Family / Nostalgia – Page 25

Ruthie the Cheater, Part II

May 22, 2013September 9, 2014 marianbeaman6 Comments

I’ve told my students if they ever see me in a bank behind the teller’s window—RUN! Math has never been my strong suit, but I can spell well.

In fourth grade, I always win the spelling bees on Friday. In fact, my winning is so predictable that my friend Wayne tells me he’s going to find a word in the dictionary that I can’t spell. “Somebody else deserves to win sometimes,” he whines.

Ruthie the Cheater Cheater-in-Training, 4th Grade

And so he searches for just the right word, finds it, and whispers it into Miss Longenecker’s right ear. I see him form the word with his lips, but I can’t decipher what he is saying. That evening, Grandma invites the five of us—Mom, Daddy, Janice, Jean and me—down over the hill to Grandma’s house for chicken pot pie.

As always, before Dad parks our blue Studebaker, three-legged Skippy rushes out on the porch to greet us. Soon I’m standing on a chair beside the stove watching Grandma cut out little pieces of dough for me to place one by one carefully in the boiling liquid to cook. I love to find a little space of bubbling broth in the kettle and seal it over with a dough-y square. Chicken pot pie with fresh cabbage slaw . . . wunderbar.

Aunt Ruthie comes in the back door from school with a yellow pencil over her ear. After she puts down her papers and books, she quizzes me, “How do you spell reconciliation?” Without hesitating, I enunciate: r-e-c-k-o-n-s-i-l-l-y-a-t-i-o-n!

“That’s close, but not quite right,” she encourages, as she pulls down the dictionary from the left bottom door of the red cherry cupboard over by the kitchen table.

“Here, take a look at this.” And I see how the dictionary says to spell it. Now I put the right letters in my memory bank for tomorrow’s spelling bee. When Teacher asks the class, “Does anyone have a word to stump Marian?” this might be the word, I surmise.

It’s Friday, and once again I’m the surviving speller. Wayne jumps to the mound to strike me out, but I deliver fourteen correct letters in rapid succession: reconciliation!” Wayne is dumbstruck for a few seconds and then mutters, “Holy Cow, Holy Cow,” as he reconciles himself to the fact that it’s useless to try to stump Marian.

Once again, Aunt Ruthie is a cheater, but so am I. We’re in cahoots!

Can you admit to a time when you got some unsolicited help? Some help that came with wobbly ethics? Tell us your story!

Like this post? Follow my blog and get many more free of charge! Just type in your email address at the top of the page and click “subscribe.” WordPress keeps your email address private.

Ruthie the Cheater, Part I

May 18, 2013September 9, 2014 marianbeaman5 Comments

Yes, my Aunt Ruthie is a cheater. I’ll admit that she also has an honorable resume that includes a principalship of Rheems Elementary School, Tax Collector of West Donegal Township, mother to refugees and immigrants. But, you heard right, she also has a rap sheet. Let me explain.

Aunt Ruthie – Miss Longenecker

The scent of ply-board takes me back to the patterns that we cut out in her classroom on a jig-saw machine . . . a scent that has an oaky-piney fragrance that compares to the fragrance of a wine with some nutty notes: But what does a Mennonite know about wine, anyway!

Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.

–Vladimir Nabokov

Whatever the aroma, the scent bypasses the brain and takes me straight back to third grade at Rheems Elementary School. While Miss Longenecker reads us stories after lunch, we color pictures of fairy tales or fables outlined in purple (always purple) ink cranked out by the hectograph machine that imprints images from a jelly surface onto paper.

Hectograph machine – gelatin duplicator with hand crank, 1940s

Our teacher loves art and she has a very “hands on” teaching style. Sometimes we finger paint with thick, gooey pigments, or paste pieces of colored construction paper into loops with white paste from a gallon jar. Some kids even eat the paste when the teacher’s not looking.

Today Miss Longenecker has brought in a jigsaw and some fresh plywood. We inhale its pungent fragrance, just as we have smelled the paste or the paints or the glue. We’ll take turns each cutting out an animal as the tooth of the electric saw bites into plywood, following a pattern, guided by our teacher’s hands, hers on top of ours.

When it’s my turn, I trace the outline of a dog and a cat with the sawblade. Back then, we hadn’t heard about OSHA laws of course! Later I paint the dog blue and the cat pink with black dots for eyes, a few whiskers, and wobbly lines for ears and front paws. To me, they look wonderful, if I don’t say so myself. My Teacher/Aunt is taking me home after school today, so I can play outside until she’s ready to go home.

I come inside for a drink from the fountain after a while and find Aunt Ruthie, paintbrush in hand, adding some eyebrow lines here, a few more whiskers there, a touch of red for the mouth, and more defined forepaws to my jigsaw creations. “I think these are good enough to enter into the art contest in Elizabethtown this year. Maybe you’ll win first prize,” she remarks, wiping black paint from her brush. “But you’re helping me too much,” I think.

Actually, I don’t care much about winning a prize for my art. I just want to add hooks to the back and hang my new plywood pets on my bedroom wall. Nevertheless, Blue Dog and Pink Cat enter the contest in the third-grade category, and my aunt and I are awarded a Blue Ribbon for our pains.

Guided by her hand, though, I learn to sew and knit, play the piano, take trips to the zoo, the symphony, make fasnacht dough. . . .

A cheater? Let’s just say I’ve destroyed her rap sheet long ago.

Hair: Historical to Hysterical

May 15, 2013October 17, 2015 marianbeaman33 Comments

Baskin-Robbins offers nearly 60 flavors of ice cream at their shoppes. The varieties of dress among Mennonites and Amish, who split from the Mennonites, is nearly as long and equally fascinating. In recent research, I counted dozens of sub-sects.

By far the most conservative group that maintains plain dress is the Old Order Amish church. The Amish have unfortunately reached pop culture status with hideous reality shows that exploit their way of life including their dress distinctives:

Herr Frau

Beards Headcovering with tie strings

Hair cut off straight in back, banged in front Uncut hair parted in center in bun

Coats, vets fastening with hooks & eyes Long dress with cape in solid color

Suspenders and broadfall pants Pleated or gathered skirt

Wide brimmed hats Black shoes and stockings

As though frozen in time, attire of the Old Order Amish church has not noticeably evolved, reminiscent of their European origins.

Then there is the Brethren Church with its various branches. “The Old Order River Brethren continue to wear traditional garb.” The men look much like Amish but the women “wear opaque white headcoverings, capes, aprons, and a peplum on the dress bodice,” which tapers to a V-shape. An excellent source for detail of other sub-sects: http://www.gameo.org/encyclopedia/contents/D74ME.html

Typically, my visit to PA includes an appointment with a perky River Brethren woman who gives massages. You gasp “Massages!” but it’s true! Esther has my vote for the Most Modest Masseuse on Earth; she gives head-to-toe therapeutic massages in her home for a shockingly modest fee. Were she fancy, and not plain, she would fit perfectly in a chiroparactor’s office. Note peplum, short ruffle attached at waistline in photo below:

Finally, there is not simply a Mennonite Church, but a cluster of branches, including a very conservative branch called Black-Bumpers, who drive cars but paint their shiny chrome bumpers black (less flashy)! Once in Lancaster I spotted a sleek Mercedes-Benz sedan with black bumpers and very plain girls spilling out—an image of paradox if there ever was one.

My own brand of Mennonites is the Lancaster Conference Mennonites, who have driven cars rather than horse and buggies but have long adhered to a strict code of dress since their emigration from Europe in the early 1700s. However, plain dress among these Mennonites has been falling by the wayside since the 1960s and 70s when these photos below were snapped.

Smith, Elmer L. and Melvin Horst. “Meet the Mennonites in Pennsylvania Dutchland,”
Lebanon, PA: Applied Arts Publishers, 1997.

Braids, also known as pig tails Braids circling head with hairpins, middle school

Engagement: transition to fancy

Marge Simpson wannabe

Little known fact: The family of Milton Snavely Hershey, the Chocolate King, were Reformed Mennonites; his mother was a member and his grandfather, Abram Snavely, was a bishop for 37 years. Milton married a non-Mennonite. (“Meet the Mennonites”)

There is a connection, I think, between chocolate and access to memory both plain or fancy, expressed so distinctly by Barbara Crooker:

“. . . for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.

I Samuel 16:7

10 Reasons My Husband Does Not Hear Me

May 11, 2013September 9, 2014 marianbeamanLeave a comment

10 Reasons Why My Husband Does Not Hear Me:

1. He is listening to an audio book CD

2. He is listening to music

3. He doesn’t have his hearing aids in

4. He does have his hearing aids in but they’re tuned to TV/BlueTooth

5. He is upstairs

6. He is downstairs

7. He is mowing the lawn

8. He’s at the computer

9. He is indisposed

10. He is not here

12 Do Overs: In honor of women (and men) everywhere who keep house

o Toilet paper in all bathrooms

o Liquid soap in all dispensers

o Milk in the frig

o Juice in the pitcher

o Paper towels on holder

o Light bulbs in the pantry

o Water the plants

o Staples in the stapler

o Paper for the copier

o Kitchen clock wound

o Garbage out

o Gas in the tank

Thank the Lord!

Tell us your addition to either list. Click on Reply/Comment.

← Back

Thank you for your response. ✨

Like this post? Follow my blog and get many more free of charge! Just type in your email address at the top of the page and click “subscribe! WordPress keeps your email address private.

ã Marian Beaman

Dutch Goose 101

May 8, 2013May 11, 2013 marianbeaman7 Comments

As I shove the casserole dish into the oven, I notice the olive oil spray can, the top of the paper towel holder, knives, and a scissors all besmirched with sausage. When did stuffing a Dutch goose (euphemism for pig stomach) take so much time and effort? It seems my mother just sits on her stool in front of the sink, peels and dices potatoes, mixes them with sausage, fills the stomach cavity, and slips it into the oven. A few hours later she asks me to take it out, all done. Easy as that!

On my last visit to Pennsylvania, I bought chipped beef, a pig stomach (yes, the organ from a hog) from Groff’s Meats, and 7 1/2 pounds of ham loaf from Wenger’s Meats in Elizabethtown. Now at home I’ve thawed the pig stomach and am preparing it as a mystery dish for our daughter’s family. For future reference, I must assemble all the tools required: knives for dicing potatoes, darning needle, white thread, scissors before I begin. And start sooner, for goodness sake!

Has anyone ever written out a recipe for pig stomach? I don’t know, but I’ve never seen Mother use one, so I call her mid-way in the process to ask for direction.

“How many potatoes should I use?”

“Oh, just however many you think.”

“Eight . . . ten . . . twelve?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. You can always put the left-overs in a casserole dish on the side,” so I see now it’s a guessing game.

No other dish I know off blends the culinary and sartorial arts so handily as filling a pig stomach, hence the needle and thread. To begin: the organ does have several orifices: intake, outgo, and a pyloric valve in there somewhere. This particular one has a tear, so I’ll have to stitch up 4 openings. Heaven forbid any of the sausage-potato stuffing leaks out. Mid-way through my first sew-up, I realize I’m stitching the large opening best suited for stuffing, so I have to undo it all, retracting thread through a gooey mess of fleshy tissue. Drat!

Finally the dish is ready for the oven . . . almost! As I pre-heat the oven, I recall the end of my phone conversation with Mom:

“How long do you bake it?” I ask.

“Oh, whatever you think.” she says.

“Well, I don’t know what to think . . . 2 hours? 3 hours?”

“Just take a look at it, and when it’s golden brown on top and a little bit around the side, it’s done.”

Using the convection feature on my oven part of the time, the baking time turns out to be about 2 1/2 hours and after “resting,” ready to serve.

After gobbling up his first serving, Patrick speaks up, “NaNa, this is as good as ham loaf! May I have some more?” Jenna joins in with yummy sounds. There are requests for more all around the table now, and I’m happy it’s a hit.

Sustenance for the body, that it is. But more than that, it has occurred to me, we are experiencing what always happens when family gets together: stuffing memories into the space of our hearts as well.

So, I’ll do it all again with our son’s family after my next trip north when I visit Groff’s. Incidentally, Groff’s Meats has begun selling pig stomachs already filled for the princely sum of $ 15.00.

I have to say, I’d charge $ 25.00, more if I have to re-stitch!

Like this post? Follow my blog and get many more free of charge! Just type in your email address at the top of the page and click “subscribe”! WordPress keeps your email address private.

ã Marian Beaman

Loving Hands, Homes & Teddy Bears

May 1, 2013July 21, 2015 marianbeaman13 Comments

Hex signs on barns, fertile farms, plain dress, PA Dutch cooking: These are the first impressions many people have of Mennonites in Lancaster County. But the ethic of compassion of these folk draws from a deeper well: From their founder, Menno Simons, to the present day, the practice of helping others is deeply ingrained:

In fact, the mission statement on the website of the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC), echoes those words of Menno Simons in 1541:

The Mennonite Central Committee (MCC), a worldwide ministry of Anabaptist churches, shares God’s love and compassion for all in the name of Christ by responding to basic human needs and working for peace and justice. MCC envisions communities worldwide in right relationship with God, one another and creation.

Their logo expresses their mission as the cross and dove merge in a “dynamic, interactive relationship in which the cross empties into compassionate action fulfilling our call to global service.”

In a similar vein, loving hands was the image used for the theme of the 90^th birthday celebration for my mother and aunt, her sister-in-law, both named Ruth Longenecker, have the same birth year and middle initial “M,” and live independently on the same street,

Mother is and was handy in many ways. Along with Daddy, my mother served on the board of New Life for Girls, an agency supporting the rehabilitation and guidance of young women in urban areas. For many years she volunteered at the Mennonite Home making beds. She served also at the MCC International Gift and Thrift Shop in Mt. Joy, PA. One Monday a month she went to sewing circle where she helped piece quilts and knotted comforters for overseas relief. My sisters and I also remember rolling long, long strips of gauze for bandages to send abroad.

Aunt Ruthie, Principal of Rheems Elementary School and West Donegal Township tax collector, took her call to missions in a different direction. For over 25 years, she with Grandma, opened their home to refugees and immigrants, beginning with Phuong from Vietnam whom she sponsored. Her home was a warm cushion absorbing the cultural shock of leaving home and family. Aunt Ruthie was never married and has no biological children, so she was flummoxed by Phuong’s normal adolescent activity: She takes such long showers, she doesn’t know when to hang up the phone, and she wants to stay out so late!

The house on Anchor Road was a safe haven, welcoming refugees from a collage of countries in addition to Vietnam: Bosnia, Croatia, Serbia, Russia—anywhere there was political upheaval.

Salt of the Earth Award for 25 years of service through Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services in recognition of “exceptional compassion in welcoming the stranger,” as Menno Simons admonished.

When I was a child, Grandma’s house was a Home Depot for relief: On the back porch she collected eggs from local farmers to help the needy. In a corner of the kitchen facing a window with a bird feeder, she parked her sewing machine with stacks of fabric in baskets to make baby clothes, blankets, shirts, pants, pajamas, and comforters. During the Great Depression, the needy were closer at hand, and Grandma would repair raggedy teddy bears with buttons for eyes, and red yarn or rick-rack for the mouth.

Normal teddies Missing ears, detached arms

At the heart of all this giving is love, pure and simple. “And now abideth faith, hope, and charity, but the greatest of these is charity.” And nothing says “love” to a child like a teddy bear.

Like this post? Follow my blog and get lots more free of charge! Just type in your email address at the top of the page and click “subscribe.” WordPress keeps your email address private.

A Tale of Two Brothers, continued

April 27, 2013May 4, 2013 marianbeaman5 Comments

His younger brother spent a lot of money traveling to visit him in prisons far away and close at hand. The older brother saw that his younger brother was kind and good to him even though he deserved revenge for stealing all those precious and rare coins many years ago. In prison, he decided to turn from his evil ways and start on a good path.

More years passed, and the father of the brothers decided to reward his sons with coins he kept in a secret vault neither of the brothers knew about. He gave some pennies, nickels, and dimes to the good brother, but rewarded the brother who didn’t deserve it with large gold and silver coins. In fact, the father asked the good son to hold these precious coins in safekeeping until his older son was released from prison. Imagine that!

The postman delivered the heavy package of coins from one end of the country to the other. One day a large, heavy package arrived at the home of the younger son, containing coins for the son who was still in prison. “He’ll need this and more when he get out of jail,” the father said. The good son thought, “Here’s my chance to get even with my older brother for stealing all my coins when we were young boys. I could get revenge, and my brother would never know it because he is not expecting any coins from his father. However, that wouldn’t be right in God’s eyes, so I will keep the package safe as my father asked and give the coins to my brother when he is finished serving his prison sentence, so he can start down a better path this time.”

And that is what the good brother did. He even sent his father a thoughtful gift of money to cover the expense of sending the heavy package of coins across the whole country.

This story was read to our four grandchildren (one of whom is his great uncle’s pen pal) after a family dinner last year. Here are the questions I asked:

What is the first thing you thought when you heard this story?

Do you recognize the good brother?

Now, I ask, when will the good brother get his reward?

Like this post? Follow my blog and get future posts free of charge! Just type in your email address at the top of the page and click “subscribe”!

A Tale of Two Brothers

April 24, 2013September 9, 2014 marianbeaman3 Comments

Once upon a time there were two brothers very close in age who often dressed alike. They roughhoused, played cops and robbers, and tricked one another just for fun. But one brother tricked the other way too much. Slyly, the older brother would steal gold and silver coins from the younger brother and spend them on himself.

When the younger brother told his father about it, the father would always side with the older brother who loved to tell lies so convincingly. Again and again, the older brother would charm their father into thinking that he was the good son. The younger brother felt sad about this because he knew his brother’s stories were not true.

The brothers grew up, and the older brother tried to beg, borrow, earn—and even steal—many more precious coins. This brother put his money into a pocket full of holes. He wasted his money on big boats, hard drink, and large houses he could not afford. The younger brother earned his money the hard way and loved to serve the Lord with all his heart though he didn’t pretend to be rich with coins. His wealth was his family, his church, his ministry, and his heavenly Father.

When the brothers became older, their paths grew even farther and farther apart. One day the older brother took a giant leap into a path that was not good. Along with other men, he took piles and piles of coins from people he couldn’t pay back. He had made a very, very bad decision. Soon, he landed in prison for an extremely long “time out.”

. . . to be continued

Beauty in Jars: 2 Vignettes

April 20, 2013September 9, 2014 marianbeaman8 Comments

Beauty in Jars I

Yesterday morning, Mom assessing my cosmetics on her bathroom vanity: “What are you doing with all that stuff?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it all,” see adds as she eyes my jars of moisturizer, foundation, concealer, makeup remover.

Mom continues, “I’m happy with the face God gave me. If He had wanted it different, He would have made me different.” This from the now elderly woman whose husband said to her when they were dating, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”

God has given you one face, and you make yourself another. Shakespeare’s Hamlet

Beauty in Jars II

Mother has a smooth complexion for her age—genes or good eating, maybe a combination of both. She is definitely a foodie, always has been. After eating a breakfast of Honey Nut Cheerios, juice, a banana and coffee, she asks, “Do we need a piece of chocolate now?” as she opens the box of confections from NaNa’s Homemade Sweet Treats in E-Town.

Our last chore together this PA visit is to wash the jars for canning in her basement cellar—Except for a few vintage jars, she’s giving most of them away because as she nears 95, she’s says, “I’m done with canning.” The jars filled with tomato juice, beets, peaches, apricots, pickled cantaloupe, strawberry jam, and pickles were simply beautiful as they lined her wooden shelves each season. There were even green beans before she had a freezer. Every year, her mother-in-law Fannie helped her chop an array of fresh vegetables for piccalilli, or what the PA Dutch call chow-chow. Now she’s donating most of the jars to Goodwill, but keeping a few vintage Ball and Mason Jars. A few have metal clasps that hug the glass lids.

Vintage Canning Jars Mom saying goodbye to canning

All the cliches come to mind here: Beauty is where you find it. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. You’re beautiful inside and out.

I say, “Beauty is ageless.”

What memories of canning, long ago or recent, do you have? Share your story!

Game Girl

April 15, 2013September 9, 2014 marianbeaman6 Comments

On the plane from Jacksonville, Florida to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania my dark, curly-haired seat mate is playing MahJong on her iPad. She is content clicking and dragging tiles with red, green, blue curlicue Chinese letters across the screen, relaxing and whiling away time as the plane glides over the clouds.

My Mom is a Game Girl. She likes both playing card games and TV game shows. Now I’m at my Mom’s house, and I know that every evening she watches Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy back to back. Such shows seem pointless to me, but tonight I decide to watch with her. The audience yells wildly “WHEEEL OF FOR-TUNE” as the host bursts onto the scene, beginning with three mind-boggling categories: Things / Show Biz / Food & Drink. My mom coaches the contestant, “Don’t you know it’s too early in the game to buy a vowel?” A veteran viewer, she knows!

When I ask her why she likes the show, she responds, “I like to see if I can solve the puzzle,” and she often can and does.

Next, Jeopardy comes on. The audience is silent, and a disembodied voice announces a curious set of categories: Big City Suburbs / Body Language / Irish authors. Although Mom has never gone past eighth grade, she answers my Why question with this: “You can learn a lot.”

Mom is happy that I sit through the TV games with her. She really misses her game girls. They have all died now,” she says wistfully. Mary (who always said “Went!” after her turn), Bertha, Helen, Alice, and Elsie would gather at each other’s houses to play Skip-Bo, Hand and Foot, or Uno, a quilting bee of sorts with cards and food. Now she plays Triominos by herself and Uno if she has a partner or two.

When I was a girl, we had board games: Parcheesi, Uncle Wiggly, Checkers and a Carrom board, a strike and pocket game with little red, green, and white pucks flicked with our fingers aiming for the green nets on each corner. One side of he board was painted for backgammon, the other side for checkers.

I don’t think we ever had actual playing cards; that would have been frowned upon by the Lancaster Mennonite Conference with its booklet of Rules and Regulations. But now we are playing Uno with my sister Jean. It’s a mindless game that won’t interfere with our chatting at the same time. My mother’s game girls, not having grown up with real playing cards, used the Mennonite shuffle, so we try that technique to turn the tide on my sister’s three-game winning streak. It doesn’t work, but it’s fun nonetheless.

Shuffling cards the regular way Shuffling cards the Mennonite way

Back in Jacksonville, table game playing is mostly reserved for the younger set. At the Hands-On Children’s Museum, my 6-year-old grandson Curtis tries to initiate me into Chess playing. The Chess pieces are instructive because they are inscribed with names like King-Queen-Bishop-Knight-Pawn and embossed arrows for moves. Curtis is patient with me to a point, but I can tell he is bored because he can simultaneously play a game of Tic-Tac-Toe with a girl on a board at the adjoining table.

Game Girl, I’m not. Given a choice, I’d settle for Scrabble–letters and words make sense to me. Game-wise, it comes closest to reading a book, my recreation of choice. With books or Scrabble, like Mom, I too like to see if I can solve the plot puzzle, and I can be entertained and learn something at the same time.

“The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, and all the sweet serenity of books. . . . ” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Morituri Salutamus

What games do you associate with childhood? Any you enjoy now with family or online? Join in!

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Thank you for your response. ✨

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: