And in the Future? - Lyn Kublick

My habitat is History. If you have visited my Pack Rat Papers bog you are aware that I tend to dwell in the past. My novels are historical and my mind, like my home, tends to be cluttered with bits and pieces from former times.

I enjoy comparing life a century, or so, ago with the world we live in now. It is thrilling to view the way God has provided people with the ability to design and produce previously "impossible" objects and machines.

He is God the Creator and man was made in His image thereby being endowed with a need to invent. This need to bring something from nothing takes many forms. As this is a writers blog, those who contribute here have a passion to use words, with the Lord's guidance, in ways that bless others. Inventors may "see" new and useful machines which they strive to perfect. Teachers use a multitude of ingenious methods to instruct their student.

The pictures in this post were taken in 1912. That is less than 100 years ago and it is easy to see the strides that have been made in the field of aviation since that time. The spectators at the July 4th celebration in Alturas California must have been as thrilled to watch W. B. Cook circle over their heads as we would be to view a performance by the Snow Birds. In fact they were probably more thrilled because so few of them had the opportunity to experience flight for themselves.

These pictures are on two postcards sent to my grandmother by my father and his oldest brother. They were young men sixteen and twenty-six years old. It is obvious that they were impressed by this demonstration and decided to share it with their mother.

It is to be hoped that we will never lose the ability to be impressed, excited and fascinated with things in the world around us. I am often saddend to hear children and young people say, "I'm bored!" Their search for stimulation is constant and too often a sense of wonder is sacrificed. We have all been born with a sense of wonder. Let's keep it alive.

Is It Really the Thought That Counts? – Bruce Atchison

We're taught from childhood that it's not the size of the gift but the charity behind it that matters. This is true in theory but it isn't always practiced in the real world. People tend to judge by the size and value of the gift, even if they're too polite to say so.

When I attended Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind, I only received fifty cents a week for my allowance. This made gift giving difficult because, even in 1968, that amount of money couldn't buy much. From Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), here is how I solved this dilemma.

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When December eventually arrived, Mrs. Rogers introduced us to the class Christmas present concept. Each student took a slip of paper from a box and gave a gift to whoever's name was written on it. I drew Steve's name. What good present could I, with only fifty cents a week, buy for him? Having to give gifts seemed degrading to me.

On one trip to the toy store, I spotted a pocket knife. It was affordable and was an item Steve might appreciate. After paying for it, I realized that the present would look very unimpressive, even wrapped up nicely. Then I had a brilliant idea. I searched the classroom for paper to wrap the knife in. After making a suitably large ball, I placed it on a sheet of Christmas wrap and sealed it with tape.

At the end of one class, Mrs. Rogers distributed the gifts. I watched as Steve removed the colourful wrapping, only to find grey paper underneath. He removed that layer and found white paper towels.

After a few minutes of unwrapping the present, Steve triumphantly held up the penknife. His desk was completely covered in litter. "Thanks for the knife. Thanks for all the paper too," he joked. I felt relieved that Steve appreciated what I gave him, even if it did seem puny.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief.
 
Click here to read more about this book and to order it.

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November Visits with the Cousins - Karen Toews

For several years my sister's family and ours would get together for the November 11th remembrance weekend. Of her two boys and my daughter and son, two are very close in age, and one each being older and younger. Our family would most often make the 10-plus hour drive: from our Alberta home to theirs, in north-eastern British Columbia. Invariably, it would be the coldest weekend of the winter: bitterly cold, with or without snow. And often, we'd have to navigate icy roads either coming or going.

Our school system would often add an extra day off to make the break a 4-day stretch. Considering the time spent traveling, that would usually leave only two full days together. The kids crammed every minute full of games, watching movies, eating, laughing, reading crazy comics. The day we arrival, the two cousins would be watching for our car to drive up: pouncing on each other, hugging hellos, not skipping a beat from the last time they saw each other - which was often weeks, even months earlier.

My sister and family lived in a trailer for a few years. I don't remember its square footage (not huge, not a double-width) but we all had comfy places to sleep - and it had a hallway that was perfect for playing hockey. A spot for a goalie on either end, leaving two forwards to make the plays. More pouncing, cheering, with occasional balls the goalie missed flying into the living room. So much fun, beet-red faces, shirts being stripped off regardless of the outdoor temperatures. Such great memories of hockey in the hall. No Zamboni was on site but there must have been repairs and maintenance necessary after the players shook hands and half of them left for home.

All that action called for copious amounts of good food. Big pots of hamburger soup, mashed potatoes and roasted chicken, grown and raised down the road at the in-laws. Nobody can bake buns like my sister and she'd always have a huge batch of homemade poppycock in a Tupperware tub tucked in the cupboard. To add to the mix, friends of my sister and husband would often drop by, which was sure to add a couple more kids to the melee.

The fun wasn't restricted only to the kids, but we four adults didn't need near as much action to enjoy each others company. Going out for coffee, the whole gang playing walleyball, me watching my sister knit and thinking I might try the same, taking drives to enjoy the vast views, watching videos. To be honest, I don't remember attending any remembrance day services; I guess we were often traveling and perhaps more accurately, those were the years when for whatever reason, at least where we were, attendance waned at those services. In our defense, I think it would be correct to say that since then, our activities on remembrance day have often been shared with honoring those who've fought and died for our country.

Our tradition of getting together also waned as the kids got older and life changed, as happens for all of us. The day came (and lasted for a few years) when my sister and I ended up living in the same community - and the pleasure was ours to get together whenever we wanted - with and without the kids.

Those four kids, all parents with their own children, are so scattered across the continent that the siblings rarely get together, and it's almost never for the cousins. That adds to the reason why memories of our remembrance day visits are especially fond and the telling of these stories so important.

(photo credits - my sister)

http://www.toewsontherun.com

Motorcycle Mama by Lynda Schultz

In my book of remembrances the exploits of Leola shine through. She's gone now, safe in the embrace of the Heavenly Father she loved and served so well.

Leola lived with her husband, two children, and elderly mother-in-law on a small vegetable farm about 60 km outside of Timmins, Ontario. They faithfully came into church every Sunday and after Leola's husband died, she took her life into her hands and learned to drive their old car herself. She worked in our Sunday School until she could work no more. When the car finally gave up the ghost, Leola bought herself a set of leathers and persuaded her son to come out to the farm on his motorcycle and pick her up for Sunday services. By this time she was well past retirement age. Always prim and proper, she'd change from her leathers into a dress and hat when she got to church.

Leola kept working the farm for as long as she could, even after the cancer diagnosis. But she quietly went about other business as well. She prayed through the church directory every day. She wrote regularly and faithfully to every missionary the church supported. During my years overseas it was no surprise to receive care packages from Leola–she was known among the MKs (missionary kids) as the "Kool-Aid" lady. Considering that her resources were very limited, those care packages, and the postage it cost to mail them all over the world, represented a sacrifice.

This amazing little lady also successfully completed a number of correspondence courses by mail from a seminary in Toronto, including several years worth of New Testament Greek. God had blessed her with a first-class mind.

Cancer became her shadow but she never allowed it to rule her life. In the letters I received from her she often joked about the various stages of the disease and how they, or their treatment, was affecting her. She would come into town for doctor's appointments, stop off at the church to rest between sessions or to practice Tai Chi in one of the rooms. We'd sometime catch her napping.

My last remembrance of Leola was the corn roast she hosted for the church family at her farm. I was home on Home Assignment that year. Her frailty was obvious, but she continued with her positive spirit though now it was tempered with that faraway longing for "home" in her eyes.

A friend recently told me that Leola, knowing that Lil loved teacups, had given her a beautiful pair edged in gold that she had received as a wedding gift fifty years earlier. Lil visited Leola in the hospital just before she died. Leola was unable to speak by that time. Lil worried about those teacups and wondered if perhaps Leola might have wanted to pass them on to her daughter. When she asked Leola about it, this plucky little woman gave Lil a huge smile and bravely nodded her head. "No" she indicated.

When I think of Leola I think of the widow that Jesus used as an example of faith and generosity in Luke 21. This dear woman gave everything she could to the Lord and he commended her for it. Just as she is remembered for her quiet walk of faith, so some of us remember Leola and endeavor to walk in her footsteps. And for such a little lady she left us big shoes to fill.