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When the Torch is Passed

11/14/2018

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This past week I lost the last of my aunts. The last of that generation of women in our family. The small town and farmer’s wives. The seamstresses and canners. The cooks and gardeners. The keepers of the houses of my vacation visits. The mothers of the cousins I ran with and the barely known older cousins. The repositories of memories of my father as a young boy and witnesses to grandparents that I never knew. And as I talked to a family member from my generation they commented that the torch for us women had been passed. We were now the oldest women in our individual family lines. It was up to our generation now. 

So I have been thinking. What exactly does that mean “to pass the torch”? What does it mean to be one of the older women? For my individual family what does this torch look like?  By definition to pass the torch means to take on the responsibilities, traditions and knowledge of another when they are no longer able. As my children are adults, they are responsible for themselves now and in turn for families of their own. Yes, we follow some traditions that are longstanding, but have also bent some for modern circumstances. The world we live in changes so fast that knowledge is outdated in the blink of an eye. So perhaps the concept of this torch, lit long ago, is allowed to change.

So here are some thoughts on my modern torch. I will be responsible not for every member of the family, but I will be the silent backbone. My responsibility is to give advice when asked, help when needed and to be there. I will continue the traditions that work for me, learn and share those that work for others and serve as a reminder that the most important tradition is to be a good person in all circumstances and to remember where your blessings come from. As for knowledge, it is useless unless shared. So ask and I will tell you what I know. I hope this is enough to keep the flame burning. Until the torch is passed again.







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The Update

1/27/2018

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One of the winter projects at our house is updating the powder room. As we look to the future and the time where we sell our now too big house, we realize we have some work to do. What was once a perfectly good decorating decision is now what people strolling through the house at some date in the future will look at with dismay. I watch enough HGTV to have figured that out!

I have the task of stripping off the wallpaper. As I get into ripping  the top layer off, my mind wanders back to the time when the wallpaper was first applied. The kids were all little. This house was an upgrade from the old farmhouse we lived in previously. I was busy working full time and raising a family - where did I ever find the energy? The bright flowery print matched the teal tiles perfectly and was a quick and economical way to brighten up a room that has seen a constant stream of family running in and out. Some of the family faces are the same, although changed with age. Some belong to sons-in-law and grandchildren barely dreamed of when the paper was applied. And some family faces are now absent marking just another phase in the passage of time. 

For just a moment it seems a shame to rip that paper off and change it all. But it isn’t the absence of the paper that makes the change. The changes have already taken place and the powder room is just catching up. Getting ready, as we all should be, for the next phase of life. Getting the update for the next 25 years.
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Following my Aunts

7/11/2017

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This week I spent a morning canning peaches. Small jars of peach preserves and large jars of spiced peaches will be put in the basement to be used during the long days of winter. Home canning is no longer an essential for us. After all we can walk into a grocery store and buy these items anytime (although I would debate the quality of what I do is better!). But I still love to get my large enamel canning pots out, watch the transition of empty Ball jars into full ones and smell the essence of berries, fruits, vegetables and even vinegar as it fills my kitchen. I ask myself, where was this strange outdated obsession born? I think I know.

When I was a child summer vacation time was “up north” visiting my aunts. These ladies of German heritage were consummate canners. They canned ,what seemed to me as a child, endless orderly rows of canned beauty. On shelves in their basements the treasure was stored. And when we visited they would take me, the city girl, by the hand with an amused look on their faces and lead me down the stairs into that magical land of jams and fruits and meats and pickles. “Pick out anything you want to eat today” were the magical words I waited to hear. And I loved it. Maybe cherries? What could my aunt do with a jar of that chicken and how did she get it in the jar anyway? A crunchy jar of pickles? Oh I had such fun. I’m sure they had no idea that their small act of kindness to a child would plant the seeds of a lifelong pleasure for me. I wish I would have taken a camera to those basements and documented those rows of jars that reflected their skill and ability to feed their families. They thought they were showing me the ordinary. But those memories I have are extraordinary. 

Today I will put my modest number of jars on my basement shelves. And this winter I will visit those same shelves and pick out what I want to eat that day. I am able to create my own small scale land of canning jar magic. And I imagine my aunts are smiling.

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