Happy Birthday to Mom and Me!

I have now celebrated my second COVID birthday and, in spite of the restrictions, it was a joyful experience. My four sisters and I were looking forward to celebrating outdoors, which until shortly before my birthday was allowed with exactly five people, but then things got out of hand in Manitoba and even that was not any longer permitted. But I received lovely surprises at our front door: 

A delicious lemon buttercream cake, baked by my youngest sister Margaret

  

Beautiful cards and well wishes from family and friends. 

You will notice that these cards are handmade. That is one positive thing about this COVID experience: We have time to be creative. The one on the left is artwork done by my sister Ruth. The one on the right is from my friend Yayoi who does origami (Japanese paper folding art). In the center of the card is a beautiful flower that unfolds into heart-shaped petals.   

My thoughtful oldest daughter remembered my nostalgia about a rabbit storybook from my childhood (see March 2021 blogpost). She found it on Amazon and ordered it for me. 

The grandchildren also made cards and we had Zoom meetings with them throughout the day. 

Here's a link sent by a friend on how to have fun with the Happy Birthday song:

https://youtu.be/OaZveHbxAYs

 Preview YouTube video How to play "Happy Birthday" Like Beethoven, Chopin, Brahms, Bach and Mozart Piano by Nicole Pesce

I did some reflecting about the time I was born (May 1943) in Ukraine.

When my brother was born in 1941, the Germans were celebrating their victory over Russia, and my parents called their first-born Victor. They were able to resume church services, and both my parents were baptized. They were happy and hoped for better days.

(Pen-and-ink drawing by Teresa Pankratz)

Two years later, at the time of my birth, the Russians had defeated the Germans and our lives, as people who claimed German ancestry, were in danger. My parents called me Elfriede, hoping for peace (the word Friede is peace in German). Dad took Mom to the local hospital, but as soon as I was born, he checked us out because he had heard rumors that the Russians were sending all patients who identified as Germans into exile.

In October of that year (1943), our family left Ukraine by train -- first to Poland and then to southern Germany. After four years of refugee life, we boarded the Volendam, a passenger ship heading to Argentina.
Following another five years of pioneer existence in Paraguay, we emigrated to Canada.

When I asked my mother about her memories of these difficult years, she had no desire to talk about them. She told me that she couldn't remember the details because she was so busy just keeping track of us! She had two children in Ukraine, one during the refugee years in Germany, three in Paraguay, and two more in Canada!

 My parents celebrating their 25th anniversary in 1965. I am in the back row, second from left.

My mother and I share a birthday month, and tomorrow (May 30th) she would be 100 years old. Sadly, she passed away in 2008, at the age of 87, just before our family's move to Winnipeg. The above picture was taken at her last Christmas celebration. Regrettably, I couldn't be there as we were in Ontario preparing for our move. She wanted us to come; I think she sensed that it would be her last Christmas.  Early in January she quietly slipped away.

A poem in memory of my mother

My Mother's Hands  . . .

Rough hands they were, with cracks and crevices, 

carved there by caring for eight children and a homestead.

These hands drew water from a well, milked a balky cow, 

mixed manure to spread over dirt floors, washed and swept these floors,

cleaned children's ears and noses, 

sewed, laundered, and mended their clothes,

tended a garden and worked in the fields.

But more than anything, 

I remember that these hands kneaded the dough for our daily bread.

I can picture her now, 

back bent, head down, hands deeply immersed in the dough;

kneeling on a chair beside the table, I watched those hands in fascination.

The smell of the yeast dough is with me still.

Mother's hands kneaded it to supple elasticity until the strength of her went into it.

Deftly, she shaped the bread into loaves, pushed it into the hot clay oven.

I sat and watched until it turned golden brown.  

We ate it all, knowing that mother's hands would make more bread, the next day and the next.

In all our childhood years, strength from those hands, those cracked and work-worn hands

flowed into making bread.

 

What special memories do you have of your Mother ?

 

Listen to the Birds!

This is one of my favorite photos of Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip. They look like ordinary folks enjoying a  summer outing, and they look so happy. Philip, especially, is relaxed, his hat balanced on his knee. The picture was taken in 2003 on a sunny day at The Coyles of Muick, near the Scottish Aberdeenshire town of Ballater, by their daughter-in-law Sophie. In the background, we can see the mountain of Lochnagar.

This is the photo the queen shared on the eve of her husband's funeral (April 17, 2021), which would have been one of the saddest days of her life. He died at age 99.

"Grief is the price we pay for love."

Nearly twenty years ago, Queen Elizabeth said these words as she shared about grief and loss in the aftermath of the September 11, 2011 terrorist attack in the United States.

Her words resonated with me. Before Philip's death in April, Hardy and I lost three dear friends, two in February and one in March. When I was younger, and my mother would tell me about another one of their friends who had died, I listened sympathetically but thought to myself, "Oh, they lived a good long life and it was their time."

I didn't have that glib thought in my head at all when our friends passed away. Two of them were in their late eighties, and yes, they had lived a long life, but they were our dear friends.
One of them was younger than me, only sixty-nine. That in itself was tragic. Another was a gynecologist who had been with us in Congo and delivered two of our children by C-section, hosting me at their home to convalesce for a week after the surgery. The third was Hardy's friend since his youth who had chosen a similar path of service in an African country.
Not only is there sadness at never seeing them again in this life, but the thought of my own demise creeps into my consciousness and becomes more of a reality.

We had a sudden snowfall in April, which didn't help matters; I longed for spring and new life. Then there have been the COVID restrictions and we haven't been able to be with our children and grandchildren. We haven't seen our family in Ontario for over a year and a half! 

One of my sisters put into words what I was feeling:

Grief is an emotion that comes in unexpected and unwanted moments ... like late at night when you want to sleep but can't, or in the morning, after a night of sleep when you expect everything to be normal but it isn't. Then it comes in waves of uncontrollable sadness. You don't want to feel it but you have no choice, it will not leave you. You try to avoid it with various kinds of therapy and slowly the emotions are fewer, with longer 'happy' moments in between, until you find a new normal for yourself.

One morning I looked out the window and was quite amazed. Our maple tree was full of birds--not the little sparrows and chickadees that gathered around our bird feeder throughout the winter. They were red-winged blackbirds, and they were singing, long trilling sounds as they flashed their wings. They were migratory birds and they had returned! I had never seen that many birds in our tree at one time. It felt like they were messengers sent to cheer me.

That day I also heard a robin's song, very loud and insistent ... another sign of spring. I couldn't see the robin (it must have been up on our roof) but its song was beautiful and uplifting.

Today was a lovely day in May. This morning I checked our lilac bush which we planted from cuttings in my parents' yard a few years ago. Last year it had only one bloom. Now I noticed it was full of buds!

Our daughter came over and we walked around the lake near our house. Other people were out and about, walking their dogs, pushing strollers with smiling babies, riding bikes.

The world seemed almost normal again.

There is one favorite tree in which all the birds seem to congregate and we just sat on the bench and listened to the music, interrupted at times by the honking of geese. The lake was full of life and light.

https://www.dnr.state.mn.us/mcvmagazine/bird_songs_interactive/index.html

Happy Easter !

Going for a walk around our lake recently, I was amused by the first geese to arrive for the warmer seasons. They seemed puzzled as they carefully landed on what they assumed to be water but was actually still ice. They walked around tentatively and awkwardly. It reminded me of Hardy and me during this Corona pandemic. Everything is a bit unfamiliar and bizarre and we walk hesitantly where once we were confident and self-assured.
Our stage in life is having a similar effect on us!

We were excited when we were able to book an appointment for our COVID-19 vaccination. Hardy's appointment was earlier as he was in a higher age bracket; I got mine a few days later. We called and asked if we could change Hardy's so we could go on the same day. They changed it for us without a problem. 

We called our children to let them know. Our oldest daughter offered to take us and she had some good advice for us: "Make sure you take your walker, Dad, as you will be standing in line for a long time."
She was right.

The line was already quite long when we got there, but the weather was balmy. All along this seemingly endless line of seniors,  there were people in place ready with an encouraging word, a smile, a willingness to help. The whole process took about two hours. Once we got inside the Convention Centre, we were given chairs and a number. Once again, we were treated with kindness and respect. I was grateful to be Canadian.

As I looked at the long lineup, I was reminded of Jesus surveying a crowd of 5,000 or more who had come to listen to him and had nothing to eat. He had compassion and asked his disciples to feed them. They didn't know how they would do it, but miraculously all were fed.

I  noticed that many came with canes or walkers and that hardly anyone came alone. Older couples came together, single seniors were accompanied by an adult child or grandchild, lovingly concerned for their welfare. I wondered about the stories of their lives ... . 

I could hardly fathom that we were now at that stage of life where our elderly parents had been not all that long ago. I recall my Dad leaning on his walker, saying to me, "Na, tjitj mol de Ola doa." ["Look at that old guy there"]. He was pointing to someone no older than he was, walking rather unsteadily with his cane!

I thought of my Mom, always busy, always doing something for others, until it was time for her to fold her hands in her lap and let others take care of her. That was hard for her!

We were amused by a couple seated just ahead of us. The man had his partner's pink purse decorated with purple butterflies hanging over the handle of his walker.  It reminded me of the promise of spring and of new life.

Things will get better!   Easter is just around the corner.  Christ is risen, He is risen indeed!

Happy Easter!

Communion elements and flowers delivered on Maundy Thursday by the deacons of our church
in preparation for our Easter service

A Rabbit Tale

There has always been evidence of resident rabbits in our yard. In summer, they make their home under the two giant pines in the front of our house and come out to nibble at the tulips and whatever else strikes their fancy. In winter, they make their home under our back deck, but until this winter we have rarely seen them -- only a flash or a glimpse here and there. Then, last year, our children gave us a bird feeder for our anniversary. We hung it so that we could watch the birds from our breakfast table. This proved to be quite entertaining since we were housebound due to COVID restrictions. The birds have been coming in droves this winter, mostly sparrows and chickadees. 

Then, one day, a rabbit joined the birds. I thought it was a dog at first, because it was so big. It sniffed around in the snow picking up whatever seeds the birds had dropped.

One morning, instead of throwing my vegetable peels into the compost, I decided to toss them onto the deck to see if the rabbit would eat them. They were gone in no time. I put them right in front of the patio door and he sat there and munched away happily, completely oblivious of us watching him. He doesn't eat everything, but he loves carrot peels and his favorite is banana peels. I thought of all the frozen bananas we have that are not being used because guests are forbidden and so are church potlucks. I might just put them out for the rabbit. But, will he get too comfortable around our house and wreak havoc in spring and summer when I put out my plants? We'll have to wait and see!

                              

It didn't take long and there were two rabbits on our deck. We assume the second one is his mate.

Sometimes he does not treat her very well and she has to go down and forage for her own food in the yard below!

After friend rabbit has eaten his fill, he often picks a sunny spot under our composter and goes to sleep!

When I first had the idea of writing a blog post about our resident rabbits, I wondered if anyone would even care to read about  rabbits. Mostly they are just considered to be annoying garden pests, but they have kept us entertained and happy during this time of isolation and feeling housebound. I wanted to share that. 

 Something  about our rabbit tweaked a memory.  I recalled a postcard with a picture of a rabbit that had impressed me as a child. I googled it and there it was! 

The rabbit on the postcard is almost identical to our rabbit except for the long ears! (This makes it a hare, not a rabbit.)

Hardy and I are actually in prestigious company spending time watching our rabbits. Albrecht Dürer, German artist, printmaker and theorist of the German Renaissance (1471-1528), must have done so as well: He painted the above picture in 1502, long before the invention of the camera! You can see his unique signature and date of the painting just below the rabbit.  Dürer had to work from real life! I wonder how much time he spent painting the hare, never mind the self-portrait below!

Self-portrait of Dürer at age 26

Another person fascinated by rabbits and famous for her rabbit stories is Beatrix Potter (1866-1943). She  wrote and illustrated thirty books. Interestingly enough, she began writing them as letters, illustrating them and sending them to the children of her governess. The governess is the one who suggested the letters might make good children's books.

While thinking about rabbits, I remembered a German children's book my grandmother gave us about rabbits going to school. I loved that book and wished I still had it so I could look at it once more.
On a whim I googled the title and to my amazement, it is available from Amazon!

In 1924, Albert Sixtus got the idea for the book while playing in the garden with his son who was about to start school. School began at Eastertime so it made perfect sense to write a book about what it's like to go to school and combine it with a bunny and an Easter theme.
Sixtus wrote the book just after WW1 when life in Germany was bleak. Ninety-five years later this book is still popular in Germany. For Easter in 2019 a special anniversary edition was published. It is also available in English. I thought of purchasing it for my grandchildren, but alas, they have outgrown books like this! The youngest turned 11 in November and we missed a whole year of his childhood because of COVID. [On second thought, this book might no longer be politically correct. The cover depicts a teacher asserting his authority, which was fine in 1924 but would probably need to be portrayed differently today.]

Do you recall favorite books about animals from your childhood? What emotions did they evoke in you?

Living in the Moment

Last Saturday, Hardy and I decided to go for a ride and see and enjoy some local Winnipeg sights we had read about in the paper. We were astonished and blown away by what we saw!

This woman had filled her yard with snow bears. She began with one bear and then just kept making them. Above you can see a mother bear and her two cubs. Here are some more of her creations:

It was mid afternoon when we went to see the snow sculptures and the yard was crowded with parents and children enjoying the bears and having their pictures taken with  them. We noticed a box at the edge of the yard. It was an opportunity for people to give a donation to a local charitable organization. Children were happily throwing in coins. The sign said that over $4,500 had been donated so far. At dusk we drove by once more to add our donation to the box. There were just as many children and parents milling about as there had been earlier in the afternoon!

It did not matter to this woman that those beautiful bears she created would be gone once milder weather set in. She was living in the moment, getting some fresh air and exercise and sharing that moment with neighbours, friends, and anyone who wanted to stop to enjoy her bears. At the same time, she was giving people the opportunity to share with others in need. It occurred to me that this is how life should be lived!

There have been times in my life when I have been overwhelmed with grief -- suddenly, unexpectedly. (Those of you who have lost a loved one without warning will understand.) I am tempted to dwell in the past, to try to hang on to what I have lost. Rather, like the creator of the bears, I want to enjoy the moment!

Before long, what I have I cherish;

What might have been, fades away.

And I live again for the moment --

This precious and wonderful day!

(final stanza of a poem I wrote in May 1981, on the day that would have been our son Harold Mark's 12th birthday) 

Shadow Land

The month of January is a time for reflection. I am by nature someone who likes to do that; it has been a habit since my youth. Of course, I had no idea what life held in store for me, but I had my dreams.

Shortly after graduating from high school, I moved to Winnipeg from Alberta and got a job at the Christian Press, a small bookstore above its printing press. I was hired because of my knowledge of German. It was a bookstore that marketed English and German books. I could read any book I chose -- heaven was at my doorstep!

This place will always be special to me because it is where I first met the person with whom I would spend the rest of my life. He was a student at the nearby college. For two years (after only one date), we were continents apart and maintained a letter-writing relationship. (Hardy was in the Congo from 1965-1967 as a member of a Bible translation team.)

I clearly recall sitting at my desk on the last day of 1966 and writing a letter in which I promised my commitment and love. In that letter I shared a poem by Dietrich Bonhoeffer which we continue to read together on New Year's Eve. We love reading it in the original German but I found a good English translation to share with you. 

A bit of background about Bonhoeffer: A Lutheran pastor, theologian and anti-Nazi dissident, he was imprisoned by the Nazis on April 5,1943. For an entire year he was separated from his family, his friends, his fiancée, and his church. He spent the time behind bars in Berlin's Tegel prison for his participation in plots to kill Adolf Hitler. 

In the damp cold darkness of his cell, bereft of light, family, and friends, Bonhoeffer wrote his last theological work, a poem addressed to his fiancée Maria von Wedemeyer, entitled, Von Guten Mächten Wunderbar Geborgen. This poem has since been made into a hymn and can be found in the German Lutheran hymnal, the Evangelisches Gesangbuch. (An English translation follows.)

Bonhoeffer was executed by the Nazi SS on April 19,1945. He was 39 years old.

By Gracious Powers:

Dietrich Bonhoeffer's Prayer for a New Year

By gracious powers so wonderfully sheltered

and confidently waiting, come what may,

we know that God is with us night and morning, 

and never fails to greet us each new day.

The worries of the old year still torment us,

we’re troubled still by long and wicked days.

Oh Lord, give our frightened souls the healing

Which you’ve prepared for us in many ways.

And when this cup you give is filled to brimming

with bitter sorrow, hard to understand,

we take it gladly, trusting though with trembling,

out of so good and so beloved a hand.

Yet when again in this same world you give us

the joy we had, the brightness of your sun, 

we shall remember all the days we lived through

and our whole life shall then be yours alone. 

Bonhoeffer did not know what fate awaited him and where life would take him. He had his moments of despair, expressed in the poem Wer Bin Ich? (Who Am I?), of which the final two lines are:

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.

Whoever I am, thou knowest, Oh God, I am thine.

When we first read this poem to each other, Hardy and I had no idea what awaited us. In our latter years we have the privilege of looking back and seeing the path we walked; at times it was so difficult we didn't know if we would make it or not. This time of isolation during the Coronavirus epidemic is one of the more challenging times but not the worst.

We trudge along in the darkness and coldness and isolation,

wondering what lies ahead.

But we are not alone.

Yet when again, in this same world you give us 

the joy we had, the brightness of your sun,

we shall remember all the days we lived through

and our whole life shall then be yours alone.

It's a Small, Small World

Our "grandcat," daughter Heidi's Turbo, loves to crawl into small spaces, the smaller the better. He squeezes himself  into all kinds of boxes and baskets, kneads the ground beneath him and purrs contentedly, his tail curled around him. I look at him and wish I could be as content in my confined space as he is. Some days are better than others!

This Advent season seems different than any we have experienced while living in Canada. Added to the threat of the Coronavirus (which means we all stay at home, especially seniors like us who are most vulnerable), we experienced a medical emergency at the end of November. Hardy was not well for several days. With the hospitals overcrowded due to the epidemic, we were reluctant to go to Emergency, but on the advice of a good friend who is a nurse we went. He was admitted immediately as his condition was more serious than we realized. He had a strangulated hernia and a twisted intestine, and after they did all the tests, they did a laparoscopic procedure in the early morning hours. I could not go in to see him, but I spoke to a lovely nurse who took all my frantic calls and assured me that he was doing well. My sisters sent prayers and delicious noodle soup and muffins.

One morning I went to our mailbox just wishing for something to cheer me up. I reached in and pulled out a flyer. Then I felt something way in the back of the box. I retrieved a small blue envelope. It was from granddaughter Sasha (Turbo's caregiver) and it was addressed to "Oma." In it were some loving words and some hearts. It made my day!

Sasha's blue envelope reminded me of our years in the Congo (1965-1984). We lived for those blue aerograms from home, especially during the Christmas season. All we could do was write and receive letters, hoping that the mail would get through; sometimes it did and sometimes it didn't. 

Our situation now during the Coronavirus pandemic, with our province in lockdown, reminds me of the sense of isolation and insecurity I felt in Africa, during the early years, before I knew the language and the people. Although we took our anti-malaria pills faithfully, there was always the threat of malaria, particularly during the humid rainy season at Christmastime. However, we usually found something to cheer us up and make us laugh.
Our African gray parrot stayed with friends for a couple of months while we went home on leave. They taught him to say something he repeated over and over after our return: "Hardy has a pr... ." The parrot never finished the sentence and we couldn't understand what Hardy was supposed to have until our friends laughingly finished the sentence: "Hardy has a problem!" His problem at that time was a ruptured appendix requiring emergency surgery.

It's important to find things to make us laugh and feel loved while we are confined to a small space. We can't change the situation, so we might as well get comfortable like Turbo! 

Going for a daily walk helps, and many people in our area are doing that, especially during these exceptionally mild December days.
The other day I saw a couple taking their small child for a ride in a sled, the dad pulling and the mom walking behind. The little one kept falling off, not yet having a proper sense of balance. Finally the mom got on the sled as well and the dad pulled them both, end of problem!

 

On the same street is a huge teddy bear that opens its arms wide when I approach and closes them in a hug. Always makes me smile.

Then there are the "back-deck window visits" we get from our daughter Christine and family. We look at each other through the window and use our phones to communicate. They brought Hardy (who came home after three days in hospital) one of his favorite meals which he and grandson Ben often enjoy when they go out together.

When I think back to that first Christmas in Bethlehem, it seems that this year Christmas is much more like that first one. Confined to a small space, with the animals crowding around, a bed of hay for a cradle, far away from home and loved ones -- that was not the ideal way to celebrate a baby's birth. But then there were the shepherds and the angels and later the wise men with their gifts.

In the midst of uncertainty and confusion, may you experience some extra special blessings this Christmas season!