Friday, October 31, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
We have a lot of funny stories about food. One in particular never leaves my mind for very long and I thought I would share it here because other people might have the crazy sense of humor the Holter family has. :-)
In Saskatchewan one spring, my parents, along with two of my siblings, were gone on a trip. My grandparents were staying with us children to make sure we didn't get into too much trouble and to help out with the work.
Before my parents departed, Mom had made up a batch jam from rhubarb and applesauce (believe it or not, that combination makes an excellent jam). We can our jam and fruit in quart jars because we eat such quantities of it.
Anyway, one morning, a bowl of our lovely jam ended up on the floor somehow and what a mess that was! But the real showdown came the next evening.
Hannah had asked for the jam twice and no one was paying her the least bit of attention. At the same time, Zeke (7, at the time) grabbed his plate and came around to the end of the table to get some jam put on his toast. As I helped him, Hannah stood up so she could get the jam herself. Zeke was just picking up his plate so he could go back to his place, when Hannah reached over me to grab the jam. Unknown to her, there was condensation on the outside of the jar and she put a healthy squeeze on that puppy as she tried to lift it to carry it to her plate.
You can imagine the following scene: She actually shot that jar of jam straight at Zeke. Nothing broke, thankfully, but he was literally covered in jam. He had it in his hair, his eyebrows, on his forehead, cheeks and chin, his arms and hands; his shirt was red and wet, and so were his pants... he even had jam on his feet. And the floor was a disaster!
Being that all seated at the table were Holters, the situation appealed to our sense of ridiculousness and we all sat and laughed hysterically for over five minutes. :-) After all, what's the use of crying over spilt jam? :-)
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
As I listened, my eyes wandered idly over the crowd. I found that besides my siblings and myself there were scarcely any other young people in the room. Without thinking, I studied one of them. She was about sixteen years old. Her hair was dyed and cut in an odd hairstyle. She had earrings in places that weren’t her ears and she had lots of makeup on. She wasn’t dressed like us, either, I noted.
Suddenly, she looked up and our eyes met. We both grinned at each other at the same instant. We both loved music. We both were enjoying ourselves very much.
No, she wasn’t like me, but we were both friends from that moment. We never spoke to each other and we never saw each other again, but I will never forget her and that smile.
When I related this to my adopted Grandpa, he said, “Isn’t that funny how it is? A perfect stranger can smile at you and you feel like you’ve been friends forever.” He smiled at a memory, “One time, I was driving and had stopped. There was another gal coming from the opposite direction and I motioned for her to go first. We both smiled at each other and you know what? That brightened my whole day!”
A Congo proverb says, “The teeth are smiling but where’s the heart?” I look at pictures of people and I see a smile on their lips, but their eyes aren’t smiling at all. We know someone whose face is half paralyzed (birth defect) so when he smiles, it’s not his mouth, but his eyes that smile. He has one of the most sincere smiles I’ve ever seen.
There are different types of smiles and some that I do not care for. But I love smiles just plumb full of joy!