And it did. Boy, did it ever. From sitting outside in shirtsleeves on a café patio one day to hovering around the fireplace at home the next. It’s snowing!
As my neighbour said, “What the hay? I’m going to write to my member of parliament. I didn’t sign up for this!” Neither did we, when we moved to the banana belt of Canada.
It was a good day to be indoors, to fire up the stove, and make applesauce with the pailful of scabby apples that’s been mouldering on our patio, waiting for a good day to make applesauce. And working in the kitchen like that gave me time to think about change.
It seems as though wherever I turn lately, I am confronted by change. Our grandchildren are growing up too quickly.
|These are the same sweet girls that are pictured with me at the top of this blog -- just a few years older. And now two of them are taller than I am.|
And there’s more. Our neighbours moved. Our old vehicles are falling apart. Political systems are turned upside down, and lies masquerade as the truth. Even the pope, that bastion of steadfastness, is thinking maybe it would be a good idea if priests could get married. Slow down, world, you’re going too fast.
Rosabeth Moss Kanter, a Harvard business professor, says many – maybe most – people resist change, and for good reason. When change comes, they feel as though they have lost control. They are anxious that the change will challenge them beyond their capabilities. Their perception of the world may be turned topsy turvy, and they’ll have to readjust. We’re creatures of habit – and what’s wrong with that, huh? And don’t you know that one change will lead to others, and where will this merry-go-round stop?
The course that I’ve been taking also deals with change: a change in thinking about spiritual matters. Often, as we grow and experience things, as we think about life and God and all the big questions, we realize that some of things we were so sure about might need to be tweaked. The older I get, the less I know for sure. I don’t like it when that happens, but there’s no turning back once that egg has been cracked. Like Humpty Dumpty, you can’t put it back together again. And really, what good is a raw egg inside its shell? The only way to get through the turmoil is to keep on going, to find a new “true” for you.
These thoughts are swirling through my head as I dig my hands into the pail of apples and begin, chopping out the bad parts and filling a big pot with the chunks that are leftover. I leave the skin and seeds on, and when the pot is full, I add some water and put them on to cook. The lovely aroma fills the kitchen.
When they are cooked, I puree them in a food mill which separates the goodies from the gunk. I get a big bowl full of sweetness, no sugar needed. It’s as though that period of sitting out in sunshine has just increased the sugar content. They were ugly to look at, but the end result is better than good. This winter we’ll open one of those jars and it will taste wonderful with pork chops or chicken.
The thing about change, I begin to realize, is that change carries within it the seeds of the past. In fact, if you ignore the past, the change will almost always fail. Inside us old codgers are the young folks who danced the night away. (At least, I did – the RS doesn’t dance!) Our grandchildren are still our grandchildren, even if their outward appearance changes. Inside the political turmoil is the memory of how it should be, and the will to fight for that. The questing spirit still grows from the same strong roots. Change doesn’t have to mean that you discard everything and start all over – like the apples, you take the good parts, the parts that are juicy and rich and full of the sunshine, water and minerals that changed them from tiny apple blossom buds to ripe fruits. As they cook, the apples change, but they are still there, golden and lovely within new jars, bringing the best of their life in a new form to add delight to our days. Yea and amen!
Amazing, the things you can learn when you’re making applesauce!