Monday, May 30, 2016

Let Us Remember

Today is Memorial Day. A day when flags are put on the graves of those who have fought and died for our country. A day of parades, picnics and pool openings. A day when some people actually think about the history of our nation – even if it’s just a small piece of it. But do they really know why?

When you look at the landscape of America today, you have to wonder if those who did fight and die for our country would make the same decision. You certainly hope so. For, after all, the principals our country was founded upon are well worth fighting and dying for. I am proud of my ancestors who fought to have and then maintain our liberties. I’m proud of my brothers today for serving. But it can be very hard to not wonder if our heroes died in vain.

For our heroes didn’t fight and die for “affordable” healthcare for all, or to be the world’s peacekeepers, or for welfare, medicare and social security. For goodness sakes, when my Scottish ancestors were fighting among the forests and hills of the Carolinas against Redcoats, they were fighting so the government would stay OUT of their lives. They weren’t rebelling because King George didn’t provide them retirement plans or cash when their crops failed one year. They were fighting because King George wanted to wrongly tax those crops they slaved over and were proud to work until the day they died because they could. Social security? They would laugh in our faces.

I understand that war is never cut and dry. Everyone has their own opinion. Everyone fights for their own reason. And not everyone who dies was truly a hero worthy of honor. But those things are not what we focus on on Memorial Day. Today we remember that our men thought true freedom and true liberty (and the morals and principals those entail) worthy reasons to sacrifice and die. We would do well to not simply push a flag into the ground or wave one at a parade because it’s just what you do on Memorial Day. No. Give today a little thought. Remember what our first fathers truly believed and died for. And even while you smile in pride over that, humble yourself in prayer for a nation they wouldn’t recognize – a nation that truly needs God’s grace shed upon it.

Friday, May 27, 2016

B's

I got to thinking about what I could possibly say about Emry this week. Not that I couldn’t skip a week (and have and will) because, honestly, I post enough about her as it is. (But the grandparents love it…) When I looked back over my pictures and thought about what she’s been up to, I realized they all started with the letter B.

Balloons – we went to a going away party for a family at church this past weekend and the hosting family had balloons for decoration. As you might imagine, Emry and her little “gang” (fellow “students” in her Sunday School class) were quite delighted with this. And as Emry is a special favorite of the host family…well, they let us take a balloon home.


Bubbles – something we really like to play with outside with Mama. It’s one of those things it takes a little while to figure out you can’t catch but after the initial disappointment discover that that’s really okay – they’re just as much fun to pop! However, Mama has learned that she will never be able to wash out Emry’s mouth with soap. Since we haven’t figured out how to blow at the wand, we just pop it in our mouth – and like it.

Bouncy seat – given to us by a an older couple at church whose granddaughter (a month older than Emry) didn’t care to use, it gets lots of use at our house. For not only does it bounce up and down like a ride at an amusement park, it also has lots of bright colors and plays music. Amidst all the fun, Mama and Papa are also hoping it gives us the idea that feet and legs are meant to be used to stand on.


Bug bite  - we do not have a picture for this one, but it should be noted that we have gotten our first bug bite. Doubtless, it shall be followed by many more.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

To Be Southern, Part 2

Can someone, please, write a mini series that doesn’t parade the Northern cause like Abraham Lincoln was Christ incarnate and every human soul south of the Mason Dixon was Adolf Hitler? It’s as if Yankees are the Aryan race and Southerners need to be wiped off the face of the earth. Which truly begs the question: where does that leave the African Americans?

I’ll confess a weakness: I love mini-series. I think because I can sit down for 45 minutes and balance my checkbook while I watch an episode, then get up and move on to preparing dinner. It doesn’t take a lot of time and I can be profitable while wasting it. Plus, mini-series don’t drag on for 12 seasons, thus making them a bit redundant. I mean, really, how many ways can you actually kill someone? Most recently, I checked out the new PBS series Mercy Street.

I knew before I even placed the first DVD into the player that I needed to steel myself for the glory, laud and honor of Abraham Lincoln’s Union versus the swastika tyranny of Dixie. After all, it does take place in Alexandria, VA – a city I know was under Yankee control most of the War – and its core is a Yankee hospital. Enough said.

I was not disappointed. While there is some satisfaction is the portrayal of a few Yankees as crooked, no-good-lay-abouts profiting from a war you get the impression they were that way before the War so no big deal. It doesn’t take the heroine of the story (Nurse Mary) very long to march onscreen, declare that all the slaves should be free and the few Confederates brought to the hospital left to die in the dirt with no care whatsoever. You expect that when they portray her as the epitome of the Massachusetts abolition movement – made up of people who had probably never been out of Massachusetts let alone across the Mason Dixon. The irony of her character is a few episodes later she puts her very career in jeopardy tending a skedaddling Yankee. So, it’s okay to care for a coward who should be shot for leaving his band of brothers behind but it’s not okay to tend Confederates? I’m a bit confused…

The hero of the story is Dr. Foster. They make him a mix-bag. From Maryland, he grew up in a Southern family and his brother is a Rebel soldier. Why he chose the North is never explicitly stated, but you soon learn that he cares for very little (slavery, Union, family) if it gets in the way of progressive medicine. The irony of his character? He’s addicted to morphine, a vice that causes issues with his ability to be the best doctor in the world.

Naturally, there are slaves portrayed in the series. Or, I should say, former slaves. It is Alexandria, after all, a city within Yankee control. And the Emancipation Proclamation has been signed (a paper which, by the way, did not free any of those slaves, but that’s another soap box for another time). These African Americans are referred to as “contraband”, a very odd term when you think about it. It infers that they have been important illegally in defiance of the law and without payment of duty. In today’s world, they are like drugs or Mexicans. And like drugs or Mexicans, no one does anything about them but put them to work. Within this backdrop you find a woman who spends nearly every breath she has spewing out the greatness of being free and yet all but sells herself to a jerk of a Yankee in order to find what she is looking for. Portrayed as a very smart, street wise kind of woman; this is the dumbest situation she could find herself in for it’s more than obvious from the start that Yankee is going to take what he wants and give her nothing in return. In another episode there is a young slave boy who decides living on the streets in “freedom” (definition: stealing to get what he needs) is way better than being owned by a nice woman who gives him everything he could possibly need. Like most people today, freedom is defined by getting whatever you want no matter what the cost versus the liberty to be morally responsible.

And, yes, there is a Southern family to provide comedy relief.  First is the typical Southern belle mother (the type of sweet, loving matron you simply do not want to cross swords with). She is married to Mr. Green who is a businessman trying to keep business while also trying to not sign over his loyalty to the Yankees. Eventually, he is thrown into prison where he laments that perhaps this is God’s justice on the South for owning slaves. (Apparently, it was never made clear to him why Virginia seceded from the Union.) Their son is a buffoon. Because of an injury, he is unable to serve in the Confederate Army so he spends his days trying to figure out how to serve the Southern cause and getting the wrong in of the stick every single time. Their eldest daughter is worthy of admiration, serving the Confederates at the hospital even though she’s not supposed to. However, she has two problems: 1) her boyfriend is a Rebel spy who gets caught up in conspiracies with Booth himself (of course we have to somehow make clear that every Rebel spy was out to kill Lincoln or worse) and 2) although her speech about not being able to force anyone into a Union is wonderful, even she turns to Lincoln to get her father out of prison. The youngest daughter suffers great loss and rebounds by joining a secret, extreme group of Southerners to punish the Yankees. So, yes, they are your typical villainous Rebels – wrong in every way even when they are right.

Mercy Street is being extended into a second season. And it certainly does show the hardship of being injured in the War, going to a hospital where treatment was very primitive compared to today and the confusion of any war as it draws to a close. But, as usual, it only shows one side of the War – the winning side. And Yankees wonder why we Southerners can’t get over our loss. Quite simply, y’all won’t let us.

Friday, May 20, 2016

Little Peanut

So many things to learn in this big world! And Emry seems to learn a new one every day. Whether it’s how to pull herself up to her knees on something else (no feet yet – her legs still aren’t quite that strong) or discovering how to bite in anger (yes, we tried that on Mama…)…well, new joys come with more realizations of sin. Sadly, that is the way of the world.

But Emry remains a delight. She now signs “please” for just about everything. She knows it will get our attention, but there are two problems with her wonderful politeness. One, she doesn’t yet realize that “please” does not mean she gets whatever she pleases. And two, we don’t always know what it is she’s saying please for. Sometimes we don’t guess correctly…

She can now buckle herself into her high chair and stroller, a skill she has been working towards for weeks. She LOVES buckles. Now if she could only figure out how to unbuckle herself…  She likes to be chased. Off she’ll crawl as fast as she can while I crawl or “run” behind her. Playing tag is still in the future, however, for she likes to be caught and tickled – likes it so much she stops so you can get her.

And we have one new tooth. The top left front one is poking through. The right one still looks like it wants to come in, but I can’t feel it yet. Having a new tooth is a wonder. She quickly learned how to use it and bites down hard with teeth on top and bottom to get through her animal crackers or apples.

So many wonderful things to learn and discover as you get “soooo big!!!!”.

Enjoying a lovely spring day in our overalls.



Licking the oatmeal cookie dough bowl! We got there before Papa!

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

To be Southern, Part 1

According to my birth certificate, yes, I was born a Yankee. After all, a New England state is about as Yankee as you can get. But if you test my blood, you’ll find Southern Rebel through and through. And, for the record, I am quite proud of that.

I’m not just happy to be able to stamp “Southern” on my forehead because the accent is so much nicer than all the nasally Yankee ones or because I know that tea is sweet and cornbread is not. I am happy to say that my ancestors fought in the Second War of Independence (properly so called, but if you’re a Yankee and don’t know what that is I am referring to the “Civil War”) and that they understood what freedom truly is (not what the government dictates it to be). But we’ll get on that soap box in Part 2 of this three part series.

I am also happy to be able to impart Southern on my Yankee daughter. In so doing, the first thing I am quick to do is correct Ed’s Pittsburgh accent. Although it is not strong, he does have one. And when he says funny things like “dahn” and “warsh”, I quickly tell Emry the word is “doooowwwwn” and “waaaaash”. (Note the long accent on those vowels.) While I don’t mind her saying things like “you can’t get there from here” (which is true in Pittsburgh) and “nebby” (because that is just such an appropriate word), we are having in our vocabulary the wonderful all-inclusive “y’all” and proper understanding of “it’s in yonder”. (Yes, Yankees, that is a place!)

The second thing we will know is certain Southern food. Over the last couple of weeks, she has been introduced to coleslaw (which she really liked, even though I wasn’t sure two-going-on-three teeth would be enough to chew cabbage) and grits. Eventually, things like fried chicken and pecan pie will be added to our repertoire. The one thing she’ll have to go to Grandma’s for is fried okra. Sadly, there are some things the Yankee in me conquers – fried okra is gross!

The most important thing of all, though, is a proper understanding of the War Between the States. I was reminded of this recently as I watched a television mini series called Mercy Street (more on that in Part 2). To the winner go the spoils…and so the writing of history. Let’s get it straight that we Southerners are not sore losers and simply won’t let the outcome of the War go. We lost. It’s over. I get it. But history tells us that the War was fought over slavery, which is like saying our Founding Fathers pledged their “lives, fortunes and sacred honor” because the British taxed them for a hot drink made from leaves. I’m not down-playing the evils of slavery any more than I’m underestimating the importance of the Boston Tea Party, but I will equate Abraham Lincoln to Mad King George. Tyrants both. So there.


History is a lesson. But if we don’t learn the lessons given, we are doomed to repeat them. If the abolition of slavery was the all-encompassing point of the War Between the States, then why is human trafficking/slavery today in the United States worse now than 150 years ago? I want Emry to know that there is more to freedom than representation in Congress, or voting, or the right to bear arms. Her Southern forefathers fought against the tyranny of Great Britain 250 years ago, and they fought against the tyranny of centralized government 100 years after that. Sadly, they lost that fight…but it was a fight worth having. And I want her to know it.

Thursday, May 12, 2016

Death…and Life

It was one of those e-mails I had to read twice. Like normal, I had skimmed it. Stopped. Realized it didn’t say when I thought it said. Read it…and then read it again. And still didn’t believe it.

People die every day. I ought to know. I worked at a hospice for 3 ½ years. Death (like taxes, as Mark Twain infamously said) is one of the sure things in life. But someone I know doesn’t die every day. And when this someone was only 57 years of age, in perfect health and had been running around church making sure fans were on, or the AC units, or the heat, or the windows were open like he always did every Sunday a mere two days ago…well, it was hard to believe the Lord had taken Mark Moyer home.

Mark Moyer, a deacon at our church, was one of the first people I met upon my arrival in Pittsburgh. Since he held the codes to the alarm system, he input one for Ed so we could get into the building the day of our wedding. I also remember him showing up on Friday when we were setting up the basement for the reception. He was picking up a few tables we weren’t using for his middle son’s high school graduation that same weekend. In the weeks to come, I would learn that Mr. Moyer was one of those people that is everyone doing everything – fighting with the finicky heating system of our old church building, recruiting men to get the new stove into the kitchen, mowing the lawn, trimming the bushes, shoveling the sidewalks. If there was a job to be done or maintenance that needed tending, Mr. Moyer was the man who knew all about it…and often fixed it himself.

Which his why I had to read the e-mail of his sudden death three times to understand it…and still not believe he was gone. On Tuesday evening, his wife (the wonderful, vivacious Becky who I would describe as a “Southern Belle” if she wasn’t a Yankee) arrived home and found him dead in a chair in their living room. There was nothing wrong with him, no illness, no heart attack. Simply, his work on earth was done and his Savior took him home to the words, “Well done, My good and faithful servant…enter into the joy of your Master.”

Mark Moyer leaves behind his lovely wife (whom everyone knew he loved) and three sons, ages 16 to early 20s…and more friends and family than you can count. There were 260 or so people at his funeral and many, many more at the two visitations. We waited in line for a half hour to give Becky a hug and the line was just as long when we left as it had been when we arrived. His death leaves a huge void in many lives, even our own. For as Becky said to me, he won’t be around to watch Emry grow up. A wonderfully godly man she will never know.

And yet a mere six hours after I read that e-mail I get a text that my new nephew has arrived. While one man dies, another little man is born. Death and life. Grief interlaced with joy and joy interlaced with pain. They go hand in hand. The Lord is the giver of them both. In that we can hope and rest.

Sunday, May 8, 2016

To my Mom

Dear Mom,

Today is Mother’s Day, the day we celebrate and honor mothers. And yet I’m not sure words suffice the honor due to you as a mother.

Where to start? Do I make mention that you provided for me a world wherein I never knew want? I don’t mean I didn’t want a new Strawberry Shortcake kid. I mean I never wanted for food, or clothing, or shelter. And if money was tight and you wondered where my needs would come from…well, I never knew that.

Do I start an extensive list of all the things you did to make life easier and enjoyable? It couldn’t have been easy to walk 2-year-old me to the grocery store nearly every day. Or to drive Katey and I to the pool every summer day in 1985 because Daddy Burt’s little house had no AC. Or to put everyone in the car to take me to dance, or gymnastics, or whatever new activity I wanted to try. (Or Katey, or Daniel, or Sally…) You made grocery shopping fun and not a chore. You put sprinkles on our pudding in our fancy pudding cups (can I have those when you die?), you let us get as dirty as we possibly could outside, and you didn’t protest when I insisted on wearing my Mr. Potato Head glasses to the grocery store or Jenny went up and down the aisles singing the bubble song (with dramatic hand motions).

And moving! There aren’t many women in the world who would pack up their house (well, their rented house) every two or three years and move to yet another rented house in some strange place no one had ever heard of before. I was eleven before I saw that you owned artwork in those flat boxes that simply moved from house to house. I only saw you protest one move. If you disliked the others, you never let us see that. Instead, you made our new rooms as nice as possible, encouraged us to make friends and tried to find activities we would enjoy in our new (although temporary) world. And when we cried because it was time to leave our home, and friends, and activities yet again…you were there to hear our sorrows and dry our tears. Now I wonder who comforted you…

For I have learned many things over the past year of being a mom myself. Living in a place where I have no friends or family, I look back and realize you must have been in that same situation over and over again. How did you do it? Did you ever want to stomp your feet and order Dad to move you somewhere you could call home? I don’t know, but I do know you always made sure we had friends, we had things to do, we had a reason to call another new place home. And I hope I’m doing that for Emry now.

A few weeks ago, I had to take Emry to her 1-year-old doctor appointment. So, we had to take Ed to work very early in the morning so we could have the car. After short naps back at home, we started our day with breakfast, I packed us a little lunch, threw the stroller in the car and off we went to the doctor. We then drove to North Park which has a wonderful 5-mile loop to run…and it was a beautiful to day to do it. I enjoyed a good, hard run while Emry relaxed in her stroller, watching the world around her and enjoying a snack of raisins, goldfish and cheerios. When we got back to the car, I got out our little lunch of cheese, crackers and apple slices which we enjoyed on a park bench near the playground, watching the bigger kids play. On our way back home so I could change for work and we could go pick up Ed, I thought that this is something you would do with us. You would take a normal day and do something different, even if it was simple. And it would be fun. Just like my day with Emry.

Maybe I’ll make half the mother you were yet…

Love, Melissa

Friday, May 6, 2016

Learning and Growing

I sat at the dining room table, reading my Bible and eating a bowl of cereal for breakfast. I had set Emry on the floor nearby with her bag of wooden blocks. She played very quietly. When I looked over at her, I found her very patiently and quietly stacking them one on top of the other. They would fall over, and she would begin again. She sat there for ten or fifteen minutes, content with her blocks. I was quite amazed at her perseverance, patience and diligence. I can only hope these qualities grow as she grows.





She is fun to watch as she learns new things. As she discovers ants, and bees, and dandelions. As she learns to say “baa” when she sees a sheep or “la, la, la” when she sees a pig. (Okay, so, that one will have to be corrected. It’s one of her favorite books which says “Three singing pigs say, ‘La, la, la’!” Still, it’s quite cute.) Or as she realizes for herself how the different buttons on her toys work. She can be so proud of her new accomplishments and it is fun to watch her face light up with new discoveries. It reminds me that there is a world of wonderful things I take for granted everyday – a wonderful reminder.

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Another Nephew!!!


Welcome!!!!

 

Curtis Nathan Avedisian
May 4, 2016

7 pounds, 7 ounces – 19 inches long