10 Ways to Spend a Summer Day with the Children or Grandchildren

Summers "On Layton" have taken on a new excitement.

From the mid-1970's to the early '90's my boys busied this yard on Layton with bikes, bugs, basketballs, and plenty of buddies. And then there were a few decades of silence.

But 2014 has brought a new crop of children. . . the sons and daughters of my sons. It's exhilarating, although often wearying, to be back in the business of creatively making every day interesting and fun. (By the way, that's just another thing I love about God . . . He gives us second chances.)

Entertainment and fun were far from my primary goals as a mother in those early decades. The name of the game then was survival! But I've graduated. I bear the title "Grandma," and that title inherently carries with it the desire to excel in the eyes of my grandchildren as a fun-maker. How can I make every day they are here memorable? What can we do that will cause even a hard-to-please nine-year-old to say, "That was really a great day, Mama Jo!"

All my grandkids with Great-grandpa Joe on a Super Summer 2014 Day.

  

So "Master of Fun" is one of my primary goals these days. It's a worthy calling for a retiree, and I'm sticking to it.

But there is an added dimension that makes each  "fun" day with my grandchildren memorable. God says in Deuteronomy 6:5-7, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up."                

So woven into our play time are reminders of who God is, how much He loves them and has sacrificed for them, and how He has a great plan and purpose for their lives. The highest goal is to see these children into God's Kingdom . . . and we've had plenty of fun this summer as we do that.

10 THINGS WE DID THIS SUMMER THAT "SCORED" . . . IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE:

1. We read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis. Then we found the videos at the library and watched them several times.


2. On Tuesday and Wednesday throughout the summer Regal Theater in Dickson shows a $1 movie at 9:30am. Walking with Dinosaurs is coming up in August.

3. We picked blueberries but missed the annual tractor ride to pick strawberries at Pallman's.

4. On Tuesdays kids can play mini-golf for free at Lahey's.

5. Our area parks are wonderful! Who doesn't love splash park at South Abington? Scott Township has a super slide affair at the end of Layton Road. And Waverly Community House takes the prize with their wooden consortium.

6. Back porch board games. Monopoly is our all-time favoite.

7. Kids Bowl Free at Idle Hour Bowling Lanes is a wonderful program. Each week we receive new coupons for the kids to bowl two free games every day! Shoes must be rented. The program goes on all summer. Idle Hour also has a glow-in-the-dark mini golf that the boys enjoyed.

8. House projects that can involve the skills and strength of the children cultivate a good work ethic. This summer we cleared a part of our yard of undergrowth and had to rake rocks, reseed, and hay. Good exercise. Good learning.

9. Local camps and vacation Bible schools are well planned and creative . . . and they fulfill both of my summer goals with the children. This year we enrolled in Evangelical Free Church's Bible Camp at the Joe Terry Center in Montdale. What a fantastic day camp! Baseball players from the Rail Riders, animals from Pocono Environmental, a juggler ala smoke and swords, games, inflatable water slide, and on and on. Local churches really do a marvelous job. In addition, there are local day camps like Big Blue Soccer Camp at Baptist Bible College that my grandson loves.



10. Our piece d'resistance each summer is the annual camping trip with the entire extended family to Knoebel's Amusement Park. Roller coasters and bumper cars are the favorites, but nothing tops the whole family around an evening camp fire with s'mores, songs, and stories.

GERSHWIN WROTE, "SUMMERTIME AND THE LIVIN' IS EASY."
BUT I SAY, "SUMMERTIME AND THE GRANDMOTHERIN' IS FUN" . . .

And that's the way it is this July . . . On Layton.

   

Feature Blog: On Layton: The View from My Front Porch - PAHomepage.com

Feature Blog: On Layton: The View from My Front Porch - PAHomepage.com

A Friend of "On Layton" Publishes Her First Novel

Cindy Noonan, Clarks Summit resident and
author of Dark Enough to See the Stars.

Cindy Noonan, a Clarks Summit resident and a member of my writers' group, published her first novel in June with Helping Hands Press. Of course, our group is thrilled for her. She may be the mother of the novel, but those of us in the writers' enclave feel like the mid-wives who helped to bring it into the world. Consequently, we want to brag on the baby a bit.

Fortunately, bragging on the novel is not an exercise in blindly extolling the merits of the book just because we offered help with comma placement and plot development. The novel can stand for itself in quality and readability.

Dark Enough to See the Stars is an historical fiction story of a boy's escape from slavery on a plantation in Maryland. The heart-wrenching separation of young Moses from his mother, who is being sold South, propels the initial action of the book as he squeezes Mama's pillowy arms for the last time at the railroad station and takes off into the frightening unknown of life on the run from the slave catchers.

The reader follows Moses across the border into Pennsylvania and freedom, only to discover that slave catchers roam the countryside in search of escaped slaves, even in this "free" state. He spends days in "hidey-holes" in logs and caves, traveling by night. Moses is aided by abolitionists in Pennsylvania and New York who transport him secretly from mills, to barns, to homes with hidden cubby holes and safety. Always, he follows the North Star, the ever-present guide and comfort Mama told him would be his direction to freedom in Canada.

Moses' adventures along the Susquehanna River and other familiar places in PA and NY bring home state geography and history alive for the reader. Cindy spent several years writing the novel, due in no small part to her extensive research into the places, people, and events of the Underground Railroad. The result is a novel that will be a living history lesson, not only for the young adult reader but also for anyone interested in the making of freedom in America.

The novel offers admiration for the black slaves who faced beatings and torture, the dissolution of their family units, and a relentless daily cycle of fear. The novel also offers inspiration for anyone facing the difficulties of life. It reassures us that in the trials of life, there is hope. Life's dark moments only served to highlight direction and hope.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote, "Trouble is in the land . . . But I know, somehow, that only when it's dark enough can you see the stars. And I see God working . . ."....


Author Cindy Noonan has given us a novel of worth and value because she has given history a heartbeat.

Visit Cindy's website to purchase a book: www.cindynoonan.com or visit her page on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Enough-Stars-Cindy-Noonan-ebook/dp/B00KRPWHLS/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1405389068&sr=1-1&keywords=cindy+noonan


The first four chapters of the Dark Enough to See the Stars are available at http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Enough-Stars-Cindy-Noonan/dp/1622085345/ref=la_B00KRT5RAC_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1405389383&sr=1-1

For the Class of 2014 . . .

This spring some of my favorite people donned tasseled mortar boards and polyester gowns. They walked an aisle to a stage where they received a handshake and a certificate or diploma acknowledging their achievement.

It's a cultural ritual, a rite of passage from one stage of life to another.

Generations of the graduate's family show up for the event: great-grandpa who only finished the eighth grade, grandma who was the family's first to graduate from college, and Uncle Bill who boasts a BS, MS, and PhD. They rally to celebrate their posterity's success and new beginning. There is hope in new beginnings, and today's families need a good dose of hope.

Shayna, Messiah College graduate

In May our family showed up en masse for my niece Shayna's graduation from Messiah College. She finished her bachelor's program in three years, unheard of in these days of completing the four years of college in five, six or more years. Shayna is a good student, a hard worker. She packed her senior year of high school with advanced placement courses and entered college as a sophomore. Every family needs a shining star, and this red-haired beauty qualifies for the Joneses.

Maverick, Small World graduate

The family rallied again in May for the 2014 graduation of the Small World preschool class. My grandson, Maverick, marched around the gymnasium behind his classmates with an effusive, "look-at-me, mom" grin. Mack loved preschool. He's determined to make a career of it.

And tonight Lakeland High School graduates its class of 2014. They are family of a different sort for me. My thirty-one years of teaching ended when this class was in eighth grade. They represent my last year as a public school educator. What a marvelous group they were to teach! They hold a hallowed spot in this teacher's heart.

Lakeland High School, Class of 2014, June 17

Preschool, high school, and college grads I love . . . I feel a commencement address is in order. My credentials for this privilege include plenty of on-the-job training with mistakes, failures, and missed opportunities. Failure, as you've heard, is a great teacher. Mostly, I'm just getting old, and that holds a satisfying amount of experience and the desire to pass it along.

In three words: DEPEND, THANK, SERVE.

DEPEND . . . on God. Get to know Him, who He is, what He's done, what you mean to Him. Discover that He is a sovereign, wise, and loving God who values YOU. He knows the story of your life, and you can trust Him. Get to know your Creator, Protector, Redeemer, and Friend. HE WILL NEVER LEAVE OR FORSAKE YOU . . . EVER. That's a promise to take with you through life. I wish we could always be with you to help, but we won't be. Seek God and DEPEND on His faithfulness.

THANK . . . Let thankfulness be the spirit of your life. Train your brain to find the wonder and beauty of each day and every situation. Be thankful in everything - it is the secret to being content in life whether you live in plenty or in want. Practice it.

SERVE . . . Life will take on purpose, meaning, and joy as you invest it in other people. Don't allow your life to be all about you. There are children who need to be loved, poor who need to be helped, elderly and ill who need to be comforted, and a world that needs the gifts only you can give. Really.

So keep that focus, dear 2014 graduates. Step with confidence and with God over the threshold to this new beginning. What's on your horizon? Mile after mile of HOPE. God bless.

Memorial Day 2014

From my Porch on Layton . . . I enjoy the view.

It’s Memorial Day.

            Temperatures on Layton today have made Justus a summer delight. The lawn, thick and green with last night’s rain, awaits my Toro. Several mowers can be heard up and down Layton. Families of wrens, robins, and chickadees have called the Justus Symphony Orchestra to concert in the old oak, whose arms have draped over Layton for a hundred years. The cat lies lazily in the shade of the picnic table, swatting listlessly at low-flying bugs. The Adirondack chairs under the sprawling maple in the rear of the yard sit like thrones, presiding regally over this small world.

 It could be Memorial Day, 1962. The view from my porch hasn’t changed much in the past fifty years.

            Fifty years ago this already-old house buzzed with picnic preparations. Memorial Day launched the summer season when the city cousins from North Scranton trekked “up the country.” The extended family came every weekend in the summer for all-day backyard cookouts to escape the city heat and to “kibbitz” with one another.

           

In those days this house, on whose porch I sit these fifty years later, belonged to my grandmother, Nana Evans, known as Aunt Ethel to the cousins. My mom, dad, sisters, and I lived in the house next door to Nana here on Layton. Our two yards converged with plenty of room for children to grow up.

Summer preparations began in earnest for this first picnic of the season. Dad washed off the metal glider and pulled out the aluminum yard chairs.  He hammered the badminton net into place, rehung the tether ball, and filled the grill with charcoal. “Annie, where’s the . . . ?” Dad called intermittently to my mother in the kitchen. “Annie,” a whirling dervish in her own right, swept about the kitchen preparing her favorite jello mold recipe and macaroni salad.

The coming of the cousins brewed high excitement.

            Nana and her sisters, Aunt Peggy, Aunt Ruthie, and Aunt Millie, reigned as matriarchs of the brood. Aunt Ruthie lived in Chinchilla. Aunt Peggy lived on Margaret Avenue in Scranton near her daughter Peg; her son Bill lived just a street over on Edna Avenue. Aunt Peggy’s son Bob and his wife Mickey had moved after World War II to that haven for post-war vets, Levittown, in search of a job that didn’t involve the coal mines. All of the men of those two generations had put in some time in the mines: Grandpa Evans spent his entire working life in the Olyphant breaker; Uncle Gordy, Aunt Peggy’s husband, Aunt Ruthie’s husband Uncle Victor, and Aunt Millie’s husband Uncle Cliff had their hands to the pick and shovel until the demise of the industry. Even my dad earned his first paychecks from the Olyphant breaker. Summer afternoons in the country gave them a chance to blow off the soot and breathe fresh air.

            Aunt Ruthie didn’t have any children, but Aunt Peggy’s children and grandchildren made it a party. We had cousins in every age group from Peg’s three girls, Lynn, Beth, and Lori, to Bill’s children, Glenny, Phil, and Les. Sometimes Bob and Mickey came up from Levittown. When Bob’s family came, the excitement and activity increased with his twin sons Bob and Bill and daughters, Joan and Gail. Our cup overflowed with cousins and a bevy of adults to supervise. Everyone had a buddy.

The ghosts of memories dance around the yard this Memorial Day: I see Phil hiding behind the front hedges in our twilight hide-and-seek game. The twins clank the lids on their jars as they corral lightening bugs. “Hey, Joey,” Sid yells to my dad as he slams the birdie over the badminton net and into the lilac bush.

Nana and her sisters laugh and talk simultaneously at high volume under the shade of the old apple tree. Mom runs in and out of the kitchen with tablecloths and food. “Annie, don’t forget the ketchup. The dogs are ready!” Dad announces to the yard in general as Jiggsy, our beagle, runs between legs seeking what he might devour.

One year Glenny ripped open her leg on the chicken wire around my dad’s new seedlings. The pitch of the old aunts’ cackling went up a decibel as Glenny was rushed off to the emergency room for stitches.

Another year Sid won our hearts when he took all of us kids horse back riding up Layton at Bill Jones’s riding stable.

Gail, Glenny, and I would swing on the front porch glider sharing secrets about our parents and boys.

If there weren’t enough paper plates, my mother, never a slave to fashion, was known to rip them and serve the kids on half plates.

Bill’s wife, Mair, always managed to bring the winning covered dish delight. A bit more avant-garde than the rest, she actually searched out recipes and bedazzled our taste buds.

At the end of the picnic day, our family stood around the yard saying good-byes, planning the next week’s picnic, hugging, and waving the cousins off to their distant homes in Scranton. A satisfied sense of belonging and continuity tucked me into bed although I doubt if I could have identified the reason for my joy at that time.

Today the yard is silent except for the clatter and spontaneity of my memories. Nana and the aunts, Peggy and Sid, Bill and Mair, Bob and Mickey, and Mom are all gone. I only see the cousins now at funerals. When we cousins see each other at these last goodbye’s, it’s evident that the cousin bond was deeply forged in our childhoods. Phil and one of the twins, Bob, reminded me at a  recent funeral, “My best childhood memories were in your yard.” Only Dad, at 93, remains of that generation.

The cousins scattered to the wind when we began the migration to college. Most never returned to Scranton. Lynn married a Dutchman and moved to the Netherlands. Phil retired from the FBI to Memphis. Les is an in-demand orthopedic surgeon in Kansas City. The twins are still best friend-brothers down in Bucks County. Gail had a knitting business for awhile in Pittsburgh, and Glenny suffers, the collective recipient of the family’s legendary struggle with diabetes. Many of us are the grandparents now; all of us are senior citizens.

Still, I enjoy the view from my porch. The apple tree succumbed to lack of care. When it only produced quarter-sized apples, it met dad’s axe. The front porch glider has seen countless coats of paint, but it stands immovable, its steel frame too heavy to lift. The other day my grandson and I tried to find the tether ball pipe, implanted somewhere mid-yard, hoping to put it back in action, but it had sunk into oblivion. The chicken wire is gone as are the aluminum chairs, but they had a long run through three generations, thanks to my ever-mending, ever-replacing father. We still enjoy badminton, though the nets manage only short lives. A propane grill eventually replaced my dad’s red charcoal burner.

But the yard is silent this Memorial Day. Three of my grandchildren live in Indiana. Dad sold his house next door and moved to South Carolina. The echoes of memories resound from oak to maple.

But I . . . I continue to enjoy the view from my porch on Layton.

The Glory of March - Sap!

Grandsons, acres of maple trees . . . and plastic tubing!

We spent the Ides of March off Layton because the sap is running, and we wanted to follow the flow! Evidently, the sap runs when the nights are cold, and the days are warm. No reason to beware of this Ides as the maple trees are feeling the warmth, and so are we.

I took my grandsons to a maple sugar farm. The experience was much less harrowing than the snow shoe escapade at the state park. In fact, today's adventure involved food . . . a perk that always makes a grandma-adventure fun.

We trekked to Burke's Maple Farm on Crystal Lake Road in Carbondale for their open house weekend. Mr. Burke and his mother walked us through the maple syrup-making process.

I envisioned a maple sugar farm with little wooden spigots drilled in the sides of  maples and a bucket dangling below each spigot. But we had stepped out of that Norman Rockwell painting and into the twenty-first century. This farm boasted all the equipment of a state-of-the-art maple sugaring powerhouse. In fact, the farm looked almost like a scene from a sci-fi thriller!

Thousands of maples, for football field spaces in every direction, linked to each other with miles and miles of plastic tubing . . . plastic tubing up the mountainside, plastic tubing down the hill, plastic tubing across the meadows, plastic tubing weaving serpentine through the forest as far as the eye could see, forming a maze of interconnected, living, breathing, sugar-producing trees.

I wondered if the deer stumble through this plastic labyrinth, entwining their antlers in plastic tubing, or if the black bears pull the tubing apart and sit beneath maples, sucking the sweet nectar until they lapse into a sugar coma.

But it is vacuum cylinders that suction the sap through the tubing, and the sap runs, throbbing and shushing across the woodlands, like the circulatory system of a giant towards the heart of the farm, the boiler. The tubing rises above our heads, over the driveway, and dumps into the gleaming, stainless steel collector . . . the life blood of nature, bringing healthy sweetness to greenhorns like me.

Amazing.

A full time contractor, Mr. Burke runs the maple sugaring operation as a hobby . . . granted, an expansive one that must involve spending a lot of time with plastic tubing and Mrs. Burke's homemade maple muffins, maple cookies, and maple candy. She appears to be a chef extraordinaire with all things maple.

There were samples, of course, so the boys headed for the muffins and cookies. The maple glazed walnuts scored with all of us. We bought two packages, finishing most of them off on the ride home. Of course, we bought a king's ransom of syrup for pancakes, too. The plan is to make the walnuts this week with our fresh syrup so the glory of March will last a bit longer.

We already have a grandma adventure planned for the Ides of March in 2015. It will have something to do with plastic tubing and maple glazed walnuts.

Visit Burke's Maple Farm on line: http://www.burkesmaplefarm.com/index.html

Maple Glazed Walnuts

Yield: 

2 cups of glazed nuts

Ingredients: 

2 cups walnut halves and pieces
1 tablespoon butter
pinch of salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/3 cup pure maple syrup

Instructions: 

1. Measure ingredients (or have nearby) before starting so they are ready when needed.

2. In a heavy or non-stick skillet (I used stainless steel) over medium-high heat, melt butter. When butter is melted, quickly stir in the salt and cinnamon. Stir in maple syrup and then stir in the nuts.

3. Contiinue stirring over medium-high heat as the nuts are getting hot and the syrup is bubbly. Stir constantly as the syrup bubbles and then begins to thicken around the walnuts.

4. The nuts are done when the syrup is a thick glaze on the nuts. Remove pan from heat and lay nuts on a plate (not plastic) to cool.

Book Review: A Map for the Middle by Matthew Sink

What if I flunk the test at school tomorrow? What if people don't like me? What if I get sick? What if my parents get a divorce? What if our house catches on fire? And the list of "what ifs" dances about in a young teen's head and whispers failure and fear.

The middle school years for these young teens are a mine field of disaster. The quicksand of popularity to the left, the rapids of sexual awakening to the right, the forest of insecurity all around, and the bustling metropolis of electronic media rearing its head at every turn. Middle school is not for the faint of heart. I know. I was a middle school teacher for thirty-one years.

Middle school students, or early teens from about 12 to 14 years of age, need guidance. This small book (101 pages), A Map for the Middle, written to and for this age group, will provide insight and information these kids "in the middle" need to navigate their way through the treacherous landscape of the middle school.

The book is easy to read. Its presentation is simple and clear, and there are plenty of illustrations from the life and experience of the author, Matthew Sink, a minister at Pinedale Christian Church in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and a former teacher in North Carolina public schools..

Without the help, guidance, love, and support of adults around them, middle schoolers can be swallowed in the turmoil of these years. This book will provide an excellent resource for caring, involved adults to use in mapping their young teens to safety and right choices.

Some teens will enjoy reading and doing the devotion at the end of each chapter on their own, but the book's maximum effectiveness might be in discussing each chapter with a significant adult in the teen's life: a parent, grandparent, youth group leader, or mentor. Discussing this book with other teens and an adult will provide an accountability group that could be vital in keeping them on the right track.

Each chapter addresses a challenge faced by early teens: popularity, insecurity, sex, worry and stress, decision making, managing media, and finding a life of meaning. The devotion at the end of each chapter consists of a Bible reading related to the topic of the chapter and a thought-provoking question to help the teen apply the biblical truth to his or her life.

Simple and clear directives give young teens a plan for dealing with the conflicts and crises of their middle school lives. For example, in the chapter on insecurity this is some of the advice the teen is offered:
1. "People judge us by how we present ourselves to and treat them . . . People are hungry for kindness . . . As long as you are kind and warm, they'll respond favorably to you!" (page 26)
2. "Don't allow others to define your worth." (page 26)
3. "Every kid in school is as insecure as you are." (page 27)

I love the kind of encouragement that Pastor Sink gives teens throughout the book. Try this advice on any teen . . .
 "God made you in His image, and He loves you right now. Knowing this changes everything. Think about it - because of God's love:

• "You don't need to try so hard to impress people."
• "You can stop worrying about whether or not you're worthy of admiration."
• "You can take a breath and say, 'I was made in the image of God, and He has plans for me; I matter!'"
• "You can freely be you." (pages 28-29)

A Map for the Middle walks the middle school student through the difficult adolescent years and provides him or her with guidance, compassion, and direction. I would recommend this book to young teens and the adults who mentor them.

For further information on this book, go to http://ambassador-international.com/books/map-middle/.

*I received this book free from the publisher,Ambassadors International, in order to write this review.