my favourite old denim shirt

Loyal. . . . If I had to think of a word to describe that favourite piece of clothing that wears itself out in your service, I suppose it would have to be ‘loyal‘. In this favourite shirt or pair of jeans or pair of shoes, pajamas or whatever – you feel comfortable. You feel like ‘you‘. Even if you don’t always say the right thing, or feel all that confident around others, or have nagging doubts about important things – this shirt is your friend, and in it, you feel comfortable. Is it just me? Or do you have any of those? When I get a new fave its like I have nothing else in my closet. I understand that I might be a little over the top about that sorta thing. Then again, I might have some kindred spirits out there. ?

Truth is, I have a favourite shirt. A denim shirt. What can I say? I am a denim girl. I bought it a few years ago and as unhappy as I am to admit it, I’ve just about worn it out. This is most unfortunate and I have a hard time parting with a favourite companion like my denim shirt – which has served me so well. As it happens, my mom moved in with us several months ago – and although I can mend clothes as well as many others, my mom can do it better. When she mends, it’s professionally done. She breathes new life into the garment. She takes more care than the average mender – precise corners, that sorta thing. Like a true quilter. A few months ago, she saved my denim shirt with three small but important patches, in just the right colour of blue cloth. But as bad luck would have it, I ripped it in another spot and back it went into my mother’s sewing room where it hung for quite a while – while I spent weeks trying to convince her into giving it one last chance with another patch, and she spent those same weeks trying to convince me to let it go, and assuming I’d be reasonable. Reason I have discovered, is a relative thing. It took over a month, but I am happy to report I prevailed, and we went through her scraps looking for the piece that would work just right. Again.

It reminded me of a certain pair of jeans when I was about fourteen years old. In my view they were a patchwork piece of art. In my mom’s opinion they were an embarrassment. She kept saying “this is the LAST patch Cindy” to which I would readily agree, thinking surely this one would be the last needed. But inevitably within another couple of days I was back with my jeans in hand saying “Please Mom?“

She came from war years – where patched clothing may have been a necessity but it sure wasn’t a happy one, and any self respecting kid would have been mortified to have had half as many patches as I wore. Nowadays moms are saved the trouble. My grandkids prefer holes to the patches. But that wasn’t cool in the 1970’s when I was a teenager. Patches were.

Whatever happened to those jeans remains a mystery. They simply vanished one day, never to be seen again. I had already on a few occasions, rescued them from the garbage, to my mother’s embarrassment, so it is not difficult to imagine their eventual fate. But I am not bitter. I promise. And she claims she has no recollection of their fate anyway.

Flash forward a few decades. I am a mother and a grandmother, but it seems that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Some things just keep getting repeated. There I was in my mother’s sewing room again, pleading “Please Mom. Just one more chance. I’m not ready to give up on it.” And her saying “Cindy, have some respect. Give it a proper burial.” This is the same conversation we’ve had over several white cotton nightgowns over the last two or three or four decades.

She did it. She always relents in the end. My denim shirt lived to see another day. We both hope the next rip will not be too soon. Have you ever had a favourite something that you just wore out but couldn’t give up on? Truth be told, I’ve had a few. A worn out patchwork quilt that I talked Mom into making into a housecoat for me when I was in high school. I took it with me into my marriage. Wisely, Dan didn’t have an opinion. And several nightgowns that eventually transitioned into another realm after becoming transparent from wear.

Its not that I don’t like new things. Its just that have such an appreciation for the old. The stalwarts. The faithful friends. Old clothes. Old dishes. Old pictures. Old friends. Old houses.

I am familiar with the old adage:
Use it up. Wear it out.
Make it do or do without.

And I’d like to say that my sentiments are that practical, and I may have even justified myself from time to time with this philosophy. But nah, if I was completely honest – it is because I too am loyal.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

making room in the Inn for Santa

part 3 of “to Santa or not to Santa”

I began my parental relationship with Santa Claus with slight trepidation. After introducing him to our four and five year old children I still worried (I was such a worrier) about whether we had done the right thing. The kids understood that Santa had a few rules to follow if he was to remain welcome in our home, and I tried to tread that ground carefully, balancing my idealism with allowing my children to enjoy the gift of magic and excitement that he had always brought to me as a child. I didn’t want to hold him hostage, but . . . . . .

Santa sitting in Charlie’s rocking chair

Oh how I wish that I could have had the slightest glimpse into the future – just enough to know that all would be well so that I could have relaxed a bit.

As time went on, I witnessed Santa evolve into the central figure in our Christmas celebrations as we enjoyed sharing the holiday with grandparents and aunts and uncles who delighted in the few children in both our families. We were riding a wave that I felt powerless to control, and I wasn’t happy about it. The way Christmas had developed – not because we actively created it, but because we allowed it – left me unsatisfied and feeling that I was letting our children down. Santa had become all I said I’d never allow him to become. He became our Christmas. I knew I could ask him to leave. I had reserved that right after all, but now there were so many others to consider. The overwhelming reality however, was that we were still the parents, and it was our responsibility to follow our hearts and reclaim the way we celebrated Christmas.

I tossed it around for months, considering different angles, and discussing the few that seemed reasonable with Dan. Santa and Jesus didn’t have to be mutually exclusive and although we had tried to talk about the source of the tender spirit-of-giving that motivated Santa, it seemed that our kids were so busy being ‘children’ (huh), full of the childhood wonder of Santa Claus with all his trappings, that I feared I had missed something really important. I sensed that time was ticking, and their memories were becoming more firm and important. It was clear that if were were to reclaim the way we chose to celebrate Christmas, we needed to create meaningful Christ-centered traditions. We were approaching Christmas 1986. We had four children, our youngest was just a year old.

In the end, we hit on a plan. We agreed to give Christmas Day to Santa Clause, but we reserved Christmas Eve for the Saviour. I wanted Christmas EVE to BE about Him. We wanted to talk about him and imagine the night of his birth. I realize that many families re-enact the nativity, but that wasn’t ‘us‘. We needed something that worked for us.

*Journey to Bethlehem by Joseph Brickey*h

We talked about what kind of dinner Mary and Joseph might have had during their travels and after they arrived in Bethlehem. Research resources were not what they are now, but it seemed reasonable that their meal was very simple, and humble.

There was likely cheese. And undoubtedly bread. Flat bread. Perhaps figs or dates if they were lucky. Or dried fish. More than likely they would have drank water from a well or fresh wine / which wouldn’t have been much more than grape juice. It was probable that during their stay in Bethlehem they may have acquired mutton from time to time . . . . After dark, their only light would have been from candles or small lamps.
A picture began forming.

We envisioned, and then planned out our meal. It would be a simple one of white cheese with homemade flat bread, and grape juice. By candlelight. . . Preparing it was a family event. Making the bread. Cutting the cheese. Making the juice. Then we lit the candles and turned off the lights. Low light often reduces volume, and quiet discussion allows for tender feelings to be expressed. These are things we discovered while eating bread and cheese in the soft light of candles.

We have eaten bread and cheese by candlelight every Christmas Eve since 1986. There were years that were lean and cheese was expensive so there was less of it. In those years, we put homemade jam on the table. There were other years of plenty that saw fish and olives on the table. Other foods have been added from time to time. Figs. Dates. Pomegranates have become a personal favourite of mine. Oranges. More varieties of cheese. But always homemade flatbread. Always white cheese. Always purple grape juice. The grape juice has become our own, from our own purple grapes – saved for this meal.

It has become our most favourite Christmas tradition of all. One that we have maintained for over three decades. Half of my life. It is a delight to us to watch our children carry it on in their own homes with their children, and to hear that it remains their favourite tradition.

When does Santa get his time?

When the meal is over and cleaned up, and stories have been shared, and songs have been sung, . . . When guests have left, teeth have been brushed, . . . then we gather into the family room and Dan reads a favourite poem that we all know by heart but we listen to him anyway –

“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In the hopes that St. Nickolaus soon would be there ….. “

I’ll admit it gets a little animated. And for families who normally don’t role-play, or do charades, kid after kid has always wanted a chance to portray the “plump, jolly old elf with a broad face and a little round belly, that shook, when he laughs like a bowlful of jelly.”

We owe a lot to Clement C. Moore – it is his description we rely on when we visualize Santa Claus. And he should know, because he spied him in his very own parlour all those years ago. I am grateful he took the time to write his experience down so that all of us might benefit.

I have come to love Santa Claus – and all he represents to me. I no longer quarrel with him. I am satisfied that he has done our family a great service in visiting us every Christmas Eve since that inaugural visit in 1982. We have felt his spirit as each of our children have discovered for themselves in their own time – who he really is, and what he really looks like, and WHAT HE DOES.

I think the tipping point for me in making that final decision all those years ago, was that I never felt the betrayal I’ve heard others speak of. Of course like others, I reached the age of doubting, but my mother always maintained that she believed. You could never get her to verbalize anything to the contrary. To this very day at over eighty years old, she still maintains that she believes in Santa Clause and always has. Because she always has, I always have, even though I wondered for a few years, whether I’d invite him into our lives as young parents.

One Christmas Eve when I was fourteen years old my older sister and I talked my mother into letting us help fill the stockings. Our Dad was working that night. We prevailed, and she allowed us into the inner sanctuary reserved for parents on Christmas Eve. The next morning I was shocked to wake up and still feel the magic. I confided to my mother that even though logically I understood, and for goodness sakes, had even filled the stockings, I couldn’t help it – I still “believed”! She never let me help again. Not even when I was seventeen years old and protested mightily. Not even after I was married. Until my own children hung their stockings, I was excluded from her private ritual. Although outwardly I rebelled, inwardly I always appreciated her refusal to give in. It kept the magic alive for me. And I have tried very hard to do the same for my kids.

In this house WE BELIEVE.

I’d love to hear how you incorporate your important family values into Christmas traditions. Please comment below.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

to Santa or not to Santa

…… that is a question every parent must come to terms with at some point early in their parenting. (part 1 of “to Santa or not to Santa”)

And its not a question to be taken lightly, because whatever you decide, it isn’t your right to wreck it for others’ who may choose a different path. For me, in our very first year of parenting it could be avoided. We had the only grandchildren on both sides, so the precedent hadn’t been established. We in fact, unintentionally – had the responsibility for establishing a precedent in both of our families. A place of considerable pressure for someone as young and idealistic as we were.

The dilemma I felt was that I wanted our children to love the Saviour and to recognize that Christmas was first and foremost about celebrating His birth, and to acknowledging the important part He played in our life. I felt that a celebration the magnitude of Christmas, could be justified just as well with or without Santa Claus. But on the other hand, I had many fond memories of Santa and didn’t want to deny my kids the wholesome magic that he brings with him. But still, Santa had overshadowed any feeling I might have had as a child for the Saviour. In fact in my early childhood, I had no knowledge of the birth of Jesus and its connection to Christmas. Nativities were not a part of our Christmas. Truth be told, I don’t believe they were a part of very many people’s Christmas in those days. I never saw one when I was a child, or a youth.

I successfully dodged that bullet for a few years, while our extended families, the grandparents and aunts and uncles stood a respectful distance away from Santa while allowing us the privilege of making that decision. Christmas of 1982 was the year I needed to jump off the fence and make a decision. Jacob was four and a half years old. Sarah was three and a half. They were going to have memories of this Christmas and it was time for me to make the choice: Was Santa going to be a part of our Christmas or not? The problem was, that I didn’t have a crystal ball and couldn’t tell how inviting Santa into our lives would impact our family long term. Dan wanted Santa. Our folks all wanted Santa. All our kids’ aunts and uncles wanted Santa. . . . . And there were other issues to consider. Like how to introduce him at this point?

Finally, I hit upon a plan. I discussed it with Dan and we had an important family council with our kids. It was time. We told them about the old man who lived at the north pole, who loved children. His delight in life we told them was to make children happy, and because of that, he spent his whole year building toys for them which he gave to them once a year on Christmas Eve. We held nothing back. We laid out for them the whole picture. The red suit and beard, the sleigh and reindeer, the elves, the list, …. everything. They were spell bound, wide eyed and enthralled. We told them that there was only one thing Santa loved more than children. He loved Jesus Christ. And he celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ by giving gifts and spreading good cheer because it made him so happy to do so, BUT his one fear and worry, was that children would get so excited about him and the presents, that they would forget about the “reason for the season” – the celebration of the birth of our Saviour.

His commitment was that if that happened in any house he normally visited, he would simply stop coming to that house. As long as the children remembered Jesus, and were grateful for Santa’s gifts then he would come every year for their whole lives. But if the children got too caught up in Santa and thought that Christmas was all about him and not about Jesus, he would stop coming to them. Of course, he might depend on us as parents to let him know how that was going. We told our kids that Dad and I thought they were big enough for us to invite Santa for Christmas – if of course, they wanted him to come. You won’t be surprised to know that they very much wanted him to come! And they promised that they would always remember the reason we celebrated Christmas, which was also the reason Santa did all his wonderful stuff.

That was it then. We officially invited Santa Claus into our Christmas the year of 1982. We were expecting our third child the next spring. It was time we moved on. I had some trepidation, but I was determined to monitor our Santa-meter and keep our Christmases in balance.

As it would happen, Santa Claus happened to be visiting our local shopping mall that Saturday and I asked the kids if they’d like to go see him. They had never seen him – or any likenesses of him, before then. It is wonderful, the control a parent has over the influence the world has on a four year old. Don’t we all wish we could protect them for a life time with the same care and attention we could when they were toddlers? We controlled what they saw on television, what they read and what they saw of the world. And until we were ready, I prevented any exposure they had to Santa Claus. We made preparations to go the very next day to see him.

As we stood in a long line of excited children, (another new experience for Jacob and Sarah, as I normally avoided crowds and malls) – I noted that Santa was asking kids what they wanted for Christmas. Yikes. I forgot about that important detail. Our kids did not know they could make gift requests. I coached them “Santa Claus may ask you what you want for Christmas. If he does, Jacob why don’t you tell him you’d like a covered wagon made out of wood with horses?”
“Okay!” he readily agreed.
“Sarah, how bout you ask him for a princess dress?”
“Okay!” she joined.
Whew. That wasn’t so hard. We got closer and Jacob and Sarah were very observant of all that was going on around them. I too watched the minutes unfold – this truly was a departure point for our little family, at least where the kind old man of Christmas was concerned. My kids were getting big enough that it was time for me to let some of the world into their lives – while I could still control the circumstances.

Finally, we were at the front of the line. Santa invited them to come near to him. I accompanied. He asked them if they had been good children. They assured him they had. As predicted, he asked them what they would like for Christmas. Jacob announced that he would like a toy covered wagon drawn by horses. Sarah told him she would like a princess dress (which bytheway, in 1982 was not the Disney princess dresses we’re so familiar with nowadays). Santa nodded and made mental note, then asked “What else would you like?”
Oops. I hadn’t anticipated that one.
“We don’t know.” Jacob confided “Our mom didn’t tell us that one yet.”
Whew. Quick thinking Son. We said our good byes and received candy canes for our visit. Dad happily waited on the other side to hear about our experience.

It was a happy day for him and the kids. A bit traumatic for me, but happy nonetheless. Our family was growing up. And we had just taken a big step into a new world that could never be reversed. A tangible innocence was traded in that day, for another circumstance – another innocence that would carry us for several more years until our children were ready to make another transition: a coming-of-age discovery that Santa Claus would play a big part in. In fact, he was here to stay the rest of their lives – in one form or another.

(this is part 1 of our Santa story)
I’d love to hear about how you made that important choice of inviting (or not inviting) Santa into your family’s lives.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

Who is the Most Important Person in This Room?

Michael McLean said something to me years ago that has reframed my life.

It has helped me hundreds of times, when I needed to come out of my personal comfort zone and do what needed to be done. He said simply this: “Its never about YOU.” Then he added the following, summarized in my own words, and edited over more than a decade of implementation, but the essential concept in this post came from Michael McLean.

His counsel: Every time you walk into a room (or situation) you have a decision to make. As you stand briefly in that threshold, before you actually walk through the door, you should ask yourself one question. That question is “Who is the most important person in this room?” If the answer to that question is “ME!” then you are completely justified in all kinds of self centred thoughts like “I am uncomfortable here …. This is awkward for me … No one ever sits beside me … Why bother? … This is soooo out of my comfort zone …. I’d really rather not be here …. ” etc etc – because after all, you ARE the most important person in that room. However, (and this is the clincher), IF the answer to your question today is . . . . . “that woman over there!” or “Laura!” or …. then suddenly, as soon as you’ve made that decision, your thoughts become all about her. “I should go sit beside her – I should tell her how I LOVE her new hair – I should tell her how much I enjoyed her son’s talk last week – I should tell her how much I appreciated that comment she made the other day, and how much it helped me” etc etc. Notice how all your previously self centred thoughts and feelings, turned 180 degrees to focus on someone else. I really think we all want to BE nice. We all want to BE the kind of person who makes other people feel good about themselves. What that boils down to, is that we want to BE more Christlike. More like Christ. Well, if that is genuinely true, then think for a moment. WHEN was it about Him? When did He put himself first and say “nobody likes me”, “They’re not gonna like what I have to say” “I am so stinkin’ sick and tired” … Even when He hung on the cross, it still wasn’t about Him! “Father forgive them.” and “Woman, behold thy son” (John 19). When? When there are other people involved, when should it be all-about-me?

The fact is – sometimes it IS about me. Sometimes I really have to say “this time – I just cannot do that“. And those times are okay. But they should be rare exceptions, not the rule. Most of the time, no matter how you’re feeling, when you’re in a place where you see someone who might need a kind word or wave, or even more – simply ask yourself – “WHO IS THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN THIS ROOM?” I cannot tell you how much that has helped me be a better person and get over myself for the moment. Thank-you Michael.

The only time it backfires is when you raise your children with this philosophy, and then one day when you’re really struggling and feeling sorry for yourself, your daughter says “So why is this all about you mom? Who’s the most important person here anyway?” Stupid kid!

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

Best time to start was Yesterday. Second best time is right this minute.

So we woke up Sunday morning to an unusually cold house. I admit that we turn the heat down quite a bit at night, and I admit that I keep the bedroom window open a crack even in the winter time – making it a pretty chilly room sometimes. . . . . . But THIS was cold even for me!

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to confirm that our stupid furnace wasn’t working. Oh Burrrrruther! SO not convenient! In fact, we suspected it may have stopped working the day before. We had been out most of the day and went to bed as soon as we got home. Upon reflection it did seem a little chilly to me. . . . . . Could have been off a good 24 hours before we discovered it. Sheesh! Its November in Edmonton! You don’t get along for too long without a dependable heat source!

Lucky for me Dan was home, so he could take charge of figuring it out – LOL. I hate doing that sorta thing. Unfortunately however, none of his ideas worked. Lucky for both of us, our son in law Ray lives within an hour’s drive. He’s a pretty smart guy, AND he works with furnaces. He put his Sunday going-to-church-with-his-family plans aside so that he could come help Dan fix the furnace. (Thanks again Ray) It was a bigger problem than any of us expected and he needed a part that could not be purchased on Sunday. So that meant another 24+ hours without our furnace running. This was SO not in the plan for a cold November day.

The thing about these kinds of occurrences is that they seldom are “IN the plan“, but planning for their possibilities makes all the difference in how you get through them. They quickly move to the top of your list of priorities without much warning. Seriously, in Edmonton a furnace is pretty close to the top of any priority list in November. Fortunately for us it wasn’t bitter cold outside and fortunately for us again, there wasn’t a strong wind blowing. Both things to be grateful for, but there were other things to be grateful for too. Factors that contributed to how this next 48 hours played out.

Let me tell you the “rest of the journey”.

Among the many factors that went into making this experience easier for us, I want to focus on four. Things that we were very glad to have paid attention to when they were manageable and affordable. Perhaps you might find them helpful too, so here they are.

Factor #1
At the beginning of our married life, we committed to do our very best to prepare our home and family for potential hardships.

That early decision smoothed out many difficulties over the years and prevented undue stress at times when we would have been least able to deal with it.

We knew some of these preparatory projects would cost hard-to-come-by-money in those early years. We committed to make those things a priority, and sometimes priorities require sacrifice. We also knew we couldn’t afford to do everything at once. It would be a work in progress, that we would complete one step at a time. As we could afford it.

Factor #2
As part of that ongoing commitment to prepare ourselves, several years ago – maybe 15 years ago, we invested in reinsulating our house. (We also re-insulated the first house we owned many many years ago. It seemed like a good investment. And it certainly paid off.) We paid particular attention to the attic where Dan blew a special insulation all over the surface of it. This may seem like an unusual project in preparation for future hardship, but remember, we live in Edmonton. ….. We planned for the extra insulation keeping our house more efficient winter and summer. Truly it has paid off. Big time. Many times we continue to still be amazed at how long the house keeps its warmth in the winter, and how long it keeps a morning coolness in the summer.

Factor #3
About a decade ago, we decided to save up and buy a wood burning stove. We did considerable research before choosing one, and we had it installed in our basement that November. It became a major part of our Christmas that year. We opted for a free standing woodstove that had a flat top upon which we could boil water and perhaps even cook a meal if needed. We positioned it to be on the other side of the wall of a 250 gallon water tank which stands in the adjoining laundry room. No mistake on the positioning of it. Having 250 gallons of clean water is a wonderful thing, but losing heat in an Edmonton winter could freeze that water, and turn a very good thing – VERY bad. That was a major concern of ours, and we deliberated upon how to prevent potential freezing in the event of heat loss. The wood stove would serve a dual purpose. Heat the basement, and prevent the water from freezing.

Factor #4
A wood burning stove is useless without a lotta wood! So we purchased a few cords of clean-burning wood and stored it in our backyard. We have a stash close to the back door, and we have a bin in the basement close to the stove. We keep kindling nearby, and of course matches. We learned the trick of lighting a fire in a wood burning stove when the outside chimney is 40 below zero. If you think that isn’t important, then you have never tried it. Cold air in the chimney makes it impossible for lighter warm air to rise above it. The result? A smoked out house that takes weeks to get the smoke smell out. Don’t ask me how I know this.

Factor #5
We tried for years to put a few dollars aside for emergencies. We weren’t always successful but our hearts were in it and we tried to make it a priority. Sometimes that is more difficult than one might imagine. We get it. However, a little here and a little there is what makes the difference. Some thing is better than nothing. Having a few extra dollars on hand can take a potential tragedy and turn it into an inconvenience. And the opposite is equally true.

So with these factors in mind, let’s return to our Sunday without a furnace. There were so many things to be grateful for that turned our experience into nothing more than an inconvenience. The absence of some of the preparatory steps however could have had a completely different outcome.

Good thing / Bad thing
I like to play the good thing – bad thing game. It helps me put things into perspective and appreciate blessings in my life.

* Good thing – this happened on a day that Dan was home. Yay for me.
* Bad thing – he couldn’t fix it. Boo.
* Good thing – Ray was in town and able to come and help. Yay.
* Bad thing – he couldn’t fix it without an important component (the board), that could not be purchased on Sunday. Boo.
* Good thing – we have a gas fireplace upstairs. We turned it on as soon as we realized we had no other heat. We also have a wood stove in the basement. Dan lit the fire right away and added some logs to it.
* Good thing – the wood stove downstairs soon heated the basement to a toasty warm and we only needed a few logs to maintain it.
* Good thing – Dan kept a supply of house suitable logs cut and accessible for winter burning.
* Good thing – we were surprised at not only how sufficiently the wood stove heated the basement, but how much of that heat flowed upward to keep the main level comfortable. It wasn’t long before we were able to turn the gas fireplace off. Of course sweaters and slippers were useful in keeping us comfortable.
* Good thing: once the house was comfortably heated again, it retained that warmth for an exceptionally long time. Thank goodness for good insulation.
* Good thing – extra quilts and duvets made sleeping comfortable.
* Good thing – we had set enough aside for emergencies, to cover the unexpectedly high cost of the new furnace piece we needed. Something to be especially grateful for.

By Sunday afternoon, we understood the earliest we would have a working furnace was late afternoon the following day. Before bed we stoked the fire and kept it burning low. Fortunately we still had embers in the morning that made reigniting it quick and easy. We were pleased and surprised to note that the house had maintained a reasonable warmth during the night, and that the next morning was considerably less chilly than the previous one.

The moral of the story is to plan for and be prepared for emergencies which are reasonable in your area. Sometimes those emergencies take the form of unfortunate situations. Prepare for those too. Sometimes that preparedness is the result of years of effort and commitment. Usually that is the case.
One of my favourite mottos is “Best time to start was yesterday. Second best time is right now.”

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

What is Something Worth?

Many years ago, I lost my punch bowl in a move. . . .

I mentioned it to my sister and asked her to keep her eye open for one if she came across a good deal. She phoned me one day to say “I found a punch bowl at a garage sale. I picked it up for you if you still want one. I paid five dollars for it. The only problem is that its blue.”

I paid her for it and it really was quite lovely – even though it was ‘blue’.

Who would make a blue punch bowl anyway? And why? It makes your red punch look brown.

Still, we used it when we had company. I would ask one of the kids to “go down and get the punch bowl“. It started out with twelve cups but sadly, one got broken. And the ladle is long since disappeared. But life happens right?

Some time later I happened to be browsing in an antique store and found the identical set. Priced at almost $400 Cdn. !!! Whoah! It is surprising how a little education can change one’s perspective.

When I thought it was worth five dollar I sent the kids to retrieve it, I let the kids wash it. Suddenly I was saying “Don’t touch the punch bowl! I will get it.” In actual fact it was an INDIANA CARNIVAL GLASS Blue Harvest Grape Punch bowl set. Popular when my grandmothers were setting up housekeeping, although neither of them had anything like it.

Even though it was the same punch bowl set, I became a little more invested in it. A little more stressed out about ‘the kids bringing it up stairs’. What if it dropped? What if …. heaven forbid, another cup got broken? Although I always take good care of things, I began to take especially good care of this punch bowl. I began washing it personally and carefully. I dried it personally and carefully. . . . . .
What made the difference? The punches I served in it still tasted the same, still a little strangely coloured because of the blue glass. The same. Outwardly nothing had changed. The only thing that had changed was one little piece of information that I hadn’t been aware of before. Information that had always been true – I just didn’t know about it. A detail that involved somebody else’s perspective. . . . . IT had not changed. I changed. My understanding changed. And that changed my behaviour.

It remains a good analogy to me of many things, but mostly to contemplate what I might be worth, considering the high price my Saviour paid for me. At some points in my life – I may have convinced myself I was only worth five dollars, and if that was true, then clearly I didn’t need nor deserve special care. But the fact is, someone paid a very high price for me – whether I understood it or not. Whether I even accepted it or not. That price was so great that it caused Him “to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit”. (D&C 19:18) His love for me was so great that He willingly took my name personally through the sacred temple of Gethsemane. I imagine Him gently washing my wounds and drying my tears. Personally. And carefully. Because my ‘worth’ to Him, is a very ‘Personal’ thing.

My punch bowl sits in an honoured place now. In my kitchen. Behind a glass door, where I see it often. And it speaks to me. Of mistaken identity. Of inherent value. Of Divine Nature. Of the sacred worth of souls. . . . .
I imagine myself – a Blue Indiana Carnival Glass punch bowl set. Sadly, one of my cups is broken, and my ladle is long since disappeared. . . .

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

Patience, Peace of Mind and Living Within Your Means

Part of Homesteading is living within your means and never putting oneself in unnecessary debt. Strict adherence to this principle teaches patience and many other skills, but its greatest benefit is the blessing of peace of mind. And there is no price tag on peace of mind.

When we discovered we were expecting our fifth child we knew it was time to start looking for a bigger home. For some reason we thought we might find one simply because we were looking. Silly us.

Ours was a humble house, and that suited us fine. There was nothing spectacular about us anyway. But it was small, and we were very nearly big.
Its yard was pretty average for size, but we had made it into our own little garden of Eden. We made every inch count – both in the house and in the yard. A grassy area for the kids to play and a picnic table. A swing set for the littles. A trampoline we delivered flyers for two years to buy. A vegetable garden bordered by raspberries. A sizable strawberry patch. High bush cranberries, rhubarb, apple trees, a shady area with a hammock. And of course, my herb garden. And flowers. How can I live without flowers?
Dan had built me a greenhouse. Which I loved. Many happy hours were spent in it. … But again, our house was small. … In the warm months we spent a lot of time in the yard so it wasn’t as noticeable. But you probably know in Edmonton, there are plenty of non-warm months.

Before our last was born we anxiously looked for a bigger home. We thought we found one. Even made an offer. It didn’t work out. Over the next few years, from time to time we picked up the torch again and seriously looked, even made a couple of half hearted offers. Nothing ever worked out and it was just as well. I thought “it would have to be absolutely everything we want and need to justify leaving”. Even though our house was tiny, every corner had been made usable. Sometimes I would stand in the backyard and wonder “how can we ever leave this?” …. Then one day as I stood in the yard, gazing at our little corner-of-heaven-with-a-fence-around-it, a new thought entered my mind. “We made this! It was nothing more than an empty square yard with a little lonely apple tree smack-dab in the middle of it. ALL this we made. We cannot take it with us, but we can do it again. Whatever we did here we can do anywhere.” I knew then that we had permission to go. And I knew just as certainly, that the right opportunity would present itself. We would simply have to watch for it. And wait.

Soon enough, a friend phoned one day to say their neighbour was putting their house on the market the very next day. It had a big yard. They thought we’d be interested. We walked over to scout it out that evening. It was only a few blocks away. Nice. The kids wouldn’t have to change schools. In a crescent. Nice. The house was bigger than ours. Hard to say how much, but enough. We walked down the alley and peeked in the fence. Rough back yard. With a dead car parked in it. But big. With good DNA. It smiled at us. It wanted us. It needed us. And we listened. We went home and phoned another friend. A real estate agent. We told him “a house is going on the market tomorrow. We want it.” By 10:00 the next night we owned it. Two months later we moved in. Our fifth child (that baby), had just turned nine!

Sometimes we need to be patient. When we feel gratitude for our blessings, when we can “name them one by one” as the song goes, when we can be truly happy in our circumstances such as they are, when we beautify our own little corner of the world to the best of our ability, and when we can do all that continuing to live within our means, then really — nothing else matters does it? But when the right opportunity presents itself and calls you by name, you know it is time to act. Time to take the steps necessary to make a change. That doesn’t make it easy. It only makes it feel right. And then the rest? Well, you simply make it work.
~ ~ ~

Admittedly, it took a long time before our new home earned the title ‘home’ in our hearts. Homes are made of memories and memories take a while to collect. The house we raised our five children in for twelve years was only 960 square feet. Small by any standards. But love thrives in small houses as well as it does in bigger ones. In the end, it was a good move. Best one we could have ever made I believe. We kept all our old friends. The kids all stayed in the same school. While we left some fabulous neighbours, we found new ones.

It took us a few years of experimenting before we figured out what we wanted to do with our yards front and back. Heck, it took two years just to get rid of the thistle in the lawn so that we could walk barefoot on it. We followed a pattern that we had established many years before, when we bought our first home (a fixer upper). That pattern? To complete two major household projects a year: one inside and one outside. As we could afford them. The inside one is generally tackled somewhere between October and April. The outside one is taken care of in the warmer months. Some projects are big, like removing walls and laying hardwood flooring, redoing the kitchen or putting in a bathroom. Some projects are smaller like replacing a single window or painting a room. All must be affordable. And by that, I mean something we don’t have to borrow money for. The final determining factor on ‘what’ and ‘when’ is whether we can pay for it right now.

We live by the adage that debt should be avoided like we would avoid the plague. Buying a house requires long term debt of course, but we had learned through hard experience that just because one qualifies for a loan with relative ease, shouldn’t be the excuse we use to live beyond our means. What is “our means”? It is what we can afford to pay for, while still paying an honest tithing, and putting aside a little extra for rainy days. Our debt philosophy is very straight forward and simple, but one that we live strictly by – “if we can’t afford to pay for it now, we cannot afford it.”

Experience has taught us that although ‘Saving up’ and ‘paying off’, may eventually arrive at the same end, they take entirely different routes to get there. Saving up – means YOU are in control. You are the master. Paying off – gives you the illusion of being in control, but until the debt is cleared, you are never the master. You are always the servant, because interest never sleeps. It doesn’t go on vacation, it doesn’t get sick and take a day off, and it has no compassion. It does what it was created to do – add upon itself. That is the one thing you can count on. At the risk of sounding naively simplistic – it is really a matter of learning to manage your money, before your money (or lack of it) manages you. Without a plan, one too often finds that purchases have nothing to do with whether one can afford them, but are justified because one feels entitled to them, or at the very least, one deserves them. Those reasons may feel good at the time, but they create a situation of dependence, not independence. Self sufficiency can never be obtained as long as serious debt hangs over a household.

Living within our means, implies that we don’t buy what we cannot afford. “One step at a time – slow and steady wins the race – by small and simple things great things come to pass” – and all other such pieces of wisdom of the ages cannot be wrong.

Part of the Homesteading lifestyle is living within your means and never putting oneself into unnecessary debt. Strict adherence to this principle teaches patience and many other skills, but its greatest benefit is the blessing of peace of mind. And there is no price tag on peace of mind.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the principles discussed here.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle

Hello world! my very first contribution in for-real blog form …

I’d like to share our Homesteading-in-the-city journey with you. Some of it through recollection and some of it through our daily life. Few of us will ever “homestead” in the way our great grandparents did. And you know what? I’m okay with that. Their’s was a hard life. Full of uncertainty and fear of drought and hail. I am grateful to not have the same worries. No, in my lifetime I would say that “Homesteading” is a lifestyle choice of self sufficiency as near as one is capable of achieving. It is “characterized by food production, home preservation and household independence”. The word conjurs up images of Little-House-on-the-Prairie, but actually homesteads come in all shapes and sizes, rural and yes, even urban if needed. Whatever our situation, our little lot can become our own little Garden of Eden, tended and nurtured. The yield can be tremendous, not the least of which may be good, wholesome, organic food. In our little homestead we gain awareness and connection, and independence, and feelings of self sufficiency and more independence, and peace. And inter-dependence – which is not the ugly step-sister of independence. But that’s another subject for another day.

Homesteading in the City

Many years ago, in my early married years, a man I greatly respected gave the following counsel:
“We encourage you to grow all the food that you feasibly can on your own property. Berry bushes, grapevines, fruit trees—plant them if your climate is right for their growth. Grow vegetables and eat them from your own yard. Even those residing in apartments or condominiums can generally grow a little food in pots and planters. Study the best methods of providing your own foods. Make your garden neat and attractive, as well as productive. If there are children in your home, involve them in the process with assigned responsibilities.”

His name was Spencer W. Kimball, and he was the President of the church I belong to. Latter-day Saints regarded him as a prophet, and I loved him as one. I took his counsel to heart. At the time, we lived in a two bedroom apartment in Edmonton, Alberta Canada. I noted that he mentioned “those residing in apartments“, so I knew my living situation did not exempt me from his instructions.

My husband and I set about to figure out a way to comply. We were young. I was only 18 years old. He was 22. We planted a small garden in a space provided by my parents in law in their acreage vegetable garden. We travelled out weekly to take care of it. We were terrible farmers, and my father in law had to bite his tongue many times to keep from dashing our spirit. My mother in law praised our efforts and was very encouraging. When I look back on it now I roll my eyes at how young and naïve and – lets be honest here – ‘stupid’ we were. My husband built me a window box that we hung from our kitchen window. I had visions of Snow White watering her blooms from the window. Lets just say it didn’t exactly work that way, …. and that’s all I have to say about that for now.

Over the years, I continued to be motivated by this same talk (given in April 1976) by President Kimball. Our ultimate goal was eternal happiness of course, but one still has to navigate this mortal life, and there are ways to do it better. “Recognizing that the family is the basic unit of both the Church and society generally,” he said “we call upon Latter-day Saints everywhere to strengthen and beautify the home with renewed effort in these specific areas: food production, preservation, storage; the production and storage of nonfood items; fix up and cleanup of homes and surroundings.” The die was cast so-to-speak. We made the decision to follow these and other tenets spoken of by him, and they became life shaping for us. “Children should learn to work.” he said. “Develop your skills in your home preservation and storage.” he said. “…. acquire and maintain a year’s supply of the basic commodities” he said. “Wherever possible, produce your nonfood necessities of life. Improve your skills ....” he said. “Keep in good repair and beautify your homes, your yards, farms, and businesses. Repair the fences. Clean up and paint where needed. Keep your lawns and your gardens well-groomed. Whatever your circumstance, let your premises reflect orderliness, beauty, and happiness.” he said. “Plan well and carry out your plan in an orderly and systematic manner.” he said. “Avoid debt.” he said. I took it all very personally, and took the stance that he was speaking directly to me.

We knew our lives would be blessed by living these principles of self reliance and we endeavoured to do our best to align ourselves with them as much as we had the ability to do so. We felt an attraction to rural life and hoped one day to live in the country, but circumstances pointed us in another direction and the closest we got to it was our first home in the small town of Calmar, Alberta. It was an old home. Very old. Which made it affordable. Many good and growing memories were made in that old house. I read an article in Harrowsmith Magazine (my connection to a world I wanted to be part of) one day that helped me be patient with our dream of one day owning a small farmstead. Without being able to quote the article or tell you much else about it, the author asserted that one could live a homesteading life no matter what their present circumstances were. I was empowered. And I determined to do so.

I had always felt a closeness to my pioneer roots, and I endeavoured not only to be grateful for their sacrifice and hard work and efforts,

but to do many of the same things they had done well. We planted a garden as President Kimball instructed. Every year. No matter where we lived. While living in Calmar we bought our fresh milk and eggs from a local farm that I walked out to twice a week with an empty gallon jar, walking home with a much heavier full jar. We made our own yogurt, cottage cheese, ice cream and butter. We bought our honey from the local beekeeper just outta town. We bought our wheat from a local farmer and ground our own flour. I made our bread. I learned how to make soap, and made our own. Not everyone in our circle of friends and family saw things the way we did. I admit we raised plenty of eyebrows and even our own grandmothers shook their heads (at how far we had regressed in our thinking). They had no desire to do things the way they used to do them, and couldn’t see why anyone else would. lol

Those days seem so long ago now. We’ve learned so much and have come so far. Many things have changed. We raised five kids. Moved a few times, owned a few houses. Bought a business that I managed for over twenty years. Experienced our share of heartache and joy. Served the Lord in assorted different callings, and our fellow man whenever we could. Did our best to keep the spirit in our home. Tried to be good neighbours and friends. And yet through it all, some things have not changed. Those basic, foundational tenets we adhered ourselves to all those many years ago.

We never did get too far out of the city again. In fact we live here now, and I expect at this point we’re here to stay. We live in a modest home with a little-larger-than-average yard. This is our 8th residence and 3rd owned home. In every place we’re tried to live by the principles of self reliance using whatever advantage we could uncover in our situation. This is the home that offers us the most advantage. Ironic that all the kids are gone now. But that’s okay. They still come home and we’re still all learning right?

I’d like to share our Homesteading-in-the-city journey with you. Some of it through recollection and some of it through our daily life. Few of us will ever “homestead” in the way our great grandparents did. And you know what? I’m okay with that. Theirs’ was a hard life. Full of uncertainty and fear of drought and hail. I am grateful to not have the same worries. So, in my lifetime I would say that “Homesteading” is a lifestyle choice of self sufficiency as near as one is capable of achieving. It is “characterized by food production, home preservation and household independence”. The word conjures up images of Little-House-on-the-Prairie, but actually homesteads come in all shapes and sizes, rural and yes, even urban if needed. Whatever our situation, our little lot can become our own little Garden of Eden, tended and nurtured. The yield can be tremendous, not the least of which may be good, wholesome, organic food. In our little homestead we gain awareness and connection, and independence, and feelings of self reliance and more independence, and peace. And inter-dependence – which is not the ugly step-sister of independence. But that’s another subject for another day.

As in pioneer days it requires a fair amount of learning, but thankfully now, education can be as close as the click of a mouse. If we’re fortunate we may find others of like mind who will share their experience with us, and we can round out our education with hands on instruction and of course, personal experience.

Welcome to our home. Our kitchen. Our food storage room. Our family room. Our yard and garden. We hope through our journey together, you’ll be encouraged down your own path of self sufficiency and Homesteading – wherever you are.

Warmly,

Cindy Suelzle