This Week's Blessings...

• Geese honking early in the morning.
• White metal bowl of pumpkins and gourds.
• Salted Caramel Apple Gold Canyon Candle
• Sunday morning breakfast around the table
• hot Chai with cream
• A 3-yr-old's prayers.
• Soft cuddly cream throw.
• Orchid blooming.
• Quiet Sunday afternoon.
• Ganoderma coffee with cream.
• Soft leggings.
• Shoes getting too big!
• Mini Quilt - I named it winter in Romania because of all the colourful houses.
• Christmas planning...
• Sunday school discussions.
• Wyatt's little hands.
• Contacts for Zach.
• Edburg's Quartet singing.
• My men helping with dinner.
• And CLEAN-UP!
• Thanksgiving supper at church.
• Youth singing.
• Teenage girls learning to sew.
• Misty sitting by me in church.
• Rainy afternoon.
• Online shopping at Superstore.
• Free chocolate bars! 
• Colby learning Solidworks.
• Colby's talent with welding.
• Colby made a unicycle. #itworks #hecanride
• Wyatt singing How much is that doggy in the window?

WW I've Got...

WW I’ve Got…

I’ve got this thing about fabric. I love it. I collect it. I sew it. I save it. I buy it. I stack it. I dream it. I think it.

I have a huge new laundry room, thanks to my wonderful hubby and fifteen years of planning and waiting. My laundry room includes a sewing space with drawers and cabinets and open shelves to store pretty things. The end wall has open cubbies stacked with fabric, dress fabric on one side and quilt and craft fabric on the other.

But that is not all. One corner of the faux marble countertop has a huge pink and white woven basket filled and overflowing with scrap fabric, at least two dresses that have never been finished, scrap fabric from my Nana’s dresses that I want to make into some cute mini quilt and random pieces of lace fabric and layered fabric and bits I’ve bought to cover pillows.

And that is not all. Beside the overflowing scrap basket are stacks of more fabric; a funky purse ready to sew, a skirt for Mrs. Kearnan, my neighbour, and a denim jean quilt in various stages of doneness that my middle son has claimed for his project.

And there’s more. I have stacks layered out; a pile for Wyatt’s room in greys and blues and trains and such, a pile for the many-pocket bag pattern my mom bought me this summer in random pinks and greys and clever wordy blacks, and another pile pulled for a boy blanket in aqua and grey and navy. They are dreams, all of it. I look and pull and put back and weeks later I still have piles layered.

But there are more, hidden drawers of random garage sale fabric my neighbour friend so kindly gifted to me, drawers of slip fabric and lace and tricot and interfacing, a corner cupboard dedicated to batting scraps for baby quilts and mini quilts. And then there’s my cutting table cupboard with clear stacking boxes of leftover pieces from quilts gone by, to be used someday in some project.

I think we’ll overlook the remaining stacks and boxes of fabric and gaze happily at the bright pink crocheted lace piece my good friend gave me for my last birthday. It’s draped over the big window overlooking my back yard and it draws the eye from the colourful stacks of fabric to the soothing pale aqua of the walls and the white-white of the cabinetry.

WW Footsteps

My footsteps and my trusty old Acadia have led me to the distant city of Edmonton. My mom and sisters  (not all) are gathering for food and fellowship and my mother's birthday! It is truly a slice in the pie of life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That's all I sent to the WW group but oh, did we ever have a wonderful time! It was too bad Karen couldn't be there, But all in all, it was refreshing and reviving! I don't know when I've laughed so hard! And I felt kinda petted, the littlest girl, you know. I loved the girly times. We shopped Ikea for hours, ate at Cora's for breakfasts, sat and visited as long as we wanted, drank tea together late at night, swapped quilts and kiddo stories and food and tea. It was just so so so good.

The end.

WW Pious Awe

{WW} Pious Awe

Unfortunately, I can’t seem to get past the bad rap the word ‘pious’ has in my vocabulary and understanding. I have enjoyed what the rest of you have written and looked up the word myself. In the true sense of the word, yes, life and death and most certainly the new birth would qualify for an article on pious awe. But childhood memories bring back taunting terms of ‘Oh, you Pious Jeremious!’ and ‘Oh, all pious now, eh?’

I can’t seem to move past this connotation of the word pious. I’ve never heard of the term ‘pious awe’ (which is fun! And what the WW is all about!) and my only life experience, in the negative meaning of it, is rather pitiful to recollect.

I was just a child, a child of a father who was delightfully himself. He cared not what others thought of him. He did as he pleased. He took us sledding on Saturdays and skating on cold winter evenings. He led our family in devotions and got a funny smile on his face when my mother made interesting remarks. He was proud of us and proud of her. But sometimes he embarrassed us.

One time he took us on a lengthy trip to another province and we visited a ‘high-up’ couple. My dad didn’t mind asking if we could come for a meal or night or whatever it was. The most disturbing part was the reaction of the lady of the house. Oh, she was all sweetness. But her expressions and words did not match. Her actions belied her feelings. It was awful. I cried and cried and cried, in my bedroom, as a child.

This term made me think of that painful memory: a lady oh so sweet, oh so righteous and oh so not nice to the people who disturbed her perfect life, a lady to be regarded with pious awe. e

WW Fetching

Mrs. Brown and the Bat Encounter

It was a lovely August day. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, the green leaves swayed on the trees. Mrs. Brown was spending a Sunday, a true day of rest, at home with Mr. Brown and the Littles. Mrs. Brown was doing laundry, not her general idea of a restful Sunday activity, but considering their lovely camping trip they had just returned from late the night before it was nevertheless essential.

Mrs. Brown stepped out her back door onto the little porch where there stood a clothesline pole, tall and statuesque, and hung a clothesline, slim and dainty, obliterated against the eastern blue spruce surrounding the Brown farm. Mrs. Brown gazed off into the trees, her thoughts on distant things as well, as she proceeded to reach into the dilapidated clothespin bag for pins.

Her attention was swiftly brought to reality when she heard an aerosol can spraying close to her. Ch-Ch-Ch. Suddenly Mrs. Brown realized her wrist was wet and instantaneously all her faculties were focused fervently in the general direction of where the noise was coming from. She jumped perceptibly as she stared at a tiny black bat staring back at her from behind the clothespin bag. The bat hissed and spit, showing wicked vampire teeth. Mrs. Brown flung the towels in the basket and went running inside, yelping, “There’s a bat!! And he spit on me!! HELP!!”

Mr. Brown came running. Mr. Brown did not generally run in an emergency. But then, Mrs. Brown did not generally yell things about bats either. Tall Boy Brown and Middle Boy Brown came running as well. Mrs. Brown hid behind the door while her men cajoled and frightened the little bat at intervals. It hissed and spit and bared its teeth. Mrs. Brown thought perhaps she had never seen something so evil in her life, as she watched from safety inside.

After a while the frightened little bat flew away, swooping dangerously into the corner by the garage, then to safety in the trees. Mrs. Brown breathed a sigh of relief and tears pooled in her eyes. Mr. Brown and Tall Boy Brown and Middle Boy Brown went back to reading their books.

Mrs. Brown stared down at her basket of wet laundry, then scooped it up and hurried inside.

Now Mrs. Brown is very cautious about fetching clothes from the wash-line. She carefully peers around and in the clothespin bag every time and shudders. 

Inspiration From Streams In The Desert

Be all at rest, my soul, oh blessed secret,
Of the true life that glorifies thy Lord:
Not always doth the busiest soul best serve Him
But he that resteth on His faithful Word.
Be all at rest, let not your heart be rippled
For tiny wavelets mar the image fair,
Which the still pool reflects of heavens glory -
And thus the image He would have thee bear.

Be all at rest, my soul, for rest is service,
To the still heart God doth His secrets tell;
Thus shalt thou learn to wait, and watch, and labour
Strengthened to bear, since Christ in thee doth dwell.
For what is service but the life of Jesus
Lived through a vessel of earth's fragile clay,
Loving and giving and poured forth for others,
A living sacrifice from day to day.

Be all at rest, so shalt thou be an answer
To those who question, "Who is God and where?"
For God is rest, and where He dwells is stillness
And they who dwell in Him, His rest shalt share.
And what shall meet the deep unrest around thee,
But the calm peace of God that filled His breast?
For still a living Voice calls to the weary,
From Him who said, "Come unto Me and rest."

Freda Hanbury Allen

Sept 2016 WW Introductions

Hi! I'm Jolene (call me Jo if you want) Esau  from Swanson, SK. I'm married to Patrick (Pat) Esau for 16 years and I'm 37, he's 39. We have 3 boys:


Colby Blaine - 14, loves hunting, fishing, camping, snowboarding, hockey but not schoolwork or singing (very unfortunately but we're working on him). He's quiet and good-natured and has his father's sense of humor.


Zachary Brett - 12, loves dirtbikes (tho he's not allowed to get one), hockey, snowboarding, biking, uni-cycling or actually anything to move quickly on wheels. He's almost legally blind (his docs say because he was preemie) but he wears contacts and most people don't know how bad his eyesight actually is - barely 20/50 with contacts, 20/60 with glasses.

Wyatt Benjamin - 3, talks a lot and comes up with a lot of winners. Feels like he should be able to do everything his brothers do, for example he has a large scrape on his arm from trying to cat-walk his bike. He's extremely agile, has been scaling the fridge and tall dressers for 2 years but we're working on that too. He loves to sing, songs like Tender Is The Love Of Jesus and Christian Hymnal songs. We feel pretty lucky to have him.

My better half owns and operates a welding shop and I do books, payroll, etc for him. Our boys have spent the summer working for him, for their Uncle Arlen (punching and bending in a welding shop), for Uncle Rennie (farming), for Carlin and Warren (both have chicken farms) and Uncle Jeff (log building and mowing yard).


I love to sew, quilt, organize, read, garden and shop! I've come to the conclusion that i must like to be busy or I would surely be able to not have so much going all the time. I love chai tea and coffee and chocolate and bright colours and home decor and shoes and purses and sweaters and many other frivolous things. I like to write. I sort of have a love-hate relationship with writing. I took the summer off from writing (completely, except my happy journal) and it was delightful.


I just wrote a list of fall things to do. And then I wrote a List of fall things to do. This is the second:

• Roast marshmallows over the fire.
• Take a walk.
• Wear a favourite sweater and warm socks and sip hot tea outside.
• Build a bonfire.
• Read a book.
• Sleep out in the tent and make breakfast over the fire.
• Visit the zoo.
• Go to Kinsmen Park with a picnic lunch and enjoy the rides.
• Cuddle with favourite blankets.
• Sew a quilt.
• Drink hot chocolate.
• Eat supper in the field with the harvesters.
• Ride on a combine, swather, grain-truck.
• Stay up late and watch the stars.
• Light the candles.

Summer...

Wanna come for a sit around the fire behind our house by the blue spruce? We’ll bring out the extra-large marshmallows. Colby will whittle some roasting sticks and we’ll sit and discuss late while the stars dance overhead and the fluffy clouds darken and the pinks and maroons settle calmly on the western horizon. In between our thoughts you’ll hear the chirping of the crickets and the pop-pop-popping of the caragana seeds on the trees along the road. Probably an old pickup will rumble past or the neighbour on his dirt-bike will be heading home from work. And if we’re lucky the lawns will be mowed and the thick grass will stick to your flips. The dew will sweep your toes as you tuck them under your chair and firelight dances higher.

If we are well acquainted you would know that Arlen & Jodi’s Nicole is getting married and I’d tell you that I’m sewing the wedding dress (just have the belt left to do) and that I helped put on her shower this last week. I might tell you about getting all set up at the Villa and then moving everything under the carport quickly when the daily shower came over. Nicole likes vintage stuff and I’d probably relay in detail the décor; strung lights, miscellaneous wooden crates, a row of wedding dresses, old wedding shoes stacked on three crates in the center, jars painted pink and dipped in gold glitter, a vintage dresser with drawers open to set the gifts and huge puff-balls from the ditches sprayed gold and set in more jars.

You probably would ask me how our two weeks were with Pat’s folks home from Window Rock on break and I’d tell you it was crazy, and busy, and full of shop yearend stuff and meals at folks and work and even a little holiday up to Otter Lake with Jeffs and folks. And you’d say, how was that? And I’d say mostly good and a little stressful. We got caught on the lake in a thunder and lightning storm and I call that high stress. We rented a fairly new cabin along the water that fit all of us and that was great. The first morning I woke up early and walked down to the pier by myself and sat cross-legged gazing out on the water, the mist falling, the fish jumping and just felt God’s heartbeat. We toured down the Stuart River and caught fish along the bottom of the waterfalls. We saw Bennet Island, fished for walleye at North Falls and cooked it over the fire, toured Robertson Falls around and down the far side where I had never been, and looked over burned-off Utie Island where we staked a claim or campsite for many years. And in between we boated and toured and ate snacks and fished and listened to the loons and breathed clean northern spruce-y air.

And of course I would ask you about your summer, your children, your friends and your hobbies and we’d probably laugh as we talk. And if we had a long time I might tell you about our trip to Neilburg to Josh & Krista’s wedding, our quick little jaunt to Deer Valley Meadows for a large Esau reunion and about my week of teaching Bible School and Rog & Lis stopping for a quick supper in Saskatoon. Probably I’d tell you that this has been the best summer for the boys; piles of jobs and work nearly every day but my toilets and floors are a little neglected.

And once it got super late we’d head inside with cups and food and mosquito spray in tow. And I’d secretly hope no one would trip over the wet pool towels and that you’d look beyond the shoes spread hither and yon and that ‘dusted baseboards’ have no part in your vocabulary.

But most of all we’d touch hearts, look beyond one another’s weaknesses and in a quiet Christ-like way point each other faithfully and boldly to our long Home.

A break...

She is taking a small break. She may be back soon and she may not. She knoweth not. Have a good summer!

{WW} involuntary/involuntarily

{WW} involuntary/involuntarily

Mrs. Brown was busy being a domestic housewife. She baked fresh raspberry muffins with lemon flavouring for afternoon lunch for her family. She made a large apple crisp for Sunday Dinner Company. Mrs. Brown even washed her floors and wiped down her counter tops. It was indeed a virtuous day. When Mrs. Brown took her last pan of muffins out of the oven she burst forth into song, involuntarily, “My bonnie has tuberculosis, my bonnie has one rotten lung, she spits in a pail by her bedside… and saves it for chewing gum…”

“What? What’s that, mom?” Middle Brown asked quickly, one eye still trained on his Black Stallion book.

“Dentyne, Dentyne, delicious nutritious Dentyne, Dentyne” sang Mrs. Brown.

“Mom, what was the first part that you sang?” asked Middle Brown again.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Brown, “something just came forth from the dark recesses of my brain.”