Welcome to my blog "Cooking with Fruit" that began in 2009. It has nothing to do with actual cooking, but everything to do with creating, sustaining, and blessing lives: The ones we have, the ones that are gone, and the ones we continue to create.
In the light of a spring evening
As day gives way to night
When the house becomes more quiet, more empty
This is when I seek You.
Here
Now
On my own
There is still purpose
A reason to be within this particular set of walls.
In the waning of darkness
As the moon hands over the sky to sunrise
When I awake in the house
So very quiet, still empty
This is when I seek You.
In this New Day
By calendar
By season of life
Always
May I seek You.
As I handed all that I do
All whom I care for
All that I worry about
Into Your hands this morning
Save me from taking it all back tonight
Loosely held may I let my worries for the future slip through my hands
Take my judgments about others' motivations out of my heart.
It's only me, only my life
That I am responsible
To present to You at the end
And
I'm not sure, but probably so
That the end is already under way
Grant me wisdom and vision to use
My time - Your time
My gifts - Your gifts
In the best way possible
Amen
Waiting for words to come
Pen poised for action
No words yet so
I'll just write these.
It's not the case of no words, though -
It's the case of too many words
Flowing, Spinning, Flying
Between images and memories
Around stories waiting to be written
Caught up in concerns, censors, crashing
If there was just one story with
One plot, one hero, one ending
Then only certain words would do
But
There are so many plots, so many heroes, so many endings
It's hard to start
And
It's hard to stop
Waiting for words to come
As for tonight
This piece is done
(Note: Written on 3/23/23, posted on 4/16/23)
Pierre de Beaumarchais was a very famous French playwright with the ear of Louis XVI as the colonies were on the brink of revolution.
He was also a secret arms dealer funneling cash and weapons from Spain and France to the newly forming American rebels in the 1770's.
And he was quoted in my Mom's essay in 1951 when she was a junior in high school.
She won $7.50.
"Freedom's Open Door" was a lengthy and hot call for Americans to fight the threat of communism in the early 1950's. Her father served in WWI and her two oldest brothers were in WWII. She lived in eastern Montana and I imagine she sat at the farmhouse kitchen table to write this very powerful and exquisite essay for her English class that was then submitted to the VFW essay contest.
It reads like a college paper on American government and values.
It reads like a call to arms.
It reads like a young woman with very clear ideals and beliefs.
It reads like my Mother.
The fact that this 72 year old essay reads at all is amazing because it's taped on the first page of a terribly yellowed scrapbook. The pages that follow hold very old, dried corsages, tickets to the US Capitol, and handwritten notes about boys named Harry and Eddie.
The world of a sixteen year old Montana farm girl in 1951 - so full of dreams and ideals.
And
I only just looked at this scrapbook and read about Pierre de Beaumarchais tonight.
It's March 23, 2023 and my Mom has been gone five years today.
The uncomfortable angst that comes on such days sent me on a search when I got home tonight.
I thought I was searching for collage pieces to make a design of my insides so the light of day could calm and cleanse them.
Instead I picked up this ancient scrapbook that's been in my guest room for the past five years.
I sat down and was startled to find my young mother on the first page as the second place winner of the VFW essay contest.
When the dead have been gone for too long, we begin to search.
We hope to find a piece of them to claim, to cling to.
Tonight the very intelligent, extremely well-written young woman, who bore me just six years later made a visit.
I am most grateful and inspired.