A Little Sister Remembers

When I posted about my Uncle Carl Louis Javorsky the other day, my mom started reminiscing about those days when she was just a little girl and her big brother went off to join the army. Today on Remembrance Day, I asked her if she'd share a few of her memories from that time. And so, it's a real pleasure to have my mom, Evelyn, as my guest blogger today.

Lest we forget those who served in the past and who serve today,

Brenda

xox

 GUEST POST BY EVELYN

It's Remembrance Day and today I am remembering my big brother, Carl, and how I used to write him letters when he was posted in London, England during the second world war. I was about six or seven years old when he went overseas and he was gone about four years -- that's a long time for a little kid.

My mom packed many, many parcels for him. I remember tins of meat like Prem and lots of fruitcake; I think the fruitcake was good to send, as it wouldn't spoil. I am sure it took a long time to get to London. I hope all those carefully wrapped packages arrived to him safely -- I never asked.

We had a big radio in our kitchen and Dad always listened to the news. I can still hear the booming voice, "THIS IS BBC LONDON!" Lots of news from the war, and I had to be QUIET when the news was on.

Carl wrote letters home and Mom wrote him letters too. I would get my own airmail letters from him. How exciting!! I would always answer him and my letters always started the same: "Dear Carl, How are you? I am fine." I think he always started off his letters to me the same way. We were both very original, as you can see. Not sure what else we wrote. This is interesting, I just remembered his London address: #11 Battersea, London, England.

And while he was stationed in London, he met a nice English girl and married her. My family got the news in the mail one day with pictures of the wedding. Her name was Bette and some time after the war was over, she came to Canada to be with her new husband.

I remember our family was grateful that we never did get one of those black letters in the mail that said "missing in action". Others around us were not so fortunate. Dad went to town one day and heard someone's son was missing in action -- that was hard for my parents.

The years passed and finally the war was over and our Canadian soldiers were coming home. By the train loads. So many trains, every day. We couldn't wait for Carl to get back. The names were all published in the Edmonton Journal newspaper so families knew when they were arriving. Dad went to Onoway every day to get a paper and search the lists for Carl's name. It never appeared.

I can still see Dad bending over the table as he searched and searched but to no avail. Maybe tomorrow, we'd hope. And then the day came, there were no more train loads full of soldiers, everyone had arrived home. Everyone, except Carl. There was no Carl. And no news.

In the middle of this, we'd been invited to a wedding and, on our way there, we stopped at the Eaton's department store in downtown Edmonton. Mom and I went shopping, probably for a wedding gift, and we were to meet Dad at the escalator. As we approached, we saw Dad standing and he was talking to a soldier. Mom ran, and I ran after her crying and hugging for Mom. I had a hard time, I think, I didn't know Carl -- he was so thin -- I hid behind Mom and then Carl grabbed me up in his arms. I do remember him looking at me and saying, "Is this my baby sister?" No doubt I had changed a bit in those years too.

Oh, what a reunion in that department store. I am sure everyone in the store was watching us. I can't help wondering how Dad and Carl reacted when they first spotted each other!

After all the hugs and tears, Dad says we need to go eat -- we all saw how thin Carl was -- rations had been scarce. When we were eating, Dad says, "Carl, you need to eat". My brother replied, "I can't eat much, I'm not used to the food; I will get sick if I eat too much. I will have to learn to eat regular food again." Oh my ... I have tears here; I'm sure my parents had theirs flowing at such news too.

 

But, just think of the miracle of it all. For us to be in that store at that exact time when Carl, just having gotten off a train nearby -- he's wondering, and feeling very hurt, why there was no one to meet him at the station, and we're the ones not knowing anything about where he was and why his name was missing from all the lists. It had to be a miracle.

My brother has been gone many years now. I'm grateful for these special memories I have of him -- they make me feel close to him today. And I feel fresh tears for what he went through, and what all soldiers and their families must go through.

Today we take time to reflect on those who are no longer with us as well as the ones who are still putting their lives in danger every day. Let's be thankful for them, for the freedom we have, and the food we eat.

by Evelyn

Lest We Forget

Source

As a young girl, I was always proud to know that my maternal Uncle Carl served in the Canadian Military in Europe during World War II. Growing up in the early 1960's, with the war still recent history, I heard the stories and saw the snippets of war documentaries on TV when my dad watched occasionally. They became part of my own 'memory'. To this day I still love the music of that wartime era because somehow it made me feel more connected to my mom who actually lived during that time, and of course, also my uncle.

As I recall, I seemed to be more aware of the solemnity of Remembrance Day in Grade 5. We'd take out blank paper in art class and learn to do simple poppy sketches. I loved drawing poppies, simple lines with gentle curves and that little dip at the top of each petal. And then taking the red crayon, enhancing the outlines by pressing the crayon firmly to make it darker than the rest of the petals.

Source

We struggled to memorize In Flanders Field written by Lt Col John McCrae who, born long ago in Guelph, Ontario, had been a Canadian physician, soldier, teacher and poet. Although I could not have described it then, I felt the poignancy of those words and the sense of loss. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to be a soldier, and we'd wear our red poppies with the poky pin proudly on our left side.

Every November 11th (we'd have the day off from school) I'd listen eagerly to the commemoration ceremony on the radio and stand at attention at 11:00 am for the moment of silence as the radio would go dead. I'd feel a lump in my throat if I'd hear the bugle playing Taps or the mournful wail of the bagpipes. And I'd think of my Uncle Carl who used to be a soldier a long time ago.

  Photo © 2006-2009 In Flanders Fields.ca

Composed at the battlefront on May 3, 1915

during the second battle of Ypres, Belgium

My own mom was just a little girl of six or seven or eight during World War II, so her memories of the war are vague about some things. But she remembers that they had rations books, even in Canada. She recalls her dad turning on the old radio to listen to the news from BBC ... she'd have to be quiet so they could hear about the latest events from across the ocean.

And, she certainly remembers the day when she saw a man walking up the driveway on the family farm dressed in uniform. She was playing in the yard while her mom and another brother milked cows in the barn. She went flying to the barn shouting, "The war is here!" She ran behind the cow stalls and hid in a pile of hay. She didn't really know what war was, but she knew it wasn't good. Must have been a terrifying moment for her. Turned out to be her older brother, Carl, already enlisted in the Army but not yet sent to Europe. He was home for a little while.

Photos used with permission from his son, D. Javorsky

I remember seeing the above photo as a girl, feeling proud that that young man who, I see, has the same little smile as his son, was my uncle. This week as the world remembers war and sacrifices and losses, I want to remember and give tribute to Sergeant Carl Louis Javorsky for serving his country in World War II. And, who thankfully came safely home from the war and also brought a war bride , my Aunty Betty from London, England to be a part of the family.

Remembering,
Brenda
♥♥♥

Linking with Mosaic Monday

What Extravagant Giving Means To Me

Source

I'm taking the liberty of sharing a post I wrote some years ago about what true financial well-being looks like for me. Although I've made some additions and changes to clarify the text, the heart of the message remains the same. And, reading it all over again, I realize my heart still feels the same way too.

I do give a glimpse of the book I was reading at the time; however, I was more eager share my excited discovery as to what truly constituted financial wellness for me.

 

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 Original post published November 17, 2009

If you look around, many people have some level of angst and negative emotion when it comes to their finances. Many aren't happy about their situations. Quite frustrated, in fact. I could say the same for myself; that's really why I started reading a book by David Hicks entitled Healing Your Financial Soul. The author said the problem is not lack of money or advice, but rather that one's finances are "simply demonstrating what you actually believe, deep down, about money and your relationship with it."

The author promises the reader a lighter, more fun way to discover what we truly believe at a deeper level about money and our relationship to it. Whether what we believe is really true. One exercise has the reader thinking about his or her financial dreams and what that actually looks like. Which is what got me thinking about what true financial well-being would look like for me. And then to create a statement that reflects that desire. And then to repeat it and write it down ... often. To keep thinking about it.

So, after a lot of soul searching, I realize that, for me, it really isn't about owning a big house beautifully furnished or having lots of top-end designer clothes and jewelry. It isn't about expensive holidays on luxury yachts or living in a villa on some island in the Mediterranean (although those would be lovely).

No, my heart yearns towards something different ... at the very bottom of what I would like to be able to do if I had more than enough, would be to give gifts of material things as well as finances without worrying about the cost or whether I could afford to be that generous.

"I want to be rich in...
extravagant giving and generous hospitality,
and to always have more than enough
to give to every good work." BL

After all, wouldn't it be neat if we could at this time of year, when Christmas catalogs arrive from charitable organizations like World Vision or Samaritan's Purse, we could buy not just one or two goats, but one of everything in the catalog. Just like that! And know it's making a difference to a family or village, and not being anxious in any way about the affordability.

Or, to come alongside and make some payments on someone's mortgage (or even pay it off) when the breadwinner suddenly loses his or her job.

To me, extravagant giving doesn't necessarily mean the gift is expensive. It could be, but it's more about being able to give that 'absolutely perfect' something that sets eyes to dancing and hearts to singing right when you find it. It means watching for that yearning in a person's voice or eyes when they say, "Oh I wish I could..." and being able to do something about it, instead of you also being a wisher ... wishing you could help.

For me, extravagant giving also means blessing the waiter with a really generous tip sometimes, whether or not they deserve it. It means pressing a $20 into a needy person's hand (or maybe even a $100) with nary a thought for my pocketbook. It's taking someone out for a simple dinner or sending a world-weary couple to the mountains for an all-expenses-paid weekend retreat.

It's wrapping up out-of-the-blue surprises with pretty paper and glamorous bows. It's following the Divine Nudge that says, Go down this street and leave a jar of peanut butter and milk on that doorstep, (only to find out later that somebody in that house prayed for that very thing)!

It's about giving away things from my own wardrobe, whether to an individual or Goodwill, not just stuffing it into a garbage bag, but folding and wrapping it in tissue, securing it with a colourful ribbon and putting it in a shopping bag so it arrives looking lovely, rather than like somebody else's discards.

It means extending the gift of hospitality and opening my home -- inviting a friend for tea or a group of 25 for a meal, without thinking twice about the food budget.

For me, extravagant giving also means writing real notes and letters on beautiful stationery and cards to affirm affection or encourage a weary soul.

Ahh ... such a dream. Now, I know how tempting it is to shut down such thinking before it even has a chance to breathe. If we shut it down as useless, of course, then it will be impossible. Perhaps that's where we could ask for Divine Wisdom to know how to make such a desire a reality in some measure.

Susan Branch often encourages her readers by saying, "If you can dream, you can make it so." 

In the meantime, I've been imagining myself an extravagant giver and have begun in small ways and tiny steps, giving from what I have right now, small as it may be. Didn't Someone once say that as we give it shall be given back to us? What if that's the answer?  

May our eyes actually see that so much is truly possible, and may our hearts dare to dream something more than we dare.

Here's to beautiful changes in our finances,

Brenda

♥♥♥

Monday At Home

It's snowing this morning ... in a teasing kind of way. Water drops glisten from the clusters of red berries on the mountain ash, so you know it's not that cold. Snow dusts roof tops and then melts like glazed icing. Snowflakes cluster on orange petaled calendula blossoms, while lazy flakes drop from grey skies as if not quite sure, not quite ready, for going full steam ahead into a new season. Many people would say, no, they're not ready either. 

But as for me ... it's perfect! Wonderful, in fact! For with the time change this past weekend and  the evenings now arriving earlier in the afternoon, my cozying, nesting instincts are in full swing.

For, you see, when autumn is allowed to be autumn in a blaze of glory first -- which it was this year -- then when the first sightings of snow appears in early November, I'm completely ready to give myself over to it. For snow and Christmas and cozy darkness on the horizon (not the creepy, bear-lurking darkness, mind you) are all favourites in my estimation.

So ... here in the warmth of my home, I've donned my work clothes with relish this morning and am entirely ready in body and soul to get to the bottom of some serious de-cluttering, dusting and setting things to rights after a busy fall. Here's a glimpse of what's up in my home today....

"Home is the heart of life... Home is where we feel at ease, where we belong, where we can create surroundings that reflect our tastes and pleasures... Making a home is a form of creativity open to everyone." ~ Terence Conran

 

 As hubby would say, "First, let's plan lunch."

On his way out the door to the gym, when I queried about lunch, his reply was, what about mushroom soup? So here's our Busy Day Mushroom Soup (for days we don't have time or inclination to do it from scratch):

1 Tin mushroom soup

1 Tinful milk or water, as desired

Handful chopped mushrooms, sauteed in butter or olive oil

Sprinkle each of nutmeg and parsley as you're cooking and as garnish, if desired

Serve with buns, buttered and lightly sprinkled with garlic powder, toasted under the broiler for 1-2 minutes, or until toasty golden brown. Burnt is not acceptable, so keep your eye on them.

Some Sorting and De-cluttering

My favourite way to sort through paper of any kind is by hauling the accumulated piles or boxes in front of the TV. That way, I can watch or listen while going through the stacks. Makes the task more enjoyable for me.

And it's always amazing how much becomes redundant with the passage of time. The bits of paper that seemed so important even a week ago no longer matter or have relevance. No wonder it's a good idea to go through the basket on a somewhat regular basis. Good for that freeing feeling too.
  

Enjoying One Apple Scented Candle

This candle fooled my hubby when I brought it home from the store. He thought it was apple preserves ... because that's what the label says; it didn't actually mention that it was a candle. So almost it went into the pantry cupboard alongside the jams and jellies. Rescued, it now sits in the centre of our kitchen table, adding a bright spot on this grey November day.

So here's wishing you all a beautiful Monday. 

Hugs to you,

Brenda

xox

Today I'm linking with
Sandi at No Place Like Home
Judith at Mosaic Monday

  

Simply Sunday: A Rest Spot

Photo by Kathy Hillacre

 

Work is not always required.
There is such a thing as sacred idleness.
~ George MacDonald, Author

It's grey and quiet out this early Sunday morning, the first day of November. It seems a day for simple things ... for quiet moments of reflection before rushing into a new month. Maybe to tie up loose ends in our mind about what we worked on and thought about last month; maybe to dream ahead about a new month's worth of possibilities and opportunities; maybe to remind myself of my focus and what really matters in the greater picture and to see if my life reflects it. Certainly to focus on the Divine One and listen for His kind words that bring me life. And, maybe it's just to sit without any particular thoughts and simply be aware of my own quiet breathing. In a place that's peaceful and quiet.

In this season of my life right now, I don't have hugely hectic days. I no longer rush off to work somewhere else and I'm purposely keeping my life less involved 'out there' so that I have more time for my home and family, for writing, and for listening ... for the Still Small Voice, and to those things that still bring delight and beauty and hope in the world around me.

Even so, the days get busy and fill up with the business of every day living. And I find it needful to take little breaks away for restoration.

Every once in a while I reach for my old and well-used copy of Gordon MacDonald's Ordering Your Private World, where among other things he talks about the need for 'away' time from the regular routines as a way to rejuvenate and be ready for the new demands of a new week. He calls this time Sabbath rest.

One thing he says that sticks out for me is that we do not rest because our work is done; many of us think resting is something we do after our work is done. But if we assume that, we'll be in trouble, for how many of us ever have all our work done? We've probably all noticed, there's always something more to do. So rest is about taking regular, fixed times to come away and rest even though the work is still undone.

I've learned over the years, that to keep pushing through when we're dog-tired only frustrates us more, as it takes longer to get things done, we make more mistakes, we start to feel agitated, even angry. That certainly doesn't help.

Here in North America work seems to be always required. But when I look around in other cultures, I see that outlook and attitude is not so prevalent. I do lament that even members of my own family have to work such long days and hours if they want to work in their profession, to the point where they are exhausted and become unwell. I don't know how to fix that in our society, and that's certainly too big a topic for this little post. Perhaps small changes begins in our own minds when we recognize it's okay -- it's more than okay -- to stop and take a break. And to do so whenever we have control of our time and environment.

Here's another thing Mr. MacDonald says that catches my attention:

"A rest-less work style produces a restless person."

I don't think I've ever stopped to think about that word 'restless' in those terms before, that restless is about having less rest. Little rest or no rest. Interesting. The author goes on to say: "Work that goes on month after month without a genuine pause to inquire of its meaning and purpose may swell in the bank account and enhance professional reputation. But it will drain the private world of vitality and joy. How important it is to regularly close loops on our activity." 

The opposite of a rest-less work style would be a rest-full one ... producing not a restless person, but a calm and gentle spirited one. I like that better than being a restless, sharp-spirited person that comes as a result of exhaustion. 

So I take delight today in thinking that some idleness is indeed sacred, absolutely necessary for our health and well-being and our joy in living. And, as I mentioned earlier, to do so whenever we have the control of our time and environment -- to take this little bit of ownership for our well-being -- we will be all better for it.

All that ... as a result of sitting in my imagination in that peaceful, quiet spot on an empty bench in that lovely photo above. By the way, that is my sister's picture taken at a recent family wedding. Isn't it lovely?

Wishing you a beautiful day

and a rest-full work style in the month ahead,

Brenda

xox