On best laid plans, bittersweet memories and The Winter of Soup
Do you observe Advent? A book recommendation.
Do you have time for two months of story telling in one package? I hope so because I’ve missed you, and I’ve got words to share!
First, about November.
When one is a planner, a goal-setter and an eternal optimist, one sets oneself up for disappointment, especially when those plans and goals do not bear fruit. Such was the case for this writer as I stepped into November. My registration for NaNoWriMo was barely official when the previously empty days on my November calendar were suddenly filled with caring for my injured husband and his numerous 3-hour trips for treatment at a clinic.
My mate took a tumble at work some time in October and came home a little sore but unscathed. However, by the end of the month he was beginning to feel the effects of the fall and some previously diagnosed and treated back conditions flared up. The pain and immobility were so intense he missed a week of work. That never happens for my farm-bred “doer” so we knew it was serious. Thanks to various procedures and therapy, he is now able to manage the pain and has returned to work, but we’re continuing those trips to the clinic for treatment and looking at other more invasive options if this persists.
My husband’s need for a nursemaid cut deeply into my planned writing time. To top it off, on our Thanksgiving trip to Tennessee to visit our two youngest sons I picked up a nasty case of COVID. Six days in and I’m finally at the keyboard, but November’s writing plans are out the window.
So, while last month did not bring the writing blitz I had hoped and planned for, it did allow for some interesting research and thoughtful “conversations” with my three female protagonists. I think we’re all finally on the same page, so to speak. Check the novel update below for more details.
Bittersweet November memories
I love Chicago. Though I don’t want to live there, I’ll happily make trips to the Windy City to take in as much of its food, fun and energy as I can fit in a weekend. But, one midnight trip to Chicago five years ago, followed by an unplanned two-week stay, remains a bittersweet memory for our family.
On a wintry evening in mid-November 2018, I found myself overwhelmed by a foreboding sense that something wasn’t going well for our oldest child. A decade of life in Chicago had been both rewarding and challenging for him. I was aware he’d been struggling, but awareness turned to concern when I could not reach him by phone. Finally, his former roommate made the connection and learned that our son was very sick and had been unable to answer. We convinced them to call an ambulance as we jumped in our car to make the 2.5 hour drive to the city.
That flying trip to the emergency room at Swedish Covenant Hospital turned into a two-week stay for our son and a nine-month vigil for me. I slept on a cot in his room those two weeks in the hospital while doctors worked to bring his emaciated body back to health — or as close to health as possible as he fought to untangle himself from a dependency that was killing him. When he was released, we brought him home to the farm, still not knowing what lie ahead, only that we needed to care for him.
The months that followed included more hospital stays, many treatments, multiple medications and a self-designed regimen for healthy eating, counseling and exercise. Slowly, I saw a miracle unfolding before my motherly gaze. We were turning a corner.
“Yesterday we got the outcome we’ve been hoping and praying for: ‘You don’t need us. Go home and live your life.’ The liver specialist couldn’t have been more positive or more encouraging. ‘This is incredible,’ he said. ‘You did this. Not the doctors or the medicine, but you. Your will to recover was and is the most important part of the process. You don’t need a transplant. Maybe someday, maybe never. But not now. Just go home and keep doing what you’re doing.’ I cried and I wanted to hug him. This man in the white coat we’d met only minutes earlier looked like an angel to me…” My journal entry, May 23, 2019
Just weeks before hearing those words from the liver specialist, our son served as a groomsman in his brother’s outdoor wedding at the edge of a pond on our farm. He stood strong next to the other groomsmen.
A year later, our son was back in Chicago, healthier and stronger than he had been in years. He had embraced the doctor’s orders: “Go home and live your life.”
During the weeks our son was in the hospital fighting for his life, I sought solace in a “thin place” on a balcony above the hospital’s registration desk. Sculpted wooden wings were suspended in that space, probably meant to symbolize angels’ wings, but I saw them differently. It was on that balcony that the Lord reminded me of his promise: “…but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” 40:31
One year after recording the doctor’s words in my journal, I was flipping through the pages and came across entries I had written during that bittersweet winter. I read those words again. And then wrote this:
“It’s been a year of anniversaries, memories and gratitude. This entry gives me closure. I’ll never forget the journey, but I will not live the future shackled to the past. I’m releasing worry and fear. Putting them to bed and embracing the words of that white-coated angel: ‘This is incredible!’ I realize now that the doctor’s orders were also for me — ‘go live your life.’ Until that moment, my life looked like it would revolve around caring for our son. It was never doubted that I would do that willingly. But his freedom, his healing are also mine. It’s taken me a year to embrace it.” My journal entry, May 22, 2020
Five years ago, my husband and I ate Thanksgiving dinner at a little taqueria in the Chicago neighborhood where our son had been living. It was the only eatery open on that wintry holiday. We were clearing out his apartment, preparing to bring him back to the farm, not knowing what lie ahead. We still don’t know the future. None of us do. But as for me I resolve again to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop and to embrace the bittersweet memories as they come.
Let’s talk soup
It’s not officially winter yet, but in my house we welcome a good bowl of soup whenever the temperature drops below 40 degrees. The Winter of Soup has begun.
Already we’ve enjoyed a hearty beef stew made in the Instant Pot, a spicy venison chili, a simple lentil soup and a “clean out the fridge” vegetable chicken soup with an Asian zing thanks to the addition of sesame oil, rice vinegar, garlic, lemon juice and ramen noodles. Yum!
Here’s the basic lentil soup recipe from the More-with-Less Cookbook. The book’s subtitle is “suggestions by Mennonites on how to eat better and consume less of the world’s limited food resources.” I live in Amish and Mennonite country and have gifted this tried and true cookbook more times than I can count. This soup took less than 10 minutes to assemble once the lentils had simmered and it was delicious. My husband enjoyed his with bits of ham. The book says this recipe was submitted by Twila Strickler and Alice Lapp of Goshen, Indiana. Thank you, ladies.
Do you observe Advent?
Anticipation can be almost as exciting (and important) as the event itself. Perhaps that is why I love the season of Advent. It’s a call to reflective preparation for Christ's Nativity at Christmas and his expected Second Coming. A wonderful way to journey through Advent is in daily reading of the 24 chapters of the gospel of Luke. I always add a book that expands my reflection on the season. This year it’s A Radiant Birth: Advent Readings for a Bright Season. This beautiful hardcover book is a collection of seasonal religious writings by some of my favorite authors: Richard Foster, Lauren Winner, Philip Yancey, Eugene Peterson, Luci Shaw, Madeleine L’Engle and more. It’s edited by Leslie Leyland Fields and Paul Willis. The readings take you from the first Sunday after Thanksgiving to thru the 12 days after Christmas and Epiphany. It’s not too late to begin! (P.S. I’ve linked you to Bookshop.org because that’s where all the indy book retailers can be reached. Shop “local.”)
About that novel…
As mentioned above, NaNoWriMo just did not happen for me in the way I had hoped. However, I did write as I was able and spent quite a bit of time researching Indiana’s racist history. A few years ago, a good friend (and former history teacher) loaned me her copy of Our Town: A Heartland Lynching, a Haunted Town, and the Hidden History of White America by Cynthia Carr. We’ve agreed it’s on permanent loan and it’s provided me with an excellent documentation of Klu Klux Klan activity in Indiana during the early 20th century.
My novel begins and ends in Mooresville, Indiana, a small community outside of Indianapolis. Without giving too much away, I can tell you that my heroine is impacted by her father’s Klan involvement in the 1920s.
The author of Our Town has done extensive research on Indiana’s Klan history because of her grandfather’s involvement. She writes: “In Indiana the Klan had its brief golden age from about 1922 to 1925. The Hoosier State initiated more members than any other. Only in Indiana did the Kluxers charter a klavern (a local branch of the Klan) in every single county. By 1924, Klansmen were literally running the state.” She goes on to say that the Klan had taken over the Republican Party and had elected “the governor, a majority of the state legislature, the mayor of Indianapolis and numerous other mayors, sheriffs, prosecutors and school boards.”
The Klan’s influence was deep and wide. In my story, a Scandinavian immigrant farmer/preacher gets caught up in the activity and his actions set in motion a story that will impact generations.
By the way, my novel now has a working title: Live the Promise.