Grampa

A week ago today, Nate's dad was placed on hospice care at home.
Dad has been living with Parkinson's disease for many years.
Since Malachi's arrival sixteen months ago, we have seen Dad decline, so rapidly that at times we can't quite believe the changes as they are occurring.
Taking care of a baby (especially at my age) is tiring, but as I watch Nate's mom and all five of her kids care for Dad, I can see that what they are doing is far more exhausting.
Yet they are all doing what is needed, especially Nate's mom, day in and day out, not knowing how long this season of caregiving will be.
And knowing that at the end of it, a different grief waits for them. For all of us.
 

I have so many pictures of Dad with his grandkids. These days I'm not taking as many, because he doesn't look like himself. This shows him relatively strong, walking the breakwater at Two Harbors with my boys.
It was taken during the Tall Ships event on the North Shore in the summer of 2008.
My favorite memory of Dad from that trip was when we all stood in line for four hours to tour the ships.
The hordes of people patiently waited their turns, obediently outside the barrier fence.
Suddenly, we noticed that Dad had drifted (drifted is the best word for it, he moved slowly yet deliberately) across the border and was now inside the viewing area. No one was about to stop the distinguished-looking guy leaning on a cane.
He encouraged us all to join him, and I think he was genuinely surprised that we didn't.

That story kind of sums up his life.
He grew up poor on the North Shore of Lake Superior. He and Mom met while in college, and while they raised their big family, he plowed through years of schooling (while working full-time) until he eventually earned his Doctorate from the University of Minnesota.
He was not deterred by the setbacks of his youth, or by nay-sayers. He quietly kept proceeding till he reached his goal.

It wasn't hard to see that he got great joy from his grandchildren.
I cried a little when he qualified for hospice. But I cried much harder, I was just a faucet of tears all day long, when Mom told me that he had called out the grandkids' names during his agitated sleep.
The thought of him thinking of his grandchildren, as his memories swirled during the dark hours of the night, brought home to me the fact that they are a treasure to him.
With grandchildren, there are fewer expectations than there are with children. When they spend time with their grandparents, it's a pure gift, because they don't feel obligation.
They only feel love.

I have noticed, during this terribly difficult year, that the gift we get is not always the gift we ask for.
We asked for healing, and we got more disease.
We asked for peace, and we saw with the increasing dementia an increase in anxiety.
We asked for restoration, and we received time. Time to spend with a man who hardly knows us anymore.

But it's been a gift to see my husband and his siblings as they care for Dad alongside their Mom.
It's been a different kind of healing, a special grace.
I wouldn't wish it on anybody. I wish Dad could have had twenty more good years, and that my baby could have the memories of Grampa that our other kids took for granted.

Today we're heading up to their house, as we have on most Wednesdays this year. I'm so glad now that we've taken the time, even though some days the baby was hard.
We will probably find Grampa more dim than he was last week (he had a few bright moments, laughing at something Anna Kate said), and find Mom a bit more worn-down (she's always had more energy than any of us).
We don't expect much. We take the day as it is given.

Grampa and my girls in 2007.

Grampa and Gramma at the Fourth of July parade, 2007.

 This song has been a great encouragement. Notice the last word is "rejoice."

Straight to the Heart (and a recipe for Anticuchos)

 My adventurous mom with Malachi.

Yesterday was (for us) full of adventure.
My friend Jamie had invited me to a Women of Hope event to benefit TreeHouse, a local teen ministry.
Our church has been involved with TreeHouse for years, although I haven't heard as much about it recently, but I didn't know what to expect. I had put off finding a sitter for Malachi, vaguely hoping that Nate could be home from work on that day. Suddenly the 24th was upon me, and I had to send out a desperate mass text to friends asking if anyone could watch him. No one could.
But my Julia came through. She usually does. It was her free day at school, and so I dropped Anna Kate and baby Mick off to hang out with their big sister for a few hours.
On the way to Julia's college, I called my mom and dad and invited them to have lunch with my kids. They lost no time (typical of them) and were soon on their way from Red Wing.
Meanwhile, the luncheon was lovely.
For starters, the guest speakers were Gabby Douglas and her mom Natalie, and a TreeHouse teenager named Jozee.
Hearing Gabby tell her story, and listening to her mom's perspective (she saw her daughter for just 30 seconds after Gabby won her individual all-around gold medal), made me unaccountably weepy.
I am often unaccountably weepy. But here was this young girl, who left home at fourteen to train for the Olympics, having no idea if she would ever make the team.
And here were her sisters, cheering her on. And her mother, who had $35 in her bank account when she found out her daughter was on the U.S. Gymnastics team.
But Gabby was full of talent, and she had her family to give her courage when hers ran low.

Then the TreeHouse girl spoke. Jozee doesn't have Gabby's kind of family. She has the same tooth-grinding determination, but she's had to survive by her own wits. The support and love of her mentor at TreeHouse probably saved her life. The mentor told Jozee she was of great worth. She seemed fragile and tattered as she told her story, but she sounded brave. I think all of us in the room sorrowed with her, and rejoiced with her. Peace be on you, precious Jozee.

I thought, it's all about the heart. The heart that we are given at the beginning, that beats regularly at just a few weeks' gestation, and does not stop until we draw our dying breath. Our heart is what He is after.

My son is in his first year of med school, and the students have cadaver work. (I hope this isn't too much for you. I find it fascinating). I asked him if they started slowly, with fine physical details like skin and muscle layers.

"No," he said. "We pretty much dive right into the pectoral and start with the heart."

Start with the heart. It's apparently the best way to begin knowing the mysteries of the human body. It's the place that Jesus wants to know us. He created us the way He wanted to, beautiful, with delicate details and invisible wonders. But when he wants to change us, or heal us, or jolt us back to life, he goes for our hearts.

So that was my day. I returned to Julia's college to find my girls, my parents, and my baby in the Student Center, waiting for me. They had had a fabulous time. The baby had been somewhat terrible at first, then slowly cheered up. We hugged all around, and then we parted ways.

I went to prepare supper, and for the only time all year, because a cow only has one heart, we had true Anticuchos. When I was growing up in Peru, the local cooks would come to our jungle center and set up a barbeque. All day we smelled the astounding fragrance of these marinated beef kabobs. Now I wonder, Why did it take all day? Why did we have to wait so long before we could buy and eat? I can't figure it out, because these only take about three minutes on the grill.

But it's a lovely memory: the lake, the pequi pequis chugging slowly through the water, the smoke and mouth-watering goodness of anticuchos wafting from the shore.

Enjoy!
(Made with regular beef, these are delicious and not quite so alarming. Anna Kate said our meal was "morbid." Nate said it was like something out of Fear Factor. But we ate them all.)

Beef Anticuchos

(We buy half a cow, so we only get half a heart. This recipe is for way more meat than I had, so I didn't use all the marinade).

2 1/2 lbs. fresh beef heart, cut into thin strips
1 cup red wine vinegar
4 T. ground cumin
1 tsp. ground pepper
1 tsp. salt
5 big garlic cloves, crushed and peeled and chopped
2 T. fresh parsley or oregano
4 dried chiles (I used a combination of red pepper flakes and chipotle peppers)
1 1/2 cups oil, divided

Blend all ingredients except the oil in a large bowl.
Take out about half of the mixture.
Add 1/2 cup oil to the remaining mixture to make a soft paste.
Stir the beef strips into the marinade.
Allow to rest for 30 minutes at room temperature.

To reserved spice mixture, add remainder of oil for a basting sauce.

Thread beef onto skewers.
Place on grill.
While the meat grills, brush with marinade.
The recommended brush is made with shredded corn husk, which works great if you're on a picnic, since you can later toss it.
(I used a silicone grill brush).

Allow fire to flame over the meat as you baste.
Cook about 1 1/2 minutes per side.

Best when served alongside corn and potatoes. I was pretty scattered last night, so we didn't have good side dishes. We ate butternut squash soup, anticuchos, mashed potatoes, and rice, all in succession since nothing was ready all at once.

Half a beef heart. I admit this made me a bit queasy.

Marinating beef.

I wish you could smell these. Finicky feelings would vanish, and you'd gobble them up, just like we did.

How to Make: Heat Socks

I promised you a post on heat socks, so here it is, even though I'd rather blog about yesterday. The day dawned dreary, but that was beside the point. I got a good night's sleep, Julia was home, and my daughters watched the baby while I went to my church for Bible Study. We're not studying the Bible though. Instead, we're going through a quiet little book by Ruth Haley Barton called Sacred Rhythms.

After hearing Ruth's teaching about Elijah in the wilderness, and the time and the solitude he needed in order to be restored, we had a half hour of silence. Silence. No music. No chit-chat.

I found it so difficult to be still, and focus my thoughts, and enjoy the calm. I wanted to check my phone.

Then we met as a small group. I already love my group.

I appreciate studies at my church, because we are trained to listen without interrupting. This discipline is good for both the talker and for the listeners. It's so restful to know you are going to be allowed to finish your thoughts. And it is relaxing when you know, as a listener, that no response is needed. Just listening is all that is required.

But maybe you want to know how to make heat socks. You will need:

Cotton fabric, about 1/2 a yard (ticking works well)
Feed corn (I get mine at the Anoka Feed Store on 2nd Avenue)
Lavender, if you like

My current heat sock is about 18" x 10". I also have two others that are smaller. At times, I have one on my sore shoulder, one on my sore sciatic nerve, and one draped over my sore left ankle. It's a sad creaky mess I'm getting to be.

Directions:
Cut fabric to desired size, two equal pieces (about 10"x18" is great for feet).
Place right sides together.
Stitch around three sides, about 1/2 inch from edge (both long sides and one of the short sides),
leaving one short side open.
Zig-zag around the sewn edges to limit fraying.
Turn fabric right-side out.
Fill bag with feed corn. (Fill bag halfway. That's about 4 or 5 cups of corn for a large heat sock). You will want to sift the corn through your fingers a bit to get out the chaff.
If you like, add about a tablespoon of lavender.
Turning raw edges inward, stitch the open end of the bag shut.

To heat the sock:

Place in the microwave for about two minutes. My big sock takes three minutes, but do not let your sock burn. If you do, the whole house will smell awful and you'll have to cast the sock outside to get rid of the odor.

Sometimes I crawl wearily into bed with my cuddly little baby and my array of heat socks, and it's all so wonderful that I don't mind winter one bit. Especially when I wake up with Malachi at one in the morning and the sock is still warm.

(Many thanks to my sister Joanie, who did the research on sock fillers years ago and discovered feed corn was the best option. You are such a handy dandy sister).

Autumn Falls

Today we put away the trampoliine.
We woke up to icy snow pellets, a pale gray sky, and a sharp breeze.
The baby wore his winter coat.

This cold came on so fast, I never had time to take good tree pictures.
These were taken this morning, in the snow.

We made brownies, the house felt cozy, and Julia has a long weekend at home.
But I was sad to see my zinnias frozen dead, and leaves whipped off the trees just at their prettiest.

Only last week we were enjoying a glorious day outside,
a day so perfect that a visitor might have decided to live here forever.

And so it begins. I am never ready for a Minnesota winter. If the days are sunny, the cold outside isn't so bad. We stay in and drink hot cocoa and play games. Last night we played Scrabble. That was an adventure. I was up chasing Malachi, getting him into his jammies, and trying to put him to bed. While playing what we've decided works for us, "Iffy-Word Scrabble." If we can agree to use non-standard words, the game goes much more quickly. 

Trying to play a game reminded me of the old days when our big boys were little. We were so young. We weren't ready to give up on having our free time. I remember once, we decided to throw the football outside (not something I usually long to do, but I wanted to play). The boys were supposed to be asleep, but they must have heard us outside, laughing. They cried in their cribs. For about an hour. While we played in the yard. Without them. It sounds so sad now, but believe me, no harm done.

I hope this finds you with a warm house and a warm heart. Next blog post, I'll give directions on how to make heat socks. They're not socks, they're more like big bean bags, but I love them. They get toasty-hot in the microwave, and they keep winter feet warm and happy.