Just Call Me Tevye

Some of my favorite memories of growing up were the times my grandparents took us to the movies and to the outdoor theatre, the Muny Opera, in Forest Park (St. Louis). After gazing wide-eyed at performances of My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music, and Fiddler on the Roof, my sisters and I would stage our own versions of the musicals in the basement of the parsonage where we grew up in Arnold, Missouri. Some of my favorite piano pieces came from those movies; I remember my Grandmother Schwab always wanted to hear Edelweiss when she came to visit. I played Sunrise, Sunset until I practically drove my mother out of the house, but as strange as it sounds, I really liked stomping around and flinging my arms out to Tevye’s If I Were a Rich Man. There was just something so satisfying about that.

I don’t know how anyone can not like a musical.

So, in the spirit of Tevye, tradition! Tomorrow, May 20^th, is Confirmation Sunday at my former church in Pittsburgh. It feels odd to miss the first one in nearly 20 years. In the Lutheran church, this rite marks the move from our baptismal faith (bestowed by the Holy Spirit when He called us by name) into the beginning of enlightment and sanctification in the One True Faith that we profess. So it's not an ending at all!

About ten years ago, while participating in an adult Bible study, we were asked if we remembered our Confirmation verse. Sad to say, I did not. Although I did remember my Confirmation hymn – Let Us Ever Walk With Jesus – if that counts for anything!

So they would not do as I did and forget, I decided to create remembrances for the Confirmand class that year and designed plaques with each of their verses, an appropriate image, their names and the date. One year led to another and it soon became a personal tradition to present the plaques on behalf of the congregation. The year there were nine in the class was a real challenge but I found the images (thank you, stock.xchng), mattes and frames and it all came together with a lot of prayer. One year I paired Joshua 1:9 (Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.) with a photo of a space shuttle just before launch. I found out later that the young man had battled a lot of childhood illnesses but always dreamed of adventure and greatness.

I thought for sure that the class of 2011 would be the last to put up with my creative efforts, but while on a visit back to Pittsburgh just before Christmas dear friends Jim and Cindy Vasil asked me to create a plaque for their son Justin, who will be confirmed tomorrow. Since I also knew the other two young men in Justin’s class, I decided to design one for each of them as well (really, how could I not make one for the pastor’s son?). It turns out that the tradition was going to live on, with or without my help! My apologies to the chairman of the Board of Christian Education, who was handed the baton, but I’ve got your back this year, Mary Lynn!

These are three, unmatted and unframed, plaques I created for the class of 2012. Each matte/frame combination was unique and complemented the plaque; I was particularly happy to find a pebble-textured/colored matte for the last one, and used an oval matte for the one in the middle. Justin loves to fish and his family enjoyed a vacation at the Outer Banks a few years ago so I thought this image was perfect.

Shortly before I was ready to ship, I got word that another person was also being confirmed so I quickly put a fourth plaque together for a young woman:

 

 

 

Tradition!

Good Genes, Jean!

Thirty years ago I received my first Mother’s Day gift. I still carry that silver monogrammed compact mirror that Bill presented to me as a new stepmother to 9-year-old and 7-year-old girls. Now those gals are mothers, and Bill and I are blessed with six grandchildren. Today I got a beautiful, custom-designed Mother’s Day card from my California grandsons, Brogan, Griffin, Hudson and Porter Smith. I love the card. I feel old.

On Mother’s Day, Alexis, the youngest of my four nieces and two nephews, is graduating from college. It just doesn’t seem all that long ago that they were precious little babies and now the oldest two, Shannon and Kelly, have children of their own. I feel really old.

Next month, if my father were still alive, my parents would have celebrated their 57^th anniversary. I was with them when they celebrated their 1^st anniversary in Miami, Florida. (Lest you think anything naughty, I was born 10 months after their wedding!) Yep…I feel really, really old.

But, I come from a line of long-living women on both sides of the family. Great-grandmothers and great-aunts lived into their late 90s, while my father’s mother lived to 92 and my mother’s mom was 89. God willing, I may live as long in good health. All of a sudden, I feel young!

For most of my life I’ve been fairly active, walking, biking, working out at home or at a fitness club. After my most recent club in Pittsburgh closed I became lax about strength workouts and was shocked at how quickly I lost muscle tone. So early this spring I joined a fitness club just a few miles from our marina and have faithfully worked out four days a week, one day with a trainer. Although it would be nice to lose a few pounds, my motivation is to gain bone density through stronger muscles so that if I live another 40 years I won’t be bedridden or wheelchair bound…God willing.

I also worry about Alzheimer’s, although again, many members of my family tree were pretty much of sound mind when they died so I hope genetics again wills out. I read a great deal, work crossword puzzles and jigsaw puzzles, and enjoy Jeopardy, all in an effort to keep the brain cells healthy. I’d say, so far so good…except when I can’t remember something…

This Mother’s Day 2012, I give thanks to God for the blessing of my mother, Jean Rose Schwab Bouman, whose great genes I’ve inherited and who encouraged me, always, to be the best I can be with the gifts God gave me. I love you, Mom!

Insurance, Anyone?

Growing up in Miami, I remember geckos (lizards, we called them then) skittering across the concrete porch and up and down the screens. Our cat, Blackie, was fascinated by them but I don't think he ever caught one. I also remember scorpians in the bathroom, fire ants in the yard, termites in a nearby neighbor's home and webs of freaky large yellow and black spiders in most of the trees. It's any wonder we ever played outdoors, but we did. Miami is where my sisters and I tried to catch a glimpse of the Mafia wife's capuchin monkey next door, where we first went trick-or-treating around the block, had our first birthday parties, and where I learned to ride a bicycle. My father found this secondhand, heavy blue and black bicycle that was just built for crash landings. It moved with us to St. Louis in 1964, where my sisters Patti and Beth learned to ride "Old Blue" too.

We have a lot of geckos here in Jacksonville, too. They are usually too swift for me to get more than a glimpse but I was lucky today to find and get a close-up of one sunning on the top of our dock steps. He didn't bother to ask me if I needed any car insurance.

A pair of white herons, or great white egrets, are daily visitors, usually fishing for breakfast around 8 a.m. and then again in the evening. They are raucous and seem to call for an audience shortly after landing on our slip. Our cat is happy to oblige, chattering back and, were it not for the screen door, would launch himself straight at the big bird.











Bill was recently hired on at the marina where we live and I believe he thinks he'd died and gone to heaven. Although the dockmaster said hiring him was a matter of self-defense. "We had to give Bill a job so he wouldn't clean his boat so often and make the rest of us look like slugs!" And, yes, Bill does complain that he only has weekends now to keep Pure Grace pristine. Although his title is dockhand, thus far Bill has done some landscaping, repaired or replaced dozens of dock lights, is powerwashing all four concrete docks and their fingers, does a daily trash patrol of the grounds, opens and closes all the umbrellas at the pool every day, and not once has he been put on pump-out duty.

This morning while we were getting ready for church (well, Bill hadn't quite started his morning routine yet, enjoying a cup of coffee watching Sunday Morning with Charles Osgood) when I heard a knock on the door. "Is Bill around? A boat is sinking on the dock!" The young man who owns the Boston Whaler had left the seacock open in his bait box yesterday afternoon, in a hurry to get to work. (He and his wife publish a local, suburban newspaper and he had three events to cover for Cinco de Mayo.) The bilge pump struggled all night to keep up but eventually the battery died. Someone out walking a dog at 7:30 this morning discovered the listing boat and sounded the alarm.

After trying to use the marina's sewer pump out and not making much headway, a professional salvage company arrived mid-morning and an hour later, it was dry and ready to be hauled out for a look at the engine. The Ortega River is dark brown due to tannin from cypress trees. Not too many people ski in this river.