The Annual Baking of the Fruitcakes

My Nana

I’ve been making fruitcakes for friends and family for Christmas for 35 years now. It is a huge undertaking but some of my friends would be lost without their fruitcake. My fruitcake is not the door-stopper, joke inducing kind of fruitcake. People who don’t like fruitcake love mine.

My Nana made fruitcakes almost all of her life and as she got up in years, I begged for her recipe. The problem was that she was of the old school—a pinch of this, a handful of that—and she never made them on the large scale that I do. I looked through cookbooks and tried several different recipes. I couldn’t believe how many there were! But they never tasted any where near as delicious as hers

At last I was able to persuade her to do some measuring as she made her delicious fruitcakes and I still have her handwritten recipe. The first difference I noticed was hers included a bit of molasses. The other was an abundance of brown paper. She cut up brown paper grocery bags to line each pan she used and she covered all the pans with a large sheet of brown paper. She also cooked them slowly, steaming them with a pan of water under the cakes. And even this conservative Southern Baptist small-town woman, marinated her fruit and nuts in brandy prior to baking and then wrapped each cake in cheese cloth soaked in brandy.

To my great delight, she lived to taste my first attempt and declare it as good as hers. I knew I had accomplished the great fruitcake victory!

Each year, the kids and grandkids come over for the baking of the fruitcakes. It is such fun. Here are some pictures from this year. And yes, I supervise a thorough hand-washing ceremony before anyone touches anything.

In loving memory of J.T. Rutherford, my Daddy.
Born May 30, 1921; Died Nov. 6. 2006

Always a Daddy's girl. Odessa, TX 1951

What I learned in the last year (written 11/5/2007)

I learned that like so many other experiences in life, no one can describe the excruciating pain of death. It encompasses your whole being—mind, body and soul. It can suffocate you at times. It reduces you to feeling very child-like, just wanting to be held and comforted. And, when it’s your parents, you feel like your whole foundation has eroded from underneath you.

I learned that when I lost one parent, Mother, and immediately started taking care of the remaining parent, Daddy, I went into remote control. Feelings were put on the shelf for later. I had a multitude of tasks daily and never enough time to take care of all of them. Plus, I had promised Mother I would take care of Daddy and that, to me, meant taking care of not just his body, but his heart. So, grieving for Mother would just have to wait.

I learned that grief is very personal. No one can go through it for you or tell you how to get through it faster. I wanted someone to give me a road map so that I could stop my pain; begin to function again. It was only when I surrendered everything that I began to see a glimpse of light; that I could begin to breathe. I gave up any sense of a time table; I gave up any “process;” I gave up trying to control my emotions, or worse faking my emotions; I gave up an agenda (the house, the yard, the dirty clothes, etc.).

I learned that my children were a continued legacy of my parents. They had grown up a block from their beloved grandparents. So when one generation passed away, my children stepped up, far more than I thought they would, and honored their grandparents in their actions, decisions and taking care of me. And they remember things I don’t and vice versa so we pool our memories into a collage of beauty and tenderness.

I never gave up on my faith, on the One who had seen me through so many other tragedies in my life. At mid-year, I flew to CA to be with my closest friends—a place where I could be nurtured, loved, listened to, and accepted for who I was and where I was. My friend and I had grown up in each other’s homes so she too grieved for my parents. I found that my favorite author, Henri Nouwen, had written a book, “Turn Your Mourning into Dancing.” I bought it and read it on that sunny southern CA patio, journaling, praying, and just being. Throughout that time, I talked my heart out, almost literally, to my friends. After lots of hugs, tears, and introspection, the fog began to clear; the pain grew a bit less intense. We prayed together and grew closer in our common grief.

And then I realized that grief is more than loss of a loved one, its loss of an identity. I was a daughter—for all practical purposes, an only child. I was a caregiver, best friend, prayer partner. I was co-dependent on these two people who had raised me. I was part of a triangle—a wonderful, supportive, intuitively thoughtful three-some. And on Nov. 6, 2006, I became one and for a long time I struggled with who I was, who I had been and who I wanted to be. I think that’s a huge dimension which is ignored by the grieving.

And, so as I approach the first anniversary of Daddy’s death, I am filled with sadness of what I used to have, who I used to be. I long to be called “my gal” by Daddy or “sweet girl” by my Mother. I long to have those enveloping, long hugs that said I love you no matter what.

And yet, I now know, I am becoming a new me. I’ve taken some of the old me, added what I’ve learned as a caregiver, and am re-directing my life into a new me. I’ll be ready for all of that on Nov. 7, 2007. Today, I’m just Daddy’s little girl, wishing for one more tender touch.

Summer Project: The Building of a Playhouse, Part 2

After we unwrapped our package of pieces, I burst into hysterics. "Easy to Assemble" kept coming to mind as we laid out piece, after piece, after piece...

But, we weren't intimidated. We could do this! And so we began. We quickly decided that the hex screws provided just wouldn't work efficiently so it was off to the hardware store for phillips-head screws and a phillips-head drill bit. Great decision!

Dylan makes himself at home and all our hard work was well worth it. Now I can look forward to enjoying my grandsons enjoy their new playhouse just like their Mother and uncle did several years ago.

Summer Project: The Building of a Playhouse, Part 1

One of the reasons I fell in love with my home 34 years ago, is that it has a large, fenced in backyard. My two young children and their friends loved creating their own magical world back there and I knew they were safe.

They had a swingset and miscellaneous toys but their backyard playground was not complete without a playhouse. They wanted a treehouse but their father was afraid of heights so they had to settle for a homemade playhouse 2 feet off the ground. Even then, I was the one who got on the roof to put the shingles on. ;-}

It was a huge hit with the playmates. One year we even had a birthday party in that tiny house!

But alas, the termites took up residence so it had to be demolished and taken away right when I started having grandchildren.

So, I decided that with Colin 4 and Dylan 1, this was the summer to build them a playhouse. I knew I couldn't do it alone, so I asked Lori, who was about to visit, to help me. She was eager to help (even though she had already comitted to helping me make a quilt of Daddy's ties) but once again had no clue what she was offering to help with.

I researched various possibilities on line and decided on a cedar version. It would come in pieces but "easy to assemble."

Lori and I defined the area where it would go and realized it would have to be leveled. So, I went to a gravel place and purchased many bags of pea-size gravel to be spread in the designated square. Uncle Charles was drafted to carry the 70 pound bags to the back yard.

At last, the big day arrived and the enormous truck (large enough to move an entire household of furniture) arrived. We watched as rather small package was unloaded into the driveway and eagerly opened it to see what we had in store.

To be continued.

Alzheimer's Foundation quilt show

On September 24th I attended the Alzheimer's Foundation quilt show in Chicago. A group of friends from the Alz. message board had been planning this reunion for several months.

My message board friends: Nancy (nsw), me, Joyce & Eileen (back row); Lori, Deb (mundee and Jackie (front row)

We gathered the night before, some meeting for the first time, to get to know each other in person and talk about our journey through Alzheimer's as caregivers. We laughed and teared up and had our respect for one another reinforced ten-fold. Joyce's daugher and SIL, Theresa and Mike, met us at the hotel with their large van and chauferred most of us to the quilt show. (What a stress-free gift!)

Here's Daddy's square. And me holding it up with a sea of quilts behind me.

The love and attention put into each and everyone of those quilts was a sight to behold. Over and over again you saw how a community of family and friends gathered around each and everyone of the loved ones affected by this horrible disease. You saw how they gradually turned from a vibrant person to one whose brain had devoured their being.

It was a testimony to the loved ones and the families.

On the way to the airport, my daughter asked me, "Do you think Granddaddy would have wanted his picture shown in association with Alzheimer's?"

I've thought about that a lot and here's what I've come up with. Daddy was a man of causes. He contributed all manner of resources: money, time, notes & letters. If this quilt show contributes any awareness of the need to fund research on Alzheimer's, I think he would be pleased.

Also, those quilts weren't just about the loved ones but about us caregivers. After his death, I was going through thousands of pieces of papers and came across a receipt for a contribution he had sent to the Alz. Assn. (long before his diagnosis). There were various categories to choose from as to how you wanted your money designated. He choose "Caregiver support." I think that says it all.

No matter how many toys a child has, (and trust me Dylan has plenty!) it's always more fun to get into (literally) the pots and pans.

just like his Mother.

A Blanket of Memories

I had this idea. After allowing my son and best friend to go through and choose several of Daddy's ties, I still had a lot of beautiful ties. Mother had carefully choosen each and every one of them, except the Marine Corp ties that were gifts, and the older they got, the more expensive and works of art the ties became.

So out of no where, never having seen one, I thought, wouldn't it be a great idea to make a quilt out of Daddy's ties. But, where to begin. My friend, Lori was going to be visiting this summer and she had beginners knowledge of quilting and the necessary portable sewing machine. So I sent her some links of examples and asked her if she was game to give it a try. Sure, she said. She had no idea what she was setting herself up to do!

First we had to come up with a design. We laid out one starburst of ties and liked it. But, the quilt was going to be king-size so we decided on 4 starbursts of ties. I laid them out on my current bedspread and began to figure out exactly which ties and in what order. Daddy loved burgundy and Mother loved blue so I had a natural blend of color. Then I discovered that Daddy had quite a few Marine Corp ties, some burgundy, some navy so I decided to put a Marine Corp tie in each of the starbursts, all in the same position of the starburst, pointing to the windows. We would use circles of silk fabric in the middle of the starbursts, two of burgandy and two of navy to match the Marine Corp ties.

Next, I decided that each starburst should be framed in burgundy. Then, what to do with the tails of the ties we had used. A quarter starburst was made for each bottom corner of the bed.

I looked at several off-white fabrics for the backing but just couldn't decide. Finally I saw some navy checked material that looked like material you would make a man's sport shirt out of and matched with khaki, I had my backing.

Now mind you, with each design I created, Lori would roll her eyes, sigh a lot until she finally agreed to implement my suggestions. And work, my goodness, she spent dozens of hours in my basement making this happen. I did a lot of the basting and now I will do the actual quilting but thanks to her, I now have a gigantic piece of my parents' history to marvel out and sleep peacefully underneath.

Happy First Birthday Dylan!

A Special Lady

Eunice Kennedy Shriver, who died Tuesday at the age of 88, was remembered today by her family and friends. I was touched by the obvious love, respect and adoration of her family but also deeply touched by the crowd of Special Olympians who gathered to celebrate and honor her life.

She will be remembered more for her role as the founder of Special Olympics than her luck of birth into the Kennedy family. She could have simply enjoyed a life of lazy luxury, but instead she saw a need and set about to do something about it.

I met Mrs. Shriver in 1960, when she visited the facility my mentally challenged brother was living in at the time. He was only 6 very young years old. I don't remember her car or her staff, though I assume she was well taken care of. I do remember her sitting my brother, known as Pistol as my Daddy knicknamed him, on her lap and making him feel very special.

Pistol is now 56 and I have lost count of his medals! He earns them with hard work and wears them proudly. He, like millions of others who are mentally challenged, can compete and excel in his physical abilities even while he struggles to function mentally. Thank you Mrs. Shriver for helping to make that possible.

Another reason I was deeply touched by today's service for Mrs. Shriver is that she leaves behind a husband with Alzheimer's, just as my Mother did. One wonders how much he understands but you saw glimpses of him knowing what was going on when he waved goodbye to the back of the hearse after the family placed the casket inside.

This is such a sweet picture of one of his grandchildren gently loving him.

And, here is a great-grandson, Colin, making his great-granddaddy, my Daddy, smile.

Children are God's gift to us, regardless of the challenges. Mrs. Shriver knew that.

P.S. Two days after I wrote this Pistol called to tell me he had won 4 more medals. This time in swimming! Yea Pistol!

Thank you Jesus!

While Dylan (almost 1 yr.) was peacefully taking his morning nap Sat. morning (his room is the window to the left of this last picture), a neighbor's tree fell on the house. It was infested with bees and was completely hollow. You can see from the second picture just how big the base of it is. We are thankful that the whole tree didn't fall. We are thankful that it didn't smash the corner of the house, thus killing Dylan. We are thankful that the neighbors have been very responsive. We are thankful that a tree guy came in the next day and cleaned it all up. We are so very, very thankful!!

Stop and smell the roses

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3a5vN4tUl4

Stop and smell the roses
Hey Mister
Where you going in such a hurry?
Don't you think it's time you realized
There's a whole lot more to life than work and worry
The sweetest things in life are free
And they're right before your eyes.

You got to Stop and Smell the Roses
You've got to count your many blessings everyday.
You're gonna find your way to heaven is a rough and rocky road
If you don't Stop and Smell the Roses along the way.

Did you ever take a walk through the forest
Stop and dream a while among the trees
Well you can look up through the leaves right straight to heaven.
You can almost hear the voice of God
In each and every breeze.

This is one of my all time favorite songs. I have been extremely busy lately with multiple projects and responsibilities. My head is spinning! As I was running out the door to yet another appointment, this beautiful yellow butterfly was flitting about my impatiens. I stopped to take a few pictures with my cell phone, knowing I would be a tad late for my appointment, but savoring the beauty, the moment, God's creative majesty.

First basket of produce from our garden

Another proud gardener: