I cook

I found something out about myself as hurricane Sandy blew. I realized that when something scary or unknown happens, I cook. As the hurricane started to really kick in, I began making soup. As I was cooking it brought back a strong memory of 9/11. That day was scary, I had absolutely no idea what was happening. I starting making soup. My thinking was that if my husband did make it home he might bring people with him. People who can't get to their homes, or whose homes are now gone. A big pot of soup can sit patiently for a very long time, waiting to be a comfort. On 9/11, it was lentil. For Sandy it was split pea.

 I am not one who sits around fretting. I have to keep things moving forward, trying in any small way to aid the situation. It was interesting that during Sandy one thing that gave me peace was knowing that I had a pretty good store of food. If we lost power (amazingly we didn't this time) I was set for a while to feed my family and whoever else may need a place to stay. I do love my gas stove, when we lose power I can cook. The kettle is always ready for tea! I have these jars of ginger peach jam that I made a couple of months ago after a day of peach picking. Friends of mine who just got their power back today were able to have a warm bed and do some laundry at my house. I was low on maple syrup for breakfast pancakes, so I opened up one of my jams.  It gave me a tiny glimpse into how the pioneer women and the Native American women must have felt as winter approached. Sure things would get tough, the cold winds would blow, but knowing that they at least could provide food to their families would make the unknown much less frightening. There is a certain peace that comes with being prepared and it allows you to be a help to others.

Ripples

Yesterday was the 10th anniversary of 9/11.  I opened up my e-mail and read a prayer request from a good friend who is scared because her brother is to be deployed to Afghanistan today. Here we are ten years after and I am struck by the fact that this is not and cannot be over. I think about repercussions. I picture a rock being thrown into a river and how the ripples keep going and going and going. We went out for a walk yesterday and it’s funny while I was thinking about these ripples that I happened on this picture. There were many birds in the water, all being kept in captivity because they were broken in some way and couldn’t survive in the wild. They caused constant ripples to occur everywhere in the water, coming from all directions. No deliberate act stands alone without consequences. The ripples of one unselfish brave act or kind word spoken at just the right time can also cause eternal rippling. I’m thinking about the ripples I’m causing and the potential they have to effect generations after me. 

Let Freedom Ring

A Time for Everything

There is a time for everything,
       and a season for every activity under heaven:
  a time to be born and a time to die,
       a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
       a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
       a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
       a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
       a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
       a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
       a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8




I was at a women’s prayer meeting, praying for our children, our country, when someone ran in with the news. A plane had crashed into one of the towers. We listened to the radio reporting the surreal information, we prayed, we listened and we prayed some more. Our husbands were down there, in the city. We would have no contanct with them for the next several hours. The city was “locked down”, which means no one can get in or get out. The train that my husband left on that morning could not return.

We each went home to be near our phones in case a husband should call. The phone lines were so jammed up no calls could get through to us. I waited. I prayed. I listened to the radio for updates. I appeared calm so my small daughter would not worry. The words from that REM song played over in my mind “it’s the end of the world as we know it”, but I was not feeling fine. I waited and waited and made a big pot of lentil soup. If my husband did come home he would be hungry and he may be bringing with him people who no longer had a home. Finally he did come home to us, Thank God. But so many others did not. As the days went by the communter parking lot became an eerie monument. Whenever we drove by it you could see all those cars whose drivers would never return to them. For each car a family was waiting. I have the same sick feeling in my stomach today as I remember those cars. So many cars. As more bodies were unearthed another image of cars was burned into my memory. Funeral processions, lines of cars everywhere, for weeks.

I recall also an unspoken bond with everyone I came into contact with, a bond of seeing this happen and still being alive. On that sept. 12th I was on line in a grocery store. The woman behind me had clearly just finally made her way back from the city. She was disheveled, she had on a rumpled business suit from the day before. She had a glazed faraway look in her eyes. As I was leaving I was taken aback by her small purchase, a bottle of water and an American flag.


(please note there is no meaning behind the drawing of the flag being backward. My 5 year old drew it today and she thinks it’s perfect)