Tuesday, September 30, 2014

My Love, Happy 25th

Madison, Wisconsin, the old Wisconsin Lutheran Chapel on Gillman St.: across the street from Peace Park--where all the druggies hung out; just down from Rocky Rococo's Pizza--where they would go when they got the munchies; and the Nar Bar--where they would hold Grateful Dead bootleg recording night on Thursday evenings.

It was Harvest Fest on this day in Madison, Sept. 30th, 1989. (google it yourself) And the parade from the Memorial Library Mall at one end of State St to the Capitol Building nearly prevented some of our guests from getting across the street to the wedding service.

But here's what was going on in the Chapel!

Ladies: Lisa, Naomi, Beth, Kristi, Lisa, Elaine, Ann, Kathy
Gents: Jeremy, Jeff, Ernie, Alex, Tim, Gary, Ben, Duane

Beth, Ann, Kathy, Mary, Elaine, Lisa, Kristi

Mary's Folks: Joan and John
My Folks: Bergetta and Jerry

Kathy, Jeremy, Pr. Trapp

Matron of Honor: Kathy, Best Man: Jeremy

Our good friend Beth passed away from cancer last month. Mary's dad, John, died this past January. My brother, Jeremy, died 11 years ago. We are grateful for God's providential grace through these our loved ones and for His saving grace in Christ to them. We pray that God would keep all those who shared that day with us in faith in Jesus Christ. And thank you for sharing it with us.

We are happy to report that it seems to have worked out quite well.

Monday, May 12, 2014

Fridge is clean: A Reprise

To celebrate today's fridge cleaning I am reposting an entry on this same topic from seven years ago:

The Bowl in the Back of the Fridge

There are some ancient horrors waiting to trap the unwary. In the cold of mid-winter the ancients would use the light of the sun with industry and sit next to their fires to fend off the demons of frost and dark. They faced fierce fang and claw, antler and hoof, placing meat before their families-keeping them warm and safe.

The dark did not change. The cold did not change. But as laziness is the mother of invention, our forebears looked for an easier way.

Electricity could make light without the smoke of oil, and without the danger of fire. Electricity could heat without the work of chopping wood or hauling coal.

Refrigeration meant that one could hunt one day and not have to throw away the meat that didn't cure well or get canned. Fruits of summer could be kept frozen for winter. Even daily food could be over prepared and saved for the next several days.

Less work, fewer fears.

Except the bowl in the back of the fridge.

It lies in the dark most of the time, out of sight, lost in forgetfulness. Only when the door is opened does the light shine and the vague recollection of conscience push at our awareness. Ofttimes the mind puts on an active burst after the head is on the pillow for night but before sleep.

A remembrance of the bowl. A promise to get to it in the morning.

But those last fleeting moments from where all the good, true, and noble ideas spring are lost in the forgetfulness of sleep.

Everyone has to face this fear of a new generation: a generation with electricity and refrigeration; a fear unknown to the farmers and hunters who lived off the land by the sweat of their brow. The fear that has no real name, but is known by its container, and its location:

The bowl in the back of the fridge.

It is a testament to our age. It is a vile smell to a conscience that should be more sensitive. It is the grotesque reminder of a gift wasted. It is the onerous and primal duty of the head of the house to clean:

The bowl in the back of the fridge.

But you know, sometimes they can be quite pretty.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Egg factory and the Visitor

We  didn't get to decorating eggs this year until Easter itself. It is a bit of a production in our house.
 Our set up consists of two tables. One for coloring. We used hard boiled eggs, food coloring, paper towel, spoons, and crayon. The kids can color the eggs with crayon for a wax resist. This can be left as the color of the crayon or melted off later to leave the color beneath.
 Then there is the finishing table. Here the eggs dry between colorings, after coloring, or are decorated with crayon-either for color or wax resist.

The hardest thing was keeping the little ones from grabbing eggs which weren't quite dry an dropping them into the next color.  Wet eggs throw the dye batch in the cup off more quickly.
 In the middle of egg coloring I heard a noise in the garage. He was banging on the window trying to get away.
 I captured him gently and brought him in to show the kids. Of course, some had different reactions from others:
 But all in all they were pretty excited to see and pet the little guy.
 Inge wanted me to put it in a cage so we could keep him.