home economics

The state of the economy has been hard on a lot of us here lately. If you’re not in the U.S., it’s hard to describe what a dramatic change it has been compared to a year ago. Not a week seems to go by without someone in our church announcing they’ve been laid off. Foreclosure and For Sale signs dot the neighborhood, and we’ve had people come by the house looking for work. People are taking the contents of their house outside to sell in “garage sales” that are really desperate attempts to come up with a mortgage payment in time, or selling their wedding rings on company bulletin boards. We’ve been somewhat personally affected as well – we’ve lost tens of thousands in equity in our home (just about everyone has), and it’s been hard to keep a full piano studio, lessons being a luxury that not as many can now afford. I managed to dodge a round of layoffs recently, but not all my colleagues did. The cost of food, gasoline, health care premiums and heat are up dramatically, far beyond yearly wage increases, and unemployment is at a thirty-year high. We are getting by, but times are lean for almost everyone we know.

That said, I’ve been thinking lately about some of the good things that come out of times like these, at least for the ones like us who are still managing to get by. If nothing else, lean times teach good habits, and they also force people to take advantage of collective resources. We’ve actually had a wonderful summer. The libraries and farmer’s markets are bustling. Neighborhood festivals and campgrounds are the place to be this year (though we do have grandma to thank for the pony ride).

Less people going out of town meant more people out and about in the neighborhood, attending National Night out parties in record numbers and chatting over fences. I no longer feel like an eccentric puttering in my vegetable garden, because everyone seems to be giving it a shot this year, trying to offset skyrocketing food prices. Even chicken permits are exploding.

Picking pound after pound of delicious homegrown vegetables feels like being showered in abundance amidst scarcity.

This summer, we saw no big-screen movies. Like many people, we are driving less and using public transportation more. We didn’t hire babysitters –instead we swapped childcare with friends from church and in the process, got to know the other families with young kids much better. We didn’t go to many restaurants, but we had many lovely picnics and dinners with friends.

We didn’t go to the water parks, but we took full advantage of the parks and kiddie pools we pay for with our tax dollars.

I can’t imagine having enjoyed the past few months more if we’d done things differently – I really can’t. The neighborhood has never felt more like a community.

There are, of course, many people in America who are not getting by, who are making up the increasing amounts of request for assistance coming through my desk at work, who are losing houses, and going bankrupt, or homeless, or sitting on a street corner with a sign, asking for help from a stranger. Homeless shelters are overflowing, aid and jobs are scarce to non-existent, and times are truly desperate for a lot of people. I see it everywhere I go, and we don’t have much of a safety net in this country. We tend to rely on charitable programs to do that in America, but of course, giving is down in this economy too.

What it comes down to, is that I feel oddly fortunate – fortunate to be able to hone habits that will serve us through lean times and not, but also fortunate not to be among those who are losing homes and dreams and any kind of security. It’s an odd feeling – both sad and hopeful. I’m not sad about the fact that my local thrift store shelves are picked clean –it means that Americans are finally starting to get real about consumerism and its true cost, even some of the ones who have other options. I’m not sad about the fact that the buses and light rail cars are packed – these are habits we must embrace if we are to be realistic about the future. Those high energy costs aren't going anywhere. I'm certainly not sad about the fact that the libraries and parks are full of people enjoying what they have to offer.

But I look down the street at the For Sale signs, and wonder what will happen for the family behind those doors. I wonder what will happen to my city’s tax base, to the schools my kids will attend in a few years, to the people whose unemployment finally runs out. I wonder what will happen when too many people’s credit card bills finally overwhelm their incomes in a formula that applies to many of America’s households and spells a recipe for ruin. I wonder how much longer our country can run on empty, on credit, on deficit spending, on waning reserves of oil. Our own finances are being put more or less in order, but ultimately, we are all in the same boat, even beyond our nation's borders.

Zo*e and family over for dinner

The ladies are a big attraction among the little kids we know, and Zo*e liked them just fine. As you can see, we are experiencing quite a drought.




Ollie is always good for a hug from or for a relative.



Zo*e takes a gander at Mabel the Cochin hen.

calling all quilters (and not for weak coffee, seam-ripping, or pinning parties either)

or

I know a lot of quilters, mostly family and friends from J's side. I've even been known to make a quilt or two myself, though it takes me simply forever to complete one. For me, quilting is a lot like gardening is for all those people who tell me, "I try to be a gardener. I love gardens. I love how they look, it seems like such a great idea, but everything always dies or gets covered in weeds, and I give up." I love quilts. I love the finished product of a quilt, the pride in having made it, the memory of all that effort every time I slip underneath it before bed.

Yet, I can never get myself to break out the sewing machine and quilt all by my lonesome. I've enjoyed the quilt retreats I've been to, but during this busy, cacophonous season of life, I'm more drawn to take a weekend or two a year for some silent retreat. Quilt retreats are anything but silent, but alone, quilting feels like recreating a sweatshop of one, cutting fabric into tiny bits only to sew them together again. I'd just much rather be knee deep in compost and mulch than bent over a machine going chg-chg-chg-chg-chg every time my foot hits the peddle. I can't lose myself in it the way I can lose myself in planting and tending. Besides, there's not time for both, after all, and don't bring up winter: there's always reading at least a book or two a week, writing, seed-starting, garden-related researching, and that bothersome housework problem. My mother-in-law, doubtless quoting someone else, puts it this way: "To each her own, said the lady to her pet cow." Replace cow with chicken, and you've got me pegged, I suppose.

So I hope I've made it clear here that I love quilts (and quilters), just not so much with the quilting. But for you quilters I love, I have a request of you. I saw the following information in our church bulleting last week, and I realized that I have found the perfect orphanage for all the quilt scraps I have somehow accumulated despite my less than prolific foray into the world of quilting.

I know that you, dear quilters, have far outdone me in this. I have heard stories of entire rooms, basement, and closest being lost to quilt scraps. A TV news expose could probably be done on the subject. Yes, I'm talking about you.

So my request is this: find those scraps that you'd be willing to part with, and get them to me by mid-October so that they can be used to fund word relief.

Think A. fill my closet or B. fund world relief.

(And while you're at it- put November 8 on your calendar if you live in the area and want to see some gorgeous quilts, eat good food, and support a great cause: to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and house the homeless.)

Thank you in advance. I will be waiting patiently. I expect scraps, people.

More info below:

CLEAN OUT YOUR CLOSETS FOR WORLD RELIEF! We request quilt related items - the used/unused, unfinished things no longer needed in your quilt or linen closet. These items will help to stock a Quilter's Corner at the November 8th Festival & Sale for World Relief, sponsored by area Mennonite Churches and the Twin Cities MCC Relief Sale. Some suggestions are:

• finished/unfinished tops, blocks, etc
• old or damaged quilts
• quilt frames, supplies/tools
• quilt books, magazines
• quilt patterns - new or old, stencils, piecing and quilting
• buttons
• fabric - cotton, flannel, wool, denim (cut into blocks), crazy quilt materials -(please limit to quilt quality fabrics)

Please e-mail me minkesundsethATgmailDOTcom if you think you can help (address written in such a way to prevent spam - replace the AT and DOT with @ and .) Proceeds from the sale will go toward world relief through MCC. More information about this November 8 event can be found at www.tcmccreliefsale.org

mechanics

O has always been rather mechanically inclined and focused. At a year, that meant an obsession with keys and locks. At 2, he became infatuated with gears, and the pipes in our house, and motors. When he turned three, his favorite book—he even slept with it sometimes—was the Reader’s Digest Guide to Home Improvement., especially the whole house layout of how all the pipes fit together. He will gladly spend an hour or so inspecting the inside of the toilet tank, (something I’ve had to make very clear is a supervised activity only), and will do anything for a peek under our hood.

A month ago, I took both boys to the grocery store, and it was O’s turn to take the little kid-sized cart around and N’s turn to ride in the big cart. I lost O for a second, and turn back one aisle to find him sitting in the middle of the aisle, inspecting the upside-down cart to see how it was put together. He couldn’t figure out how the wheels turned every which way and the cart still went straight. Just this afternoon, he woke before his brother, and looking at me conspiratorially, asked to go look at the pipes and ducts in the basement. We examined the water heater, the furnace, the laundry machines, and all the pipes and ducts. We looked at the “special box only for Grandpa” (the electric box). Hog heaven for this boy. Later, I pulled out a cooler and told him I was going to put ice in it to keep our food cold for our camping trip this weekend. He said, “But I thought the freezer keeps the ice cold. You are saying the ice keeps the cooler cold! That will not work, that’s what I think.” Lest you think this boy is destined to become an engineer of some sort, I should add that his interest in how things work extend to the natural world as well. He wants to know about the bugs and the plants and the birds too. And the bees. And plumbing. Do you get where this is going?

Right now, with amazing regularity, O thinks the time to lay a big question on me is between bedtime story number two and three. “How did I get in there, mama?” he asks – jabbing his chubby little hand at my stomach. The first time he asked, I just told him he grew from something so small you couldn’t even see it, and focused on how big he grew. The next evening, he repeated the question, this time with a hint of irritation. Ah, well, umm. I explained a bit more of the basic mechanics, trying to keep it simple.

Both boys are also in the common three-year-old phrase of asking absolutely constant “why” questions, and also asking the same question overandoverandover again. It is maddening sometimes, and exhausting. O’s questions seem to be pretty nuts-and-bolts, while N’s are often more about rules, or emotions, or things of a spiritual nature. Regardless, when they are together they talk over each other until my head spins, and then both get upset at not being heard. I can handle that—I know it’s healthy and normal to be full of questions at this age, and a lot of the time, I love to hear what they come up with. I can even do a pretty good deadpan off-the-cuff explanation of how babies are made if pressed. What I have a little more trouble with is O asking me about the finer points of human reproduction while in the checkout line at Target, wanting to know if human organs fit together like puzzle pieces.

But learn he will, if his persistent and inquisitive little mind seems to need to, at least the basics, and framed within our family’s value system. Hopefully, he will learn those things along with learning a little bit about what we do and do not discuss with cashiers at the store. I’m a little surprised that it came up this early, but we can roll with it. Incidentally, I was seven when I knew as much about the birds and the bees as my boys now do (how you ever pulled that off, I’ll never know, mom and dad). My brother was exactly 3 years, ten months, and ten minutes younger, because I explained my new knowledge to him in detail at the very first opportunity. I wasn’t going to keep that to myself. Apparently, O isn’t either, and if there would ever have been a reason I’d put off talking about sex with my kids, it would have been that, at least in retrospect.

Tonight, I finished story number two (another George and Martha story), and wondered if I was in for another big question. Would he ask if we all have to die, or why he can’t see God? Would he wonder why we don’t eat horses and dogs, but we do eat cows, chickens, and pigs? Nope. He jabbed his little hand at my stomach again, and said, “How did I get out of there, then?”

summertime in the city

Our 2 little characters have been busy, busy, full of bug bites and scraped knees, sweat and dirt. We've had a nice stretch of gorgeous weather, and have been eating out of the garden, splashing in pools of all shapes and sizes, and generally enjoying all summer has to offer. I think I will always remember this summer as the summer the boys discovered that being a twin is really pretty awesome. They are best buddies, almost always together, and they'd be the first to tell you they like it that way. Their parents don't mind it either, because they play together for long stretches, amusing us with their games.


(Mama's t-shirts to bed is a big treat)


N is a diligent bean-snapper.



I won't say the name of O's game here, but you can probably guess.



Raspberries are plentiful this year after an inch of chicken compost last spring.








The white chicken above turned out to be a rooster. When we brought him back to trade him for hen, the guy working at the feed store called to his co-worker to come help us by yelling, "Steve! Gussie's a Gus!"


Hanging out with the church kids - we've been seeing a lot of them outside of church this summer.


The Farmer's Market playground (and the "twin slide"),






There are some very interesting cars at the Farmer's Market. There are a group of people who hang out there every Saturday morning and, umm, do things to their cars. Sometimes N or O will pick up a random object in the house and ask if we can glue it to our car.



The music is also always a hit.


As is a picnic with Auntie J*en and Zo*e.


And wasn't it nice of these men to come and bring all their equipment and chop down a tree for our amusement? (Actually it was due to Dutch Elm disease, which is taking down all the gorgeous elm trees one by one). The tree had been marked with a orange "N", and when N asked what it meant, I told him I didn't know. He thought about it for a bit, and then said, "N, for no more tree."




This beautiful garden belongs to Grandma Ka*thy. She's gone for her and Grandpa's annual trip to the Oregon Coast, so we've been watering (and playing) there.




This is her new boulevard garden. Who needs all that grass when you can have flowers?







Every year, grandma laments that while she's thrilled to be going to Oregon, she always misses seeing her Stargazer lilies in bloom. Well, grandma, here's what you're missing:


We miss both sets of grandparents!

superman

Mostly, we've resisted the licensed characters that are on everything from toothbrushes to diapers to clothing around here. It bugs me to send my kids out in clothing that is essentially hawking a product and actually paying for the privilege. I don’t quite know how to explain it, but seeing O put on the cape we got from a friend and then the costumes to go with it, it was different somehow. O just loves costumes, and he loves the idea of superpowers and men that fly, and all the parts of the story I’ve dared share with him. I think he thinks of Superman as some sort of powerful do-gooder, there to save the day through kindness and superior abilities. “I saved you from the water!” he says. “I just flew right in and did that – you almost drowned!” Today he said, “There’s a kitty in that tree! Don’t call the fire truck – I’ll fly up and get it down!” Being more shy than N, O is so often in the shadow of his exuberant and socially confident brother, but with his cape on, he has just a little more spring in his step, a little more confidence. He appreciates the extra attention he gets, and he’s quick to add that he can fly when people greet him as “Superman”.

We have Superman costumes in both 3T and size S, and today, both boys put them on—one costume too small and the other too big—and we went around the block on their scooters.

N was mostly disinterested after the initial excitement about matching. He was more busy exclaiming over the wonders of balloon flowers and counting all the green tomatoes. N loves stories of all kinds, but for some reason the costumes aren't as compelling to him.

It took us quite a while just to get out of the yard, and it was a nice surprise when grandma caught up with us.

O was in his glory, scooting along faster than he ever has before. He told me before bed that night that he’s Superman even in his pj’s, because he can fly in his dreams.

Just don’t call him Superboy. He doesn’t like that one bit.

update

The Holland pictures are here. I've been working on that post for a while, and Blogger won't let me change its position in the queue for some reason. I do finally have a decent internet connection and a working camera at the same time, so pictures should be more forthcoming now.