Tag: Gratitude

Post Thanks

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 © jb katke

Our Thanksgiving holiday is over. May my thankfulness not discontinue. Even though things went askew from expectation.

I have dubbed the day before Thanksgiving as national pie day. This year was no different, although the kitchen was. Dave and I had made the trek to Michigan to celebrate with our son, Jamie, and his wife, Sara.

Sara’s mom now spends her days in a nursing facility; making her condominium available for us to stay. It has all the comforts of home and makes our visits affordable. We are thankful.

On national pie day I arose early to get started on my task. Jamie had provided beautiful, large MacIntosh apples that I lovingly peeled. In my world it’s the MacIntosh that makes my pie so good, no other apple will do. Don’t even bother if you haven’t got them. With the ingredients all in their place I set it in the oven to bake.

Taking joy in my contribution towards the meal, this apple pie is one of Jamie’s favorites. I was feeling all the fuzzies mothers do when providing  something special for their no longer youngster child. Shortly after I began to smell the lovely aroma. I was thankful to be doing this for him.

Glancing at the oven a couple minutes later I noticed smoke coming up from one of the burners on the stove. That shouldn’t be. The appetizing aroma had turned into an offensive burnt odor. The pie was ruined.

The oven heating element had decided to malfunction, that is not uncommon in an appliance seldom used. The preheat continued heating, not stopping after reaching the temperature I had set. Hence the burnt offering.  I was reduced to purchasing a ready-made pie from the store that lacked any kind of flavor. But life goes on.

Later in the week, I tried putting a load into the washing machine, which in turn, decided to break down. There my clothes sat, with liquid detergent soaking into them, minus the water to dilute. I was able to rescue them by soaking until I was able to use Jamie and Sara’s washer. Ditto for lack of usage, although Jamie had used it not long ago. Still, I felt awful.

By this time, I felt like a jinx to appliances, half afraid to use the garbage disposal that might follow suit with the other appliances. They might be in cahoots with each other, making me look like some kind of mayhem home wrecker

“Just don’t ask to borrow my car Mom.”  Now why would Jamie say that knowing I didn’t need his car? Sometimes, it’s just hard to understand our kids thinking.

Despite the best of plans, sometimes things just don’t turn out the way we want. The good Lord has provided plenty of opportunities for me to roll with the punches. It’s just that I’m a slow learner. I will continue to be thankful for a mind that can be molded and reshaped to fit what the Lord has in mind for me.

Boy Shoes

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Boy shoes

For a little girl this was devastating. I wasn’t aware of having a foot problem.

Mothers notice these things though.  The wear on my shoes indicated fallen arches, prompting mom to take action.

My parents did not have the income for specialty anything.  So they may not have been any happier than I was.

I cannot recall going to a doctor to get his diagnosis or what should be done to correct my feet. Not to say it didn’t happen, my childhood memories are lacking.

I do clearly remember going to the store for corrective shoes. Looking back, I can see myself being a little bouncy. I didn’t get out too much, so even the shoe store was an adventure. It wasn’t a regular shoe store, but one that addresses various foot issues.

I made the salesman quite nervous, as he had one of his own feet in a surgical shoe, nothing like the surgical boots we see today. He feared that I might step on his foot. Not one to disappoint, I did, causing him a great deal of pain. Today I can still see him hobbling around the store moaning. That I can remember.

As our shopping experience continued, I was none too pleased with him either.

Back in the day, shoe stores had a stool with a small ramp. This provided a place for the salesman to sit as he/she tied the new shoe on. A service no longer available today. Before we even got to that point, he decided my foot needed tickling. That was far too personal for a stranger to do and made me wary of putting my other foot up.

Sadly, the shoes brought out for me to try on were all boy shoes. Ugly and black. I emphasize, at that time, I was not fashion conscious. Even then I thought they were fine for boys, but certainly not for a girl.

Today, I’m certain other kids would make an issue over my shoes. Bullying has come to the forefront of awareness in today’s society.

In my childhood though, many families were like mine. Middle class and striving to put food on the table and keep a roof overhead. I’m grateful that no one paid any attention to my shoes. Even in a trivial situation like this, I see God’s providing for a need and His mercy to not be made a spectacle of.

Unfortunately my fallen arches have stayed with me into adulthood. It’s a love, hate situation. There are so many cute shoes to be had and I have to wear something that an insert will fit in. If I go several hours without them, my feet begin to ache, so I’m grateful to have them…darn it!