(The following entry is a submission I made to the Morning Call -- Allentown, PA -- for their How Did You Meet? stories that are published around Valentine's Day.)
In all probability, my husband’s first date with me was the worst date he ever had. Our freshman year in college we were set up on a blind date/double date with my roommate and the guy she was dating. My roomie’s date was my husband’s big brother in a fraternity. Complicating the whole thing was the fact I had a terrible crush on my roommate’s guy and only agreed to go on the date because I knew it would mean I could be close to him for an evening (and maybe impress him enough to dump her).
Because I was taught to rise to the occasion, I managed to make it through a very long, uncomfortable evening with a person I had nothing in common with except the fact we had both played flute in the high school band. I am sure the most memorable part of the evening must have been when he walked me to my dorm and I turned, grabbed his hand and shook it, and hastily said, “GoodnightJimIhadanicetimeIhavetogotothebathroom.” and dashed up the twenty stairs to the door of my dorm.
Since we attended a very small college and had many mutual friends, we were thrown together on many occasions thereafter. We became friends and even dated. One sunny day not long before graduation we were sitting under the trees on the hillside near the college chapel when we sort of spontaneously agreed we should get married. We just celebrated our thirty-fourth anniversary, so I guess we must have found some things in common to talk about.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
FYI
If you are interested in a Lenten Devotional for 2008, you may wish to go to www.asburylv.org starting Ash Wednesday (Feb. 6). This year's theme is "Becoming More Like Jesus" and consists of faith stories from Asbury United Methodist Church (Allentown, PA -- our church) members and staff based on the Christian attributes of Love, Forgiveness, Faithfulness, Humility, Holy Living, Obedience, and Patience/Endurance. This devotional is meant to glorify the Lord and be inspirational and meaningful to those who read it.
I know many people of great faith at Asbury as we have been long associated with them both in the past when we lived in the Lehigh Valley and recently when we returned. I was able to contribute several devotional items myself this year. As you read these devotionals I hope your life will be enriched and blessed.
I know many people of great faith at Asbury as we have been long associated with them both in the past when we lived in the Lehigh Valley and recently when we returned. I was able to contribute several devotional items myself this year. As you read these devotionals I hope your life will be enriched and blessed.
Ambrosia Recipe
Ambrosia recipe? You are, as they say, funnin' with me, aren't you Sherry? Dahlin', we are from the South and you know the best Southern foods don't have recipes. At least, they don't have precisely measured ingredients, they just look right. They taste right. They fit in Mama Nona's faceted lead glass footed compote. But, recipes...
My grandmother, Johnnie Holk (my mother's mother), always served ambrosia that consisted of fresh orange segments, shredded coconut, and halved maraschino cherries. Thanks to my father, who is willing to stand for an extended length of time and peel and segment the oranges, my mother makes it the same way. As do I.
The best oranges are the navels that the FFA or Church Men's Club or High School Chorus or some local organization takes orders for to be delivered by the case or half case around the first of December. They seem to be larger, juicer, sweeter, and more consistent in quality than the ones you get in the store.
The coconut may be the only variable in the mix because sometimes Angel Flake sweetened is used and sometimes the unsweetened frozen packages are used and sometimes freshly grated is used. The fresh or frozen may appear somewhat bland compared to the sweetened and the texture is generally much finer. It is a matter of personal taste.
My brother, Don, does not eat coconut. He says he would rather visit his sister in a house of ill repute than eat coconut. Pearls before swine.
Maraschino cherries are the same whether you buy the expensive or the cheap. Do you really want to pay a premium for the one food that least resembles the taste and color of its original form?
Southern Living has had the audacity on occasion to publish recipes for ambrosia. I have even seen recipes in the Morning Call (Allentown, PA) for ambrosia so those unfortunate enough to be living above the Mason-Dixon Line may be exposed to the finer aspects of regional Southern cuisine. The least offensive additive I have seen is fresh pineapple. The most offensive is canned fruit cocktail. I guess it is sort of like the fine curries of the world, the 'recipe' is a closely guarded secret passed down from mother to daughter from generation to generation.
But, now my family's secret is out and you know about our version of ambrosia. Thanks for asking, bless your heart.
My grandmother, Johnnie Holk (my mother's mother), always served ambrosia that consisted of fresh orange segments, shredded coconut, and halved maraschino cherries. Thanks to my father, who is willing to stand for an extended length of time and peel and segment the oranges, my mother makes it the same way. As do I.
The best oranges are the navels that the FFA or Church Men's Club or High School Chorus or some local organization takes orders for to be delivered by the case or half case around the first of December. They seem to be larger, juicer, sweeter, and more consistent in quality than the ones you get in the store.
The coconut may be the only variable in the mix because sometimes Angel Flake sweetened is used and sometimes the unsweetened frozen packages are used and sometimes freshly grated is used. The fresh or frozen may appear somewhat bland compared to the sweetened and the texture is generally much finer. It is a matter of personal taste.
My brother, Don, does not eat coconut. He says he would rather visit his sister in a house of ill repute than eat coconut. Pearls before swine.
Maraschino cherries are the same whether you buy the expensive or the cheap. Do you really want to pay a premium for the one food that least resembles the taste and color of its original form?
Southern Living has had the audacity on occasion to publish recipes for ambrosia. I have even seen recipes in the Morning Call (Allentown, PA) for ambrosia so those unfortunate enough to be living above the Mason-Dixon Line may be exposed to the finer aspects of regional Southern cuisine. The least offensive additive I have seen is fresh pineapple. The most offensive is canned fruit cocktail. I guess it is sort of like the fine curries of the world, the 'recipe' is a closely guarded secret passed down from mother to daughter from generation to generation.
But, now my family's secret is out and you know about our version of ambrosia. Thanks for asking, bless your heart.
Thirty-four Years
Jim and I just celebrated our thirty-fourth anniversary last Saturday. I still remember the year we realized we had been living with each other longer than we had lived with our parents -- round about anniversary number twenty-three, I think it was. That seemed amazing.
The past thirty-four years certainly went a lot faster than I ever imagined they would.
The only marriage advice we got from anyone when we first married was from my father. He said: Don't kiss when you're sick. We have never kissed when we were sick.
Other than that, we don't have any secrets for staying married. We have, on occasion, gone to bed mad. Every day hasn't been idyllic. There have been really good times and really bad times. We have had struggles, joys, disappointments, and everything in between. No marriage is perfect and we are no exception.
When I give advice to young couples on the threshold of making what they expect to be a lifelong commitment to one another I share my daddy's advice. I also add my own advice: A good laugh is almost always better than good sex. And you remember the good laughs a lot longer and recall them more frequently.
Jim and I used to go up every year to Mt. Mitchell, N.C., in early October to camp. We had a little one man pop tent, two sleeping bags that zipped together, and assorted camping gear left over from Jim's high school camping days with his best friend, Erik -- who is still his best friend. (Funny how much your perspective changes over the years. Camping used to be roughing it for me, but now roughing it means a hotel with no concierge.)
On our yearly pilgrimages we enjoyed driving the Blue Ridge Parkway and stopping at all the overlooks and hiking trails. Jim, being the ingenious person he is, took some old fiberglass poles that had been used to mark golf course holes (I never asked how they came into his possession, but he brought them into the marriage so I had culpable deny ability.) and cut them off to become hiking sticks. One glorious day we had parked and hiked up the Balsam Trail, one of our favorites. Jim got ahead of me on the way back and was already at the edge of the parking lot, heading toward the car, when I headed down the last little hill. There I was with a stick that looked like the canes used by blind people and wearing my customary very dark glasses. The naughty in me came out and I began wildly flinging the 'cane' from side to side, tripping and crying out, "Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me again. It isn't funny when you leave me. Please..." I don't remember if we ever had sex on any of our camping trips, but I remember how often we have laughed at the retelling of that story.
Jim is a good sport, I must say. I get some of my best comic material from being married to him. I appreciate that he is so good natured and seems to appreciate how much I entertain people with my little stories about our marriage. Last week we were enjoying the company of our Dinners for Eight group that rotates meeting at each other's homes once a month for a meal we all contribute to. I shared two of my favorite stories about Jim and me. They were told mostly at Jim's expense, but he laughed as hard as anyone else.
Story number one: About seven years ago Jim was asked to take a special assignment in Missouri. We knew there was going to be a move after that, so we decided William, our youngest, and I would stay in Pennsylvania so he didn't have to be uprooted twice within about a year's time (James was already at Georgia Tech and it didn't affect him). Jim was able to come home about once a month and Will and I went out to see him, so it worked out alright.
One of my friends asked me if I missed Jim. I assured her I was alright and keeping up with a job and an active teen helped fill the gap. She sort of blushed and said, "I mean MISS (wink - wink) Jim." To which I replied: I have the dog. She hogs the bed. Snores. Smells bad. And isn't interested in sex. So, if you think about it, it is just like having Jim here.
In all honesty, I think I might have made the last part of that story up, but I have told it so often as truth that I can't actually remember. No matter, it elicits the response I want when I tell it and I love hearing people laugh that hard.
Story number two is true: Several years ago, when we lived in Birmingham, AL, Jim and I were enjoying a peaceful evening on our secluded deck listening to the frogs in the lake we lived on and watching the fireflies blink randomly in the trees. We probably had wine or a drink and had relaxed into chatting about our day. Why Jim still thinks he can still shock me is a mystery to me, but he still tries. He got up and assumed the 'stance' at the edge of the deck railing, looked back over his shoulder, grinned, and said, "Do you think I can piss of the deck?" Without thinking I replied, "I don't see why not. You piss off everyone else."
So, maybe we do have a secret. Recognize the bad, the disappointing, the hurtful, the sad, the unfortunate things in life as part of the package. But embrace and celebrate and recall often the things that are good, funny, uplifting, happy. Let those things serve as a life ring to hang onto and give you buoyancy when the waters of life threaten to pull you under and overwhelm you.
The past thirty-four years certainly went a lot faster than I ever imagined they would.
The only marriage advice we got from anyone when we first married was from my father. He said: Don't kiss when you're sick. We have never kissed when we were sick.
Other than that, we don't have any secrets for staying married. We have, on occasion, gone to bed mad. Every day hasn't been idyllic. There have been really good times and really bad times. We have had struggles, joys, disappointments, and everything in between. No marriage is perfect and we are no exception.
When I give advice to young couples on the threshold of making what they expect to be a lifelong commitment to one another I share my daddy's advice. I also add my own advice: A good laugh is almost always better than good sex. And you remember the good laughs a lot longer and recall them more frequently.
Jim and I used to go up every year to Mt. Mitchell, N.C., in early October to camp. We had a little one man pop tent, two sleeping bags that zipped together, and assorted camping gear left over from Jim's high school camping days with his best friend, Erik -- who is still his best friend. (Funny how much your perspective changes over the years. Camping used to be roughing it for me, but now roughing it means a hotel with no concierge.)
On our yearly pilgrimages we enjoyed driving the Blue Ridge Parkway and stopping at all the overlooks and hiking trails. Jim, being the ingenious person he is, took some old fiberglass poles that had been used to mark golf course holes (I never asked how they came into his possession, but he brought them into the marriage so I had culpable deny ability.) and cut them off to become hiking sticks. One glorious day we had parked and hiked up the Balsam Trail, one of our favorites. Jim got ahead of me on the way back and was already at the edge of the parking lot, heading toward the car, when I headed down the last little hill. There I was with a stick that looked like the canes used by blind people and wearing my customary very dark glasses. The naughty in me came out and I began wildly flinging the 'cane' from side to side, tripping and crying out, "Please don't leave me. Please don't leave me again. It isn't funny when you leave me. Please..." I don't remember if we ever had sex on any of our camping trips, but I remember how often we have laughed at the retelling of that story.
Jim is a good sport, I must say. I get some of my best comic material from being married to him. I appreciate that he is so good natured and seems to appreciate how much I entertain people with my little stories about our marriage. Last week we were enjoying the company of our Dinners for Eight group that rotates meeting at each other's homes once a month for a meal we all contribute to. I shared two of my favorite stories about Jim and me. They were told mostly at Jim's expense, but he laughed as hard as anyone else.
Story number one: About seven years ago Jim was asked to take a special assignment in Missouri. We knew there was going to be a move after that, so we decided William, our youngest, and I would stay in Pennsylvania so he didn't have to be uprooted twice within about a year's time (James was already at Georgia Tech and it didn't affect him). Jim was able to come home about once a month and Will and I went out to see him, so it worked out alright.
One of my friends asked me if I missed Jim. I assured her I was alright and keeping up with a job and an active teen helped fill the gap. She sort of blushed and said, "I mean MISS (wink - wink) Jim." To which I replied: I have the dog. She hogs the bed. Snores. Smells bad. And isn't interested in sex. So, if you think about it, it is just like having Jim here.
In all honesty, I think I might have made the last part of that story up, but I have told it so often as truth that I can't actually remember. No matter, it elicits the response I want when I tell it and I love hearing people laugh that hard.
Story number two is true: Several years ago, when we lived in Birmingham, AL, Jim and I were enjoying a peaceful evening on our secluded deck listening to the frogs in the lake we lived on and watching the fireflies blink randomly in the trees. We probably had wine or a drink and had relaxed into chatting about our day. Why Jim still thinks he can still shock me is a mystery to me, but he still tries. He got up and assumed the 'stance' at the edge of the deck railing, looked back over his shoulder, grinned, and said, "Do you think I can piss of the deck?" Without thinking I replied, "I don't see why not. You piss off everyone else."
So, maybe we do have a secret. Recognize the bad, the disappointing, the hurtful, the sad, the unfortunate things in life as part of the package. But embrace and celebrate and recall often the things that are good, funny, uplifting, happy. Let those things serve as a life ring to hang onto and give you buoyancy when the waters of life threaten to pull you under and overwhelm you.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Church
I just got home from church a while ago. It was confirmation Sunday. Twenty-seven young Christians stood before the congregation and affirmed they were ready to take responsibility for growing in the faith. An entire congregation affirmed they would continue to support these young people in their growth. I love the rituals connected with my Christian faith.
Rituals are the one thing that I feel connects me to my Christian ancestors and links me to those who will come after me. Rituals also connect me to people I don't even know. Rituals are the familiar that welcomes me when I worship in a new place. Rituals are that tiny, strong thread that keeps the garment of the faith securely stitched together.
I miss the old, lengthier versions of some of of the things we do ritualistically. I especially miss the sacrament of Holy Communion in its lengthier version. I don't mind walking through a line and intincting on occasion, but there is nothing like going before the altar and kneeling and being served after the story of Christ's sacrifice has been retold through the ritualistic words that remind us just what we are about to commemorate. After the prayers. And the sung responses.
The confirmation ritual was enhanced today with each confirmand dipping his or her fingers in the baptismal font. I really liked that. I have seen Roman Catholics do that, but I understood why today. Sort of an 'Ah-ha' moment, an Epiphany, if you will, where I wished the United Methodist Church would have a font of water we could all touch as we entered for worship and prayer.
As in any family, it is the ritualistic associated with the gathering that speaks to me and comforts me. I know my family will always have ambrosia on Christmas day -- good Southern ambrosia and not that other stuff that people try to pass off as ambrosia and fill with canned fruit cocktail to avoid the long, tedious process of peeling oranges. We will have turkey and cornbread dressing and mashed potatoes and gravy and at least two kinds of cranberry and all the other traditional foods the family has always eaten on Thanksgiving Day. Name the day or the occasion and just thinking about the foods involved makes me salivate and I am disappointed if those foods are not part of the menu. It should be like that when we gather as a family in Christ. We should be so anxious for the spiritual 'food' that we can't wait to dig in to the feast.
Evolution and change are natural occurrences in this world. We have evolved and changed in the church as well. We have added praise songs. We have surrendered the King James Version of the Bible for more scholarly and easier to understand translations. We have several different styles of worship on any given Sunday. But, I do hope we will always have that thread of 'ritual' that passes through the fabric of worship from generation to generation that keeps us connected to the significant events in our faith.
Rituals are the one thing that I feel connects me to my Christian ancestors and links me to those who will come after me. Rituals also connect me to people I don't even know. Rituals are the familiar that welcomes me when I worship in a new place. Rituals are that tiny, strong thread that keeps the garment of the faith securely stitched together.
I miss the old, lengthier versions of some of of the things we do ritualistically. I especially miss the sacrament of Holy Communion in its lengthier version. I don't mind walking through a line and intincting on occasion, but there is nothing like going before the altar and kneeling and being served after the story of Christ's sacrifice has been retold through the ritualistic words that remind us just what we are about to commemorate. After the prayers. And the sung responses.
The confirmation ritual was enhanced today with each confirmand dipping his or her fingers in the baptismal font. I really liked that. I have seen Roman Catholics do that, but I understood why today. Sort of an 'Ah-ha' moment, an Epiphany, if you will, where I wished the United Methodist Church would have a font of water we could all touch as we entered for worship and prayer.
As in any family, it is the ritualistic associated with the gathering that speaks to me and comforts me. I know my family will always have ambrosia on Christmas day -- good Southern ambrosia and not that other stuff that people try to pass off as ambrosia and fill with canned fruit cocktail to avoid the long, tedious process of peeling oranges. We will have turkey and cornbread dressing and mashed potatoes and gravy and at least two kinds of cranberry and all the other traditional foods the family has always eaten on Thanksgiving Day. Name the day or the occasion and just thinking about the foods involved makes me salivate and I am disappointed if those foods are not part of the menu. It should be like that when we gather as a family in Christ. We should be so anxious for the spiritual 'food' that we can't wait to dig in to the feast.
Evolution and change are natural occurrences in this world. We have evolved and changed in the church as well. We have added praise songs. We have surrendered the King James Version of the Bible for more scholarly and easier to understand translations. We have several different styles of worship on any given Sunday. But, I do hope we will always have that thread of 'ritual' that passes through the fabric of worship from generation to generation that keeps us connected to the significant events in our faith.
Why? Why not?
Why in the world do we allow our friends and family to talk us into things like starting a blog? Do we really think what we have to say is so important that we must share it with the world?
When I was little and wanted to do something everyone else was doing my mother would respond with, "If everyone else is jumping into a pit of hungry alligators would you want to jump in too?" Makes about as much sense as, "Because I said so." Bottom line is that mom is the one in control and it wouldn't matter if she said, "Peanut butter." she was the boss and you probably wouldn't get to do what you wanted or you would have to yield to her rules.
So, I am joining the thousands -- millions? -- who are 'doing' the blog thing. At the very least it will be an outlet for my love of writing. At the best, it may even be clever, or informative, or thought provoking.
And, who says you have to have talent these days? Didn't William Hung put out a CD?
When I was little and wanted to do something everyone else was doing my mother would respond with, "If everyone else is jumping into a pit of hungry alligators would you want to jump in too?" Makes about as much sense as, "Because I said so." Bottom line is that mom is the one in control and it wouldn't matter if she said, "Peanut butter." she was the boss and you probably wouldn't get to do what you wanted or you would have to yield to her rules.
So, I am joining the thousands -- millions? -- who are 'doing' the blog thing. At the very least it will be an outlet for my love of writing. At the best, it may even be clever, or informative, or thought provoking.
And, who says you have to have talent these days? Didn't William Hung put out a CD?
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