family

The Outlaws

~ Sharon Abbott ~ Leave a comment

When our granddaughter Abi was about three, she was obsessed with deciphering the family tree – with figuring out how the people were all connected to one another and to her.

“So my mom is your daughter?”  Right.  “And Tabi is my mom’s sister and your daughter and my aunt?”  Right.  “And Sean is Jackson’s dad and my mom’s brother, and your son, and my uncle?”  Right. “And Marge is Sean’s wife, and Jackson’s mom, and your . . . ?”  My daughter-in-law.” So my dad is my grandma’s son, and my mom’s husband, and  Uncle Joey’s brother and your outlaw?”  Right!!

And that’s how the people who married into the tribe became known as the outlaws.  

Here’s the thing about marrying into this family. We’re a lot. I mean like A LOT!  A lot of people, a lot of noise, a lot of chaos, a lot of opinions, and at times, a lot of drama (I know – hard to believe.) We differ in our political views, our dietary preferences, and our temperaments. But we all like pie so we do have that going for us.

This family would not be who we are without our outlaws. They have brought a measure of crazy and fun and grace to us all. It should also be noted that they have added some height to the gene pool which, all things considered, is an important contribution.

💙 First came Marge. One of Faith’s high school friends, she was in and out of our home on a regular basis. She was smart and funny and even-tempered. “Why can’t Sean date somebody like Marge?”  Paul wondered. “She’s the keeper! ” Marge became part of the family, volunteering to do pick up and drop offs for kids needing rides to places, even coming to the weekly meeting at Taco Bell with her calendar when we were coordinating the week’s schedules. When five year old Fletch had kidney surgery, Marge was there with a huge gift basket filled with all of his favorite toys and snacks. She took Joy driving after she got her learner’s permit when no one else was available (or willing). Wherever there was a need, there was Marge – and that hasn’t changed.

Sean had joined the Marine Corps and was serving a seven month deployment on a ship floating in the middle of the Mediterranean Ocean. On a Thanksgiving afternoon, as we sat around the table, the phone rang; it was a very homesick Marine. “We need to do better about writing,”  Paul told the family after the call. So we probably made a schedule. “I can write, too,” Marge offered. And so she faithfully sent letters and care packages. It would not be the last time our family would receive a note or package when it was most needed and least expected. It is a pattern that continues to this day.

When Marge’s date fell through for the Senior Prom, Faith said, “I’ll call my brother.” who by now had returned to Camp Lejuene in North Carolina. “He’ll take you.” And so he did – properly attired in his Dress Blues.  With a sword!!  Never underestimate the power of a costume!

When Fletcher got lost at the beach and a sheriff put him in the back of his squad car and drove him through the neighborhoods looking for the house where his family was staying because Fletch didn’t know the address (but really who has that information?), it is Marge who stood at the edge of the driveway jumping up and down in her light-up shoes to flag down the car. She’s good in an emergency.

Married now for over 26 years, she has proven that Paul was right. “She’s a keeper.” She has mothered three truly remarkable young men all while earning a Bachelor’s Degree and then a Masters. She has mentored and loved and served countless young Marine wives while holding down the fort even as her husband was gone on countless deployments. She has started over after two floods and a hurricane. And I’d tell you what her job is now, but I don’t even really understand it except that it takes a high powered security clearance.

Today Marge runs 5K races, goes tent camping all by herself, and can make almost anything out of yarn. She is an all round Superwoman.

But first and foremost, she is about family, about friends and about making the world a better place . . . starting with us. She always shows up for the people she loves.

💙 Three year old Cai was looking forward to coming to Nana and Colonel’s one evening. As he was collecting his cars, his stuffies, and all the other important things that travel with him, he said, “And I’m so ‘cited that Tabi and Jason will be there!!”  Actually, his mother told him, Tabi and Jason won’t be there tonight. It’s just Nana and Colonel. He burst into tears. Not angry tears, but gut wrenching sobs. Buddy, what’s wrong?  Finally he choked out, “But Jason is my gwown up”.  And that’s the way all the nieces and nephews feel about Jason. 

But he’s not just their grown up; he’s their friend. Jason brings the fun. You can tell by the decibel level in the room when Jason has entered the arena.  “JASON, LET’S PLAY HIDE AND SEEK!  JASON, LET’S WRESTLE. JASON, LETS PLAY TAG! JASON, COME HERE! JASON! JASON! JASON!  And he always answers the call.

“Jason, will you invite me to your birthday, party?” Cai wants to know.  Because everybody knows that the level of a friendship is measured by whether you get invited to the birthday party. And so Jason plans a birthday party and invites the littles. He hosts it at Adventure Park and gives everybody tokens to play the arcade games. And it seals the deal:  each one believes that he or she is Jason’s best friend.  

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When the flood hits North Carolina and Chance and his brother and Mom and Dad and neighbor are all living in the RV, Jason contacts Sean and Marge. Because Chance goes to school online, would he want to come and stay with them until the house is rebuilt?  So Chance packs up his possessions not destroyed by the flood and he and his guinea pig Peni spend the fall semester of his senior year at Tabi and Jason’s. Chance and Jason share a love of video games and sushi and staying up late into the night, and so they spend hours discussing game strategy, eating, playing, and forgetting about all that has been lost in the flood.

When one of the nieces in Virginia has her heart set on a particular toy or dress or whatever, Jason seems to have a sixth sense and will figure out a way to make it happen. When they visit, it is Jason they want to take them shopping for clothes  because he “picks out the best stuff” and they know he will never steer them wrong. It is Jason who sends the money for a manicure for homecoming. And the list goes on.  

But this didn’t start with the littles. When Tabi and Jason were dating, Jason befriended a thirteen year old Fletcher who would soon be in need of a friend and a sibling after his older sister Joy departs for college, leaving him alone without his pack. Jason stepped in to fill that gap and I will be forever grateful. It is because of Jason that we have a pond in our back yard, lights on our deck, some beautiful photos from our 50th wedding anniversary, someone to call when Paul needs help with a project, and someone to bring the party.  

 

💙 And then there is Josh. Josh fits into this family because he gives as good as he gets. His quick wit, sarcastic humor, and his uncanny ability to latch on to a phrase and turn it into a thing . . .  “Oh, Joy?  Why didn’t YOU get a waffle cone?”  or “Do you know what Pokémon means in Japanese?”  or “This week on Nana and the Colonel”. When he first came to the family, nephews couldn’t remember his name. “Just call me Uncle Awesome.”  He actually got one of them to do it for awhile. He can recite more movie lines than anyone I know, and there is no one I would rather hear tell a story than Josh. He makes every gathering funnier and more fun and put him together with Jason, they are an unstoppable party waiting to happen. 

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Josh always had time for the kids. Even when everyone else was worn down and tired out, he took time. Not that he wasn’t also worn down and tired out, but it was rare for him to say no. He made the holidays more fun, more chaotic, and more awesome (which I guess is how he got the name.)

Coming from a family of three boys, marrying into this family of so many girls had to come as a bit of a shock. But maybe God was just preparing him for having three daughters of his own. And I have NEVER known a better girl dad than Josh NIehaus. When his girls were little he spent hours playing with My Little Ponies and Calico Critters. He knew the names of all the Disney Princesses and could carry on elaborate conversations about the plot lines of each and every one of their stories as well as recite pages of dialogue from most of the movies. As they got older, he was the loudest and most enthusiastic cheer dad bar none. He practiced cheers with Maddie, coached her up and cheered her on. He plays video games with Abi and Tacy and gives them pointers on how to beat the game – but only after he is sure they can’t beat HIM.

When Fletcher and Emily left Kanas and moved back to Lynchburg so Fletch could go to seminary, Josh and Joy opened their home (already crowded with their own family) to them and baby Ezra.  Because behind all the jokes and teasing, he is generous and giving and tender hearted. You chose well, Joy! 

💙 When you are the oldest of three and you marry the baby of a family of six you have to know, life is about to get interesting. When you grew up with brothers and now have four sisters, well that can be a blessing or a curse. But I would say that Emily has adapted in a most spectacular way. 

When Fletch called from college and mentioned that he and a girl he had met in his English class had become friends, we took note. When the family was at the beach over Christmas and he went off on his own every evening to “make a phone call” our curiosity was definitely piqued. But when we got our phone bill later in the month and it was through the roof because back then we did not have an unlimited calling plan, we KNEW something was afoot. He took her to Joy’s house to watch a movie as sort of a trial run – introduce her to the family in small doses was his thought, I suppose. What he had not counted on was Josh being Josh. Josh, who spent the entire evening trying to get one year old Abi to call her “Auntie Em”.  And yet, before long they were a couple and she was thrown into the chaos of “the Abbotts”.

On our next visit to Lynchburg we went to dinner and met her for the first time. As we were leaving, I mentioned to Fletcher that we were planning a dinner cruise for our 40th anniversary and the family would be all be  there so he should mark it on his calendar. Later, Emily said to him, “The dinner cruise on the boat sounds like fun.”  Boat. What boat? “The one your family is doing for your parents’ anniversary.”  On a boat???  (You will understand why we still rely on Emily to remember the details of things.) I told Fletch he could invite her to come. I doubted she would because, well, we are a lot. But she did come and we all thought – this one is the one. 

Emily is a teacher. She majored in Elementary and Special Education, but it’s just in her blood (which is what makes her a great homeschooling mom). She will turn any situation into a teachable moment. Like the time she was visiting Joy and Josh after they had moved into their new house (the one where she had spent hours scraping off wallpaper and painting the wall. And when Josh and Joy were short of help on moving day, Emily’s parents showed up to help – because they are awesome like that). But on this crisp autumn day, they started the first fire of the season in the wood burning stove which had gone unused for who knows how long. Before long the chimney was on fire, the room filled with smoke and the smoke alarm began to shriek. Emily grabbed the toddlers and removed them from the room. “Abi, do you know what that sound means?” she asked three year old Abi, ready to offer up a lesson on fire drills and safety. “Dinner’s ready?” Abi suggested. 

I appreciate that Emily always makes time in the schedule for birthday and holiday celebrations with us as well as just showing up in the ordinary times. Because what I know is that these days and these times will not last forever.

💙 And then there is Todd – one of the outlaws for a relatively short time but long enough to leave some stories that are still told even by those who never knew him. When there were fewer of us and very few littles to entertain us, often the evening’s activity when we were all together was a board game. Todd shared that, when they played games with his parents, sometimes his dad would take an extraordinarily long time to ponder his next move. Todd’s mother often said to him an exasperated tone, “Okay Phil!  We could all win if we took as long as you do!!” To this day, when we are playing a game and a player is taking too long, one of the littles who was born long after Todd left the family will say, “Okaaay Phil . . .”  and we all know what it means. The other story Todd contributed to the family lore was this:  One year at the beach we were preparing breakfast when we realized we were missing an ingredient. We sent Todd off to the store. He stopped at the Wee Winks Market and as he was leaving, his car was hit by someone exiting the parking lot. The driver of the car happened to be a member of the Twiddy family who owned Twiddy Realty and managed the majority of the rental property on the Outer Banks. They exchanged information and when Todd returned home we chastised him for taking so long. “Well, if you must know, I was hit by a twiddy in the wee winks.” I can’t explain why but there is something about that line that sounds like it should be rated PG and even now I can’t type those words without laughing out loud.

💙 And Rachelle, whom we are still getting to know. She and Faith have been married for five years and I do know they are a perfect fit for one another. She is a grief/loss therapist which in and of itself tells you what kind of a person she is. What I also know about Rachelle is that she loves my daughter and their kids with a fierce and a loyal love and I always and forever will love anybody who loves my people.

The outlaws have brought their stories, their customs, and their traditions to us and embraced this family with arms open wide. We would not be who we are without them, and they make us better by being one of us. We are blessed.

Melanie – the first of the next generation of “outlaws”

Of course, there will be more outlaws to come in the next generation, more stories to tell and more family to love.  Bring ’em on!



Lemon Meringue Pie, Coughing Cows, and More

~ Sharon Abbott ~ Leave a comment

What you have to understand first is that though Raeleen and I are related by blood (I am her aunt but only five years older than she), we really knew each other hardly at all. She was a country girl from Nebraska and I grew up in a city in Colorado. The oldest daughter of a brother 21 years older than I, we had spent a few Christmases together in our childhood though she was designated as one of the “little kids” and I was part of the “older crowd” – those nieces and nephews that were a little older or maybe a year or two younger. Other than that – our paths had not crossed at all. I knew about her, of course; when my mother was alive she kept me updated on the comings and goings of all the family but that was about it. As we grew to adulthood we bumped into each other  from time to time – at my mother’s funeral, my sister’s funeral and a few other times when family circumstances brought us together. . . but the truth is, we really only knew about each other.

How then, you might ask, did I, as a woman in my 60’s, end up sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to stand on a country road in central Nebraska under a start-studded sky waiting for my accomplice in  an adventure which would lead us deep into a pasture with no-trespassing signs posted all over? This story is the answer to that question.

Raeleen is a physical therapist – and a very good one I might add.  She has a thriving practice in a small town in Nebraska. People come to her from neighboring towns and even from out of state to experience her healing touch. My sister credited her with keeping her out of surgery and a wheelchair when everyone else had pretty much given up hope. And so, as the arthritis in my hip got worse and the pain from it began to impact my ability to function, I reached out to her.  “Give me four weeks and I can help,” she promised.  Of course, since I didn’t have four weeks to give, I wrote it off. My hip got worse. “Three weeks,” I said in my best negotiator voice. “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised. But as the time got closer, I began to get cold feet.  I had too much to do, I couldn’t be gone from home for three weeks, and of course the real issue was “what in the world would I do THERE for all that time?”  No WiFi, I wasn’t even sure I would have good cell phone coverage, no place to go and nothing to do. “I’m not going,” I told Paul. “It’s a bad idea.”  But he was convinced that I should go.  For no other reason, he said, than to spend the time with my 85 year old brother. When would I get a chance to do that again? “ It will be restful,” he said.  “Take some good books, listen to music, spend time with God, and who knows?  You might even have some adventures.”  Plus – maybe she could help my hip.

And so I packed two suitcases one of which was overweight and cost me $75  (one would have been more than enough because as it turns out, you don’t really need that much in Nebraska) said good-bye to my home and to  civilization and headed off to the hinter land.

 I stayed with my brother and sister-in-law at their place outside the town of Taylor (population 190). We quickly established a routine. Every morning, either my brother Irvin or his wife Joyce would drive me the 20+ miles from their house outside of Taylor to Raeleen’s office in Burwell (population 2,210). My hosts had been forewarned that I would need to be driven to and from treatment because, as my husband told my brother “there is no way on God’s green earth that you want to turn her lose in one of your vehicles if you ever want to see it again. She can’t find her way around the block when she has street signs.”  So off we would go every morning after breakfast. Raleen had an empty office in her building in which I set up shop and I was able to work (the office had Wi-Fi after all and lucky for me somebody knew the password) so I could actually communicate with my office back home via email.

Then, twice a day my niece would come to get me and put me on her table and work me over. And for an hour as she pushed and pulled, evaluated and stretched, rotated and chiseled, we would talk. We learned each other’s stories and how our lives had intersected the other’s in ways we had not known. We shared family history and filled in gaps in one another’s memory. She told me things about my mother that I had never known and I saw her through the eyes of a granddaughter rather than a daughter and I envied Raeleen the years that she had spent with my mother after I moved away and she moved closer to her. We talked about God and how we had each come to faith. We talked about our kids. We talked about being kids. We talked about books and movies and life. We talked about the joys and trials of small town life and what it was like to be a pastor’s wife in suburban Maryland. Daily I grew in my respect and admiration for this woman who was both salt and light in her community like no one I had ever seen. We talked about our failures and our journeys and in the telling and in the hearing we discovered in the other a kindred spirit and our “other best friend” – because we each already had best friends and of course would not want to replace them – we were just adding on. And then, at the end of the day, Cindy, (Raeleen’s sister and “office manager”) would give me a ride back to the Corner Stop (a gas station with a table in one corner where my brother often met his buddies for coffee in the afternoon) and I would ride the rest of the way home with Irvin and sometimes we would talk and sometimes we would just be and it was one of the best times of all. Joyce would have dinner ready for us and we would eat at 6:00 and then watch some kind of sports or bull riding competitions on TV until 9:00 when they would go to bed and I would go to my room and read.  And the next day, we would do it over again.

But on Wednesday nights I would go home with Raeleen so that I could go to her Wednesday night “Bible study” with her.  This consists of a group of ladies who get together, drink ginger tea which is how they came to be known as “the ginger ladies”, share their week and their lives with one another and sometimes study the Bible. And on those nights her husband Tom would cook for us. He is a rancher who raises his own cattle, raises the crops he feeds them, fattens them and then sells them. And so their freezer is filled with little bites of heaven – the best beef you will ever taste any time anywhere and the best argument I know not to be a vegetarian.  I’m not sure I will ever buy another super-market steak again – I would rather just do without.

The Ginger Ladies

 And then sometimes we would wake up before the sun, get in the car, and drive out into the pasture and sit in the dark and wait for the sunrise. Sitting in the dark, I learned to recognize the “night sounds” – the sound that insects make in the dark before the dawn. “Listen!” Raeleen instructed.  And then it grew absolutely quiet. No sound at all. Then one bird. And another. And another.  And soon the air was filled with their song – as if it were they who were waking the sun. And then came the first shafts of light and color, the sun would peek over the horizon and the day had begun.  It was magical.

 I was there for three Sundays:  Palm Sunday, Easter Sunday, and the one after. The first two I went to the little Methodist Church in Taylor with Irvin and Joyce. We went to the “before service coffee time” and sat at the table and I learned where the best fishing had been the week before and we talked of the drought and how desperate they were for rain and whether it would snow again this season. It did. On Palm Sunday we marched around the sanctuary waving our palm branches as we sang a hymn and the children and the old men and young mothers all joined in the hosannas. On Easter we went to a sunrise service out on somebody’s ranch at sunrise and sang some hymns and a boy played the cello and we watched the sunrise and drank coffee and ate coffee cake and I loved knowing that all over the world on this day Christians would be celebrating the resurrection in one way or another and that we were a part of that.

I met other characters in the story. Cody: the son of my brother’s neighbor who was an award winning bull rider and now works on a local ranch. One day Raeleen and I found my mother’s recipe for lemon meringue pie in an old recipe box she had given to her granddaughter before she died.  Raeleen loves lemon meringue pie and so I said I would make one for her.

Before leaving town, we stopped at the grocery store to buy the ingredients. When I went to bake the pies I realized I had neglected to buy cornstarch. At home this would have been no problem – just run back to the Food Lion and pick it up. Out here in the back country – not so easy.  Joyce and I were debating what to do.  Irvin said – call the neighbor and I can get in the pickup and drive over and get it (next-door has a different meaning where they come from). And so we did. And they did. And Cody was heading out to go do some branding and would drop it off. Which is how I came to have my forgotten grocery item delivered to me by a cowboy in his hat and boots who came in and sat down and had a piece of banana bread with us before being on his way.

 Food Lion is sooooo overrated.

I met Carol:  one of Raleen’s best friends who is the post-master in a little town where she ministers to and prays for everyone who comes in to collect their mail. Who has an amazing gift of hospitality and opens her home to the ginger-ladies each week and her stable to some city slicker who wants a photo-op on a horse.  And who loves her community to Jesus each and every day

I met Dennis: a retired teacher who went into ministry in his retirement and now pastors my brother’s little church as well as another church in the next town over and goes between them every Sunday, making a long day for him and a blessing for those whom he serves.

I met Dan, a friend of Irvin’s who opened his private fishing pond to us one afternoon and evening so that I could go fishing with Irvin without a license – and stayed and had a picnic dinner with us down by the pond and how we didn’t catch any fish but I got to have physical therapy by the lake and really – how often does that happen where I come from?

And then there was the time my cell phone rang in the middle of the night. The sound that actually woke me was the pounding of my heart against the wall of my chest because my body had already registered what my mind was struggling to hear as I swam toward consciousness – this could not be good news. But it was Raeleen:  HAVE YOU SEEN THE STARS??!!!!!  I had mentioned to her a few days before that you could never really see the stars at home because of all the lights. “What time is it?” was the only answer I could muster. But I did as I was instructed and went out into the yard and gazed at the heavens. And then I cried for the sheer beauty of it. My phone rang again, “Get dressed!  I’m on my way. We’re going star-gazing!!!” I knew it would take her 40 minutes to get there so I went in the house, got dressed and left a note explaining my whereabouts. Then I locked the door behind me and tiptoed out into the night. I walked out to the road so that the headlights wouldn’t wake my brother and his wife. Was I concerned about their sleep or about getting busted sneaking out?  Hmmmmm….

.She arrived with two travel mugs – coffee for her and tea for me, blankets, and away we went. We drove through a gate into a pasture off the beaten path – the headlights shown on a no trespassing sign but she didn’t seem too worried. I assumed she knew the property owner so I wasn’t worried either. And there we sat and watched the stars, tried to pick out constellations, and marveled at the beauty and mystery of it all. Shortly before dawn, one bird began to sing. And then another and another. Raeleen named them for me by their songs and there was not one she didn’t know. Then came one from the darkness that was deep and low. I heard it over and over again. What bird is that? I wanted to know. “That” she laughed, “is a coughing cow”.  I still had so much to learn! As the stars faded and the sky colored with the coming dawn, we basked in the beauty and sat surrounded by cows and birds and windmills and grasses and flowers. And more “No trespassing” signs. Whose property is this? I asked her.  “I have no idea,” came her reply.

Those three weeks changed my life.  They gave me time.  Time to move slowly with the rhythm of the season and the land. Time to visit with characters in the story and learn from them a different way of life than my own. Time to sit in a rocking chair and watch my brother braid the leather harnesses and headstalls that are nothing if not a work of art. Time to plot how to catch the varmint that was digging up the garden and set the traps and marvel every morning how the trap was sprung, the bait was gone but so was the varmint. To bake lemon pies and go fishing and eat homemade biscuits and gravy at the fundraiser for the high school. Time to read and to talk and to listen. To watch the sun come up and go down and star-gaze and enjoy conversation over a good steak. Time to fall in love with the land where I was born. To hear the stories of my family and my heritage and to learn what it looks like to love and to serve God in ways I never knew and to learn from this truly amazing and remarkable woman who is related to me by blood and now by love.  Oh, and my hip is better, too. Thanks for asking.