by Krista | May 12, 2011 | Fabulous Friday
When this week started I felt exhausted, emotionally wrung out, gutted by pain and grief in my life and the lives of so many I love and those I don’t even know.
It was one of those moments when I wanted all the hurt in the world to please just stop, for a day, a few hours even, just to let us all catch our breath before we have to go back to dealing with tsunamis and job loss and death of people we love and illnesses that don’t heal and stillborn babies and broken relationships and abuse and war.
I just wanted a break for my friend who suffers the agonies of scoliosis every day, for my Mum and aunts shuttling back and forth between my grandfather dying in one hospital and my uncle desperately ill in another, for my friend grieving the loss of her father and her twin babies, for the families waiting for soldiers who will never come home.
I wanted to fix it, ease all the burdens, take away all the pain. But there’s too much and I’m not big enough.
So I cried. And slept. And woke Monday morning. And went to work. And turned on my computer. And there I read these words:
Do one small thing.
One. Small. Thing.
And I smiled and took a deep breath and felt the peace that comes when you remember you don’t have to carry it all.
I’m not built to shoulder the burdens of the world, but I can do one small thing.
Write a letter.
Give a hug.
Send a text.
Say I love you.
Make a meal.
Cry with her.
Thank him.
Just sit quietly and hold their hand.
And as I thought of all the small things I could do, I remembered the many small things others have done for me: a book in the mail, a bowl of strawberries, texted pictures of their kissable babies, those lovely little things that comfort and cheer and remind you that you matter.
I smiled again as I remembered another little thing: a balloon.
My friend Marie gave it to me.
A beautiful shiny turquoise balloon to remind me I was loved when I was deathly sick from Ecoli.
She gave it to me in February and it is STILL FLOATING.
I call it my Wonder Balloon.
I wake up every morning, open my bedroom door and there it is, bobbing along to the gusts of air from my heater. And it makes me smile.
It’s such a plucky balloon. The best balloon I ever had.
It’s withered and rumpled and half deflated, but it still keeps floating, still keeps dancing on the breeze.
It was just one small thing, but every day it gives me courage.
What is one small thing someone did for you when you were going through a rough time?
I hope you have a wonderful weekend, dear ones. Much love to you. xo
by Krista | May 11, 2011 | Plucky Thursday
“It is not so much for its beauty that the forest makes a claim upon men’s hearts,
as for that subtle something,
that quality of air, that emanation from old trees,
that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary spirit.”
-Robert Louis Stevenson-
I hadn’t planned to go to the park that crisp spring morning last week, but my appointment ended sooner than I expected and I had full twenty minutes to spare, so off I went.
I love moments like that. Those unexpected gifts of time that are so precious in the midst of a busy day.
There was hardly anyone at the park so early in the morning, and I had the whole forest to myself save for birds twittering in the tree tops and the occasional squirrel bounding through the underbrush.
It was that delicious sort of early morning cold that makes you take deep cleansing breaths and feel heartily glad to be alive.
It also made me want to play hooky and fritter away an entire day picking berries, lolling by the stream reading, or ambling along squishy, pine-needled pathways.
But I was a good girl and stuck with a 20-minute amble, stopping often to bend down and inspect sturdy mushrooms, delightfully curly ferns, and a carpet of cheery yellow blossoms.
As excited as I am about moving to Australia, I do so love Washington State with her dense forests, rugged coastline, and achingly fresh, rain-washed air.
And until I move, I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.
What is your favorite part about where you live?
by Krista | May 10, 2011 | Compatriot Wednesday
by Krista | May 10, 2011 | Gulliver Tuesday
It was the morning of New Year’s Eve 2010, a few hours before my brother Ryan was going to propose to his girlfriend Melissa. My parents and I had been assigned the task of keeping Melissa occupied so he could run madly about Amsterdam getting everything put together.
So we ate a scrumptiously hearty breakfast, Dad pretended he couldn’t wait to see another museum, and we bundled up and trooped out to explore the Zaanse Schans windmills.
It was wickedly cold but we didn’t mind because we actually got to see canals frozen right over!! It was like we’d stepped into a scene out of Hans Brinker.
The first windmill was built along the Zaan River in 1597. Over the next several hundred years over a thousand more would grace its banks. During the 19th century 400 were in operation at one time. Nowadays windmills have given way to more modern operating methods, but they still form an important role in the history and tourism of the Netherlands.
The Zanse Schans is a marvelous place for a day trip. Much like an open-air museum, it features 8 working windmills used to grind mustard seeds, saw wood, and press oil out of seeds. They’ve been moved here from different parts of the country and can be toured for minimal cost.
Other beautiful old buildings have been brought in to form a quaint village full of winsome cottages, arched bridges and tidy gardens. If it weren’t for all the people trooping by, I’d love to live in one of these!!
You can tour museums that teach about Dutch clock-making, baking, arts and crafts, and what it was like to shop for groceries hundreds of years ago. There are also numerous charming shops where you can taste Dutch chocolate and cheese or sip a piping hot cup of cocoa. My Dad happily frequented these spots.
Are you a fan of open air museums? What is your favorite one to visit?
Helpful Information:
- The Zaanse Schans is open daily throughout the year from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.
- There is no entrance fee, however some of the attractions charge an admission fee.
- During the winter months some of the attractions are only opened in the weekends.
Zaans Museum
Schansend 7, 1509 AW Zaandam
Tel: +31 (0)75 681 00 00
Fax: +31 (0)75 617 69 80
E-mail: info@zaanseschans-museum.nl
website: http://www.zaanseschans.nl/
by Krista | May 9, 2011 | Bootstrap Monday
My beloved Grandpa, Harold Roberts, died this weekend.
He was able to see all seven of his children and woke just long enough to tell my Mum and her two sisters he loved them. Then he was gone.
It is strange to think of this world without him. Odd to think of family gatherings without him sitting comfortably in a large chair sporting cowboy boots, jeans, western shirt, bolo tie, and one of his favorite baseball caps, happily visiting with anyone and everyone.
Grandpa loved his family, and prayed for all 90+ of us by name every single day.
He loved the Indian people he lived and worked with most of his life.
He loved Tim Hortons, sipping coffee and visiting with his friends for hours.
He was a most lovingest man.
He’d sit on the couch with me, one arm around my shoulder pulling me close as he held my hand. He’d tell me he loved me and want to know all about what was going on in my life. He did the same for my brothers, cousins, aunts and uncles.
Grandpa did not have an easy life, not by a long shot. Some of his stories still make me shudder and get teary. But somehow he let each painful, gutting thing make him stronger, kinder, more patient and hopeful. He was not perfect, he messed up as regularly as the rest of us, but he loved, faithfully and unconditionally. And that is what made him precious to us.
My three brothers and I have such good memories of our childhood spent with him on the Alberta Prairies.
He had a station wagon back then, and in the winter would fill the whole car with cousins swathed in scarves, toques, mittens, boots, and snowsuits. He’d set our dogs on our laps then off we’d go to the golf course where a measly hill provided hours of sledding pleasure.
In the summer we’d pile in again and he’d take us off into the boonies, bumping down rutted tracks and across fields to abandoned stone houses or weathered farm houses that still had equipment and furniture propped up in the barren rooms. We had a marvelous time exploring and dreaming up all sorts of stories for those old places.
As good Canadians we adored ice hockey and played every minute we could spare from chores and school. Grandpa would come over to our house long before the sun was up to have breakfast with us and take the boys to hockey practice. When Grandpa was there we were allowed to have his signature breakfast: homemade bread toasted and buttered, slathered with peanut butter and topped with a thick layer of brown sugar. We loved it!!! I can still see him sitting at our old wooden table, grinning as he bit into that scrumptious, sugary toast.
After Grandpa died I cried. A lot. And then it was time to celebrate this lovely man, to remember him and be thankful.
So I drove to the store for bread, toasted it in the oven, applied a thick layer of peanut butter and an even thicker one of brown sugar, then got cozy in my armchair and made a toasty-toast to my Grandpa.
I love you, Grandpa. Thanks so much for loving us. XO
Grandpa’s Brown Sugar Toast
Ingredients:
2 slices whole grain bread
butter
peanut butter
brown sugar
Directions:
- Toast bread and butter it.
- Slather with peanut butter.
- Top with brown sugar.
- Smile and eat.
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