| Sunny Side Up April 10, 2002 �2002, by Kathleen Gibson Whatever happened to June Cleaver? My house is fragrant with the scent of homemade soup�our Easter turkey�s final offering. Simmered with a medley of winter vegetables and served with leafy salads and fresh-baked buns, it will nourish us for days. I can�t wait till supper, so I breathe deep�fill my lungs with its savory odor. Until about five years ago, keeping a warm and creative home for my family was my delight and full-time occupation. I educated our children at the dining room table, taught piano and creative arts classes on the side, and usually found time to make soup. Buns too, some days. Recently I was sorting through some old papers and found a calendar of menus�my own menus, circa 1985. Once upon a time I planned our meals two weeks ahead. I tried one month ahead, but the leftovers grew fur in the fridge while waiting for their turn at the table. I didn�t slot them into the menu often enough, though �Srevotfel� (leftovers, backwards) was one of our favorite meals�no preparation for me, and the appeal of a smorg for the children. There was always �divine dessert� after those suppers�a benediction of chocolate, whenever possible. But children grow up, and life turns corners. Now I go to work each day. I commute four whole steps down the hall to an office that was once a bedroom. Most of my day is spent there�mixing seasoned thoughts with wholesome words, stirring well and plopping the mixture in heaping sentencefuls onto blank sheets of paper for the nourishment of all who wish to help themselves. I adore this assignment. It�s the surprise God had waiting around this corner of my life. I don�t cook much from �scratch� anymore. Even our salads are bought pre-washed, pre-torn, and pre-packaged. My homemaking skills have collected more fuzz than the long-expired yogurt lurking in my refrigerator. A new friend, one who never knew me in my �June Cleaver� days, stopped by a while ago. I made the tea, and plunked several packets of store-bought sweets between us on the table. Sheila unwrapped her granola bar, grinning. �I love coming to your house. You always have such lovely home-baked goodies.� She was teasing, of course. Once a comment like that would have made me feel guilty. But I�ve learned that when God points in a specific direction, it always costs the loss of another. No one can go down two roads at once and arrive whole at either destination. I still have occasional �June Cleaver� days. I love making our home a welcoming place for family and friends. But if you come over, be warned. The cookies may be Nabisco�s and the soup may be Campbell�s. Not today though. You�ll get homemade soup today, and if it tastes as good as it smells, it will be scrumptious. But I must confess�I didn�t make it. Guess the Preacher got tired of Campbell�s. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |