Domestic Goddess I Am Not...

but a girl can keep trying!  So Saturday, we spent the day doing a top-to-bottom cleaning of the house.  I won't say it was a deep clean, because we had to get it done all in one day, and I always seem to miss a spot somewhere.  (This time it was the window sills.  Yipes!)   So anyway, yesterday afternoon, my domestic streak continued.  The only 'pile' left after all our cleaning was a Giant One of clothes that needed mending/hemming/otherwise adjusting.

Now, I have been taught to sew by my dear Momma.  She sewed a great many of my childhood clothes, my favourites being some of the fancy dresses for Easter and Christmas.  Oh, but then there was the Little Red Riding Hood costume that I wore for Halloween about four years in a row.  Or the Christmas plaid dress with crisp white pinafore, and matching outfit for my Cabbage Patch.  Or the prom dress that made me feel like a princess.  Momma is a gifted seamstress.  

This does not mean, however, that I have made the most of her faithful teaching.  I have sewn, in my lifetime, exactly four projects, and all of them with Momma at hand to remind me how to thread the machine and to help me with the pattern cutting and fabric choosing:

1. A pair of shorts in Sewing for Kids class in the community education programme when I was about 8.  They were pink, with white teddy bears on them.  I don't know if I ever wore them.
   
2. A few pairs of curtains for our first house.  They were blue and red plaid for the living room, yellow prairie print for the bathroom, and blue and yellowish plaid for the bedroom (if I remember correctly).  Can anyone say "Country!"  Thankfully, my tastes have evolved (though I still seem to have some plaid chair cushions at the moment, but we'll ignore that since I'm living in England on a student budget and have to take whatever I can get at the cheapest cost!).
   
3. Little Man's nursery set, with major contributions from Momma.  We made matching curtains, bed linens for the crib, pillows, and even a changing table pad cover!  In the sweetest little retro cowboy print you could ever find!
   
4. An unfinished quilt, which Momma and I cut the squares for, and then laid out on the floor and began to sew together in looooooong strips (in her defense, this was before Momma became the quilt mistress that she is today).  We have since ripped the seams from those long strips and pieced them into more sensible 9-blocks.  But they still aren't joined into an actual quilt.

Given this less-than-stellar sewing career, I have been too intimidated to break out the borrowed sewing machine on my own.  It has sat in my dining room for months, while The Pile of mending grew and grew and grew.  I bought a dress in June that would have been perfect for summer, but it needed one little tweak before it was presentable.  I'm wearing it today for the first time because it sat in The Pile all summer long.  Little Man is down to one pair of school uniform trousers that fit him - six other pairs inhabited The Pile, waiting to be hemmed.  The last pair was in the laundry and not going to be ready for school today, so I finally broke down and faced my fears.

I set up the machine, got out all my sewing 'gear', and took a quick browse through the machine's owner's manual to be sure I remembered how to thread the machine and bobbin.  Over the course of Sunday late afternoon and evening, I worked my way through The Whole Pile (almost).  In the process, I broke and replaced the needle, took the machine apart a couple of times and put it back together successfully, and even taught myself a new stitch, the blind hem stitch!  And all without one, single phone call to Momma!!!!  :)

There are still three more pairs of Little Man's trousers in The Pile, but I think we'll just let him grow into them, as we don't really need that many pairs in rotation.  A beastly stack of drapes still needs hemming, but they are lined and I didn't have the strength to face them at 10:30 last night.  Same with Big Man's work trousers, which need 12 buttons sewn on so he can start using braces (suspenders).  TWELVE buttons.  Big Man might have to do them himself.  :)

Nevertheless I am beaming with pride.  I conquered my fear!  I faced The Machine all by myself, and worked it into submission.  I own that machine.  Except it's borrowed, but you know what I mean.  :)

Hot Cocoa Bliss

So, I've had a couple requests for the hot cocoa recipe I blogged about.  It's really very, very simple.  I'll post it here for your use.  I've no idea of its origin, and I will not vouch for its nutritional value.  But it sure is goooo-oood!  The ingredients are in U.S. measurements, but online measurement converters abound.

Momma's Hot Cocoa (ala Charlotte Coleson)

• 1 32-oz. box hot chocolate mix (e.g. Nestlé’s Quick)
• 1 lb. confectioner’s sugar
• 10 2/3 c. powdered milk (enough for 8 qts.)

Sift all ingredients into a LARGE bowl, then stir together (slowly to avoid choking on dust!).  Stored in an airtight container, this will last for months.

To enjoy: add ¼ c. mix to mug; mix with 8-10 oz. boiling water.

Meant to Be

In a previous post, I mentioned that I was meant to have started my rotation of library shifts last Monday night.  But I didn't share why that didn't happen.  It's been a ca-raaaaa-zy week since then, and sitting in the British Airways Business Lounge  at Heathrow, as I am now (more on that in an upcoming post), I'm taking the chance to catch up.

Last Monday night, I'd been home from work for about half an hour, when Boss Man called me.  He is very, very good in this regard, and even though being the college chaplain sometimes means I am sort of 'on call', Boss Man is extremely protective of my time and my 'off-time'.  That is, he doesn't call me at home except in dire emergencies.  Which this turned out to be.

We all meet strangers every day.  Sometimes, like my last 24 hours of hoofing it through four airports, we intersect with thousands of them in a single day.  But rarely do those strangers break down in tears, collapse in our arms, eat at our table, pray with us, and then go on their way.  This time, she did.

Ruth arrived at the college to stay a couple of nights while she did some literary research in the Manchester area.  When Ruth arrived on campus, she found a message waiting to call home  immediately, only to be told that her husband had been killed when his small private jet crashed.  Enter the phone call from Boss Man.

I went back to college to be with Ruth, whom I'd never met before.   I accompanied her to the airport to change her flights so she could get home ASAP.  Then we went back to college to call her son with flight info.  Then I took her to my house, for some dinner and talking and internet access.

It's amazing to me how much strangers can learn of each others' stories in the crucible of crisis.  In the space of a mere 5 hours, we learned about each others' marriages, careers, ministry experiences, children, family history and dynamics, etc.  Of course, Ruth did most of the talking, but she did ask me questions about all of that, I think as a way of trying to gauge the initial effects of the tragedy on her own life.

No one reacts to tragic death in the normal way.  That is to say, there is no 'normal' way of reacting to that kind of news.  Thankfully, Dr. Judi Schwanz had done a phenomenal job of preparing me for this in my seminary's Counselling for Grief and Loss class.  As a result of her good teaching, I was able to be with Ruth in those hours, in what I hope were helpful ways, without feeling I had to be responsible for directing her grief into 'healthy' avenues.  Ruth was mad, and that was ok.

That evening last week was just one of a litany of occurrences since I became a chaplain wherein I was conscious of my own inadequacy, and God's dear abundance.  I don't know for sure if Ruth even remembers my name.  She is now in the throws of picking up the pieces of her life after his death.  But I will always remember Ruth, and give thanks for the privilege of walking with her for a few hours.

I was 'meant to be' in the library that night, but didn't make it.  Ruth's husband did not die because it was 'meant to be.'  But I, and she, and you were 'meant to be' companioned by God, and He was with us on Monday.

Grace and peace.