read them or had I just never absorbed them?

It was a revelation, and I was immediately both relieved and convicted. What God had in mind that day for me (remember I had asked) was simply this:  I will never be expected to do more than I know …but as I learn, I cannot be expected to do less!

Ouch.

Blessings, Rosi

A New Adventure With An Old Love

A New Adventure with an Old Love

My first post on my first blog..a very happy thing! As you can see, it is just in the baby stage, and you will see my fingerprints as it grows.

I have loved writing for as long as I can remember - in fact, long before I ever really knew how to. As the youngest of seven children, I was the one who had to stay with a sitter while the siblings "got" to go to school. The sitter was (in the eyes of a five-year-old) a very tiny, very sweet, very wrinkled lady known only as Granny Cox. The house was nothing remarkable but a beautiful white trellis with miniature pink roses was. She told me I was named after them.  I believed her.

What I remember most about my days with Granny Cox is that I would stand under the trellis with my brown and somewhat tattered teddy bear as my mother said she would see me later and to be sure to be a good girl.

Granny Cox knew what little girls liked ...well, at least this little girl; not cookies and milk (though I never turned them down), but new pencils with newly sharpened lead and unused erasers!  She gave me paper, paper and more paper. I wanted so badly for real words to somehow magically appear.  I would even hold the pencil the way my siblings did and move my hands back and forth the same way. Surely if I tried hard enough, I could get what was in my little heart onto the paper.

I still love new pencils - I still love actually writing on paper rather than using a keyboard but in the interest of sharing my words in this millennium, I resort to technology.

Maybe someone will read From My Heart to Yours and be blessed; maybe no one will, but I will still be blessed as I share bits and pieces of a long life, most of it walking with God, some of it not. I want my grandchildren and their children and their children to read it and say, "I would like to have known her." I want to remind them of God's goodness and grace, of times when I let Him down but  more times when He lifted me up. I want them to know that He loves me when I am unlovable and one of those silly sheep we read about. I want to share so many things - stories and lessons and blessings....  I want to share writings old and new, and if,  along the way, the reader is blessed as well, then God will smile on both of us. So dear reader, I hope you will meet me here again and enjoy the journey as my words make their way from my heart to yours.

Blessings, Rosi

To my readers...

This blog is a work in progress, but then so am I.  There will be some changes as I go along - pictures or links to something that touches my heart. However, one thing will remain unchanged and that, dear reader, is my desire to bless, encourage, enlighten or merely entertain. Thank you for taking this journey with me. Happy reading!

Blessings, Rosi