Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

Sometimes lunch is a quickie with leftovers from my fridge before I resume the projects on hand, but that wasn't the case last week. Not only were all the foods different, they were also at different places.

On Monday I settled in my little greenhouse to eat a salad while the sunshine nudged temps to record-breaking highs. Chloe Pup looked on but my husband was at a meeting.

On Tuesday I sat at my usual place with my husband and six of our grandchildren joining me. On the menu were shredded, fried potatoes and broiled sausages to eat with ketchup. Broccoli with cheese was a favorite dish and they all had some salad before they polished up some last pieces of pie and cake. Everyone liked the fruit salad left over from Sunday's feast.

On Wednesday I ate at my sister-in-law's house along Pulpit Road. Besides tasting all the goodies at the covered dish buffet, we quilted and chatted. We finished the quilt even as we walked way down memory's lane. In the afternoon, it was the quietest quilting ever, because every one listened to the one person who was speaking. As they took turns to tell of memories of how and why they came to marry the person they did, the sound level was high sometimes, with many feminine exclamations, depending on the memory shared.

On Thursday I ate in Maryland. At granddaughter Cassidy's school, we met up with the rest of her family who brought hot lunch for everyone. To celebrate her 10th birthday, her mother made a beautiful cake. It was delicious, as was the lasagna and everything else she brought. After a satisfying time together, our driver brought us safely back home, over the fog-covered mountain, to the Cove. In the evening, I realized that I had talked in person with each of our five children in one day, but it wasn't until I was kneeling by my bed to conclude my day with God that it dawned on me that I had also interacted with all 15 grandchildren and held in my arms the five youngest. So blessed and so sleepy.

On Friday I ate at my nephew's house along Replogle Road. To celebrate her mother-in-law's 50th birthday, his wife had opened her home to extended family on both sides. With help from her two sisters-in-law, we were honored to share in a fabulous tea party. Delicious and pretty foods blended with china dishes and flowers. The napkins were pink and lavender and the teacups were dainty. All of the grandchildren of the birthday girl were present.

On Saturday I ate at home with my husband and son. The food was pizza and conversation was about President Trump and other leaders of our country.

I always think it's interesting where conversations go. At my nephew's house on Friday the conversation drifted to the essay printed in the Feb. 6 edition of the Morrisons Cove Herald. I was impressed by Heather Brumbaugh's writing, not because of how well she described her family's traumatic year, but how she ended her story with God. His guidance was there for her family. His presence and loving care was with them. And then she ended by being thankful how God brought them through their trial. I was much older than age 13 before I began to recognize God in trials and thank Him for being with me through it. At age 13, God was often completely missing from my writings.

I don't know her or her family, so I can only surmise that she was influenced by her pappy Don. To the horse and buggy Mennonites he is known as a gracious, unselfish gentleman.