This is my job

It’s Monday again and so rolls the world in the ho-hum hundrum of everyday life.

I wonder at times if I am accomplishing anything.

Being a Mom of 4 kids ages  8,6,4 and 5 months means a lot of repeating myself. I have even started making a list of what I accomplished on some days next to my to do lists so that I can see I did alot- even if not what I had planned or hoped.

The kids were delivered to their lessons nearly on time. The baby was well cared for. Meals were prepared. Homework was finished. I ran his aunt to the store as we do once a week. . .

Yet somehow I get this lingering feeling that I could have, should have done more.

I didn’t have time to work on my online business, there was no time for marketing my products, there was no time for painting. I long to be selling more, but how does one build an online business? Others seem to do so effortlessly- for me it is sort of hit and miss.

And yet when the day winds down and the kids start drifting off to sleep and I am left with perhaps a couple of hours of quiet I am reminded that this is my job. Mothering is what I need to do now, here, today.

There were will be time perhaps someday for building a business more thoroughly, and chasing those dreams.

But for now I will delight in the sweet scent of my baby- and his cooing and babbling. I adore babyhood and it is such a fleeting time. How I wish there was some way to always have a baby in the house 🙂 But since there isn’t I will capture these moments in my heart, and on paper and photos.

And I will read Laura Ingalls books when my eyes are weary. And pray and talk for so long my arms go numb on the edge of the top bunk while my 8 year old shares his heart and thoughts about ozones, and life, and friends.

Because this is my job. . . . and I love it!


Waffle Recipe

From the time I was a kid I remember loving waffles. Perhaps it’s because a family with 4 kids rarely makes them due to the time it takes to cook enough for everyone to eat and the wait time involved. When I was in England visiting my cousin I loved their family tradition of having […]

via Mom’s Buttermilk Waffles — Cooking in latvia

A Woman in Amber: Book Review

For Christmas my husband had ordered me the book, A Woman in Amber by Agate NeSaule. Of course it didn’t make it by Christmas, despite having been ordered early. ( I knew he ordered it since he happened too use my ebay account). But it was worth the wait…

My husband got me this book because I had started writing about my Grandma’s childhood in Latvia in the 193os and he thought I needed some inspirataion.

First of all this is a biography. It is well written. It is raw. It is real. It is heartbreaking.

Reading this book I so wished that he had given it to me a year ago. I could have asked my Grandma much more specfic questions about her years in the camps in Germany.But Grandma is gone, 3 months too late I recieved this book.

I know my Grandma’s version of the wartime, of leaving Latvia, of the camps in Germany. But Agate’s exeriences is far worse/more horrible than anything my Grandma ever mentioned or perhaps she never told us how bad things really were.

My Mom reminded me that Grandma was  never able to watch movies with war scenes or fleeing the enemy and ones country, like Sound of Music. These scenes were always too real and painful for her.

Agate Nesaule writes well;  clearly telling her story and the way it impacted her life . And the way war changes and effects anyone who lives to tell about them.

So desite the utter horror this book aroused in me during many of its scenes I am thankful more than ever that my Grandma escaped, lived and thrived so that we too could be born!


Because of you . . .


Dear Daddy,

Happy birthday! I want you to know  how much I admire you and don’t want these words to be said when it is too late to hear them.

From the time I was a little girl I remember you reading to us; stories fo missionaries, stories of Danny Orlis, mystery stories and the like. It is because of you I learned of Gladys Aylward and because of that God planted a seed in my heart for missions.

Your blessings of prayer with your hand on our heads as kids was and is one of the most special prayers that has ever been said for me. I will always treasure and long for your prayer of blessing!


I am so glad you taught me to care for the eldery by taking me to nursing home services with you. I miss singing with you and playing the piano for those services. I learned from you the great meaning a hand-shake,  and a kind word can mean to an elderly stranger.

I loved caroling with you and our church and hearing your big, beautiful, booming voice.

Thanks for getting us out in nature by taking us on hiking and fishing from the time we were little kids- how much fun we had looking for crawdads in the creek, and hiking in the mountains!

Thanks for believing in my dreams of being a missionary and always supporting me both spiritually and finacially!

I have always  been partial to your preaching, and someone every pastor has been measured in the light of you. I miss hearing your matter of fact, simple, sincere sermons (in English). And always look forward to them when you are here or I am there.

Dad, I admire so much about you- from the way you care for the hurting, to your pitching in with dishes, babies and more. Anywhere you see a need, you are willing to help! Thanks for showing service in action. How I hope I can teach my boys/kids to be like their Grandpa!

Don’t ever stop walking hand in hand with Jesus! Don’t ever let your faith grow stale or your message dilluted!

Stand firm like your forefathers- in the face of all trials!

I love you Dad!

Happy birthday!



Dear Grandma

Dearest Grandma,

Over the last few years I always liked to try to write to you a real note and then. I learned that habit perhaps in part from you. You were so good at writing notes and sending birthday cards to all of us- something so many people don’t do anymore- but that is so appreciated when it is done. Thanks to those of you who still do send REAL cards and letters!

My earliest memories of you were of you being my “Grandma in Wheaton.” We loved going to your house at Thanksgiving which was a placed so packed to the gills with grandkids that we usually stayed at your friend Arija’s house.

I loved getting to help you in the kitchen when I got interested in kitchen work- making those countless dishes for Thanksgiving with a Latvian flair- complete with sauerkraut and piragi 🙂

How I loved when we switched from Thanksgiving to Christmas and we grandkids got to put up your Christmas tree. You had the most amazing lights- bubble lights and bird lights and such unique ornaments.

One could feel the excitement in the air when you would disappear and then come clomping down the stairs in costume- every year you surprised us with you new persona that you were dressing up as. You would give each of gifts you had made, and some you had bought. Your creativty and resourcefulness were amazing. . .

Over the years you made us so many special gifts; circle skirts, stilts, engraved Bible stands, trinket shelves, quilts, dresses and I am sure more that I cannot at present remember.

Then there was the next morning when we would come downstairs or into the dining room area and the mantle was busting at its seems with all those stockings filled to overflowing- how we loved those mornings. Our last mornings with the clan before hitting the road again. Those warm feelings have stuck with me my entire life and are something I am attempting to pass on to my kids. It wasn’t so much about the gift- but about the giving, the caring, the being together.

How much fun we always had at your house. . . so much laughter.

It was from you I learned to eat mushrooms. . . After we got back from our year in Latvia we spent several months living with you. You loved mushrooms- and since no one else wanted to I started eating them with you. . . and learned to love them too.

You were the one who taught me to knit- I remember sitting on your couch in Wheaton as you taught me how to do it- Latvian style- (different than the American method)  and I made my first scarf.

Oh how I loved the treasures and delights of your attic- and how we older girls loved getting to go up there and be allowed to find and take home some of those special items of days gone by- I still have such lovely things you let me have. Thank you!

You have always been so transparent- moved to tears by music- I get that from you. Speaking your mind- loudly– sometimes when it needs to be said- other times when it embarrassed me.  . . (ha ha)

I could go on and on. . . all night about all the memories I have of you and with you.

And how I would love to hear the stories of all of my other cousins and siblings and their kids. An entire book could be filled with all of our memories of you. . .

Love you!

Goodnight till next time




Her story, my story, our story


Several years ago I got the idea that my Grandma’s amazing history and childhood needed to be recorded, preserved, remembered.

I started asking her questions and writing, and asking more questions. I learned a lot about how she lived in Latvia as a child and how she left Latvia as a young lady of 14 during war times.

But along the way I got stuck in my writing. I didn’t just want to write facts, I didn’t want to just write empty history that you read without feeling.

I wanted to bring the years of my Grandma’s childhood to life; so that we can relive 1930-1944 in Latvia. So that the smells, the sounds, the feeling of life in those days would come alive to all of us again.

I started going to museums, and asking questions that nobody readily knew the answers to, and I realized I was in for a job much bigger than I had thought. I realized that to grasp the pace of life in those days I would have to do intensive research, talking with historians, and lots of people who lived during those days so that I could step back in time and write this book as I so desired.

I began writing less and ground to a halt with this daunting task. . . knowing that someday I would receive the push to start again. Knowing that most likely when my Grandma left this world to continue her eternity in heaven I would restart this tale, her story, the story that makes our family who it is because all of us have found our lives, ourselves, our roots in her.

Last night my Grandma left this world and crossed into eternity. I wish I could ask her what it is like to leave this earth and body and enter the beyond. Is it fast, or slow? Do you see your loved ones who have gone before you while you see those you are leaving? What is heaven like? Do you have any regrets as you leave this life to enter the world beyond? And most of all I wish I could have heard her laugh and voice and spunkiness one last time.

Goodbye dear Grandma- your life has changed this world. I feel as if a candle was blown out. Your light was bright. You impacted so many around you. You were bold, fearless, funny, silly, classy, creative, godly, spunky, emotional and so much more- all rolled into one amazing woman! And while this candle of your life is gone- the glow that surrounded you remains- as the warmth and scent of a candle when enxtinguished.

Dievs ar tev lidz atkal tiksimies! 

Chapter 1 of her story. 




Chapter 1

Here is the first chapter of her story- my unfinished work- with much still to be added and edited. Based on fact, enhanced with imagination and love.

This is for you Grandma and for all of us to know you better. 


My story wouldn’t be complete without the people who have gone before me. The lives they have lived and the hardships they have faced. Each of these pieces has influenced who I am and where I am today.

Chapter 1

April 13, 1930. Riga, Latvia.

In early spring, when the crocuses and snowdrops were beginning to peek their heads through mounds of piled up snow another life was about to enter this world.

Young Olga and Voldermars Abers were expecting their first child.

Some few days hence the new president had been voted in, Alberts Kviesis would now lead their country. Olga was nervous, wondering how their lives would change in the days ahead. A new president, a new baby, so many new things. As she slowly cleaned up the dishes from their breakfast, softly singing as she worked around her large abdomen, her mind drifted back to the days before her marriage.

She had always loved to sing, singing was in her blood. She smiled to herself recalling the fun times with her friends, singing in summer song festivals. Singing as they would walk home in the long summer evenings, when the sun barely slept.

Her thoughts grew more serious as they led her to a dark young man, Voldemars. With his dark complexion, eyebrows and an appearance not like other Latvian men. She always had secretly thought to herself that he looked rather like a Mongolian. He was a quiet young man; he had a knack for fixing and creating things.

But his stories from his time in Brazil were enough to chill ones bones. A few years back the Latvian Baptists had migrated to Brazil and he had been one of those to leave the homeland. Young and free he had gone along. But he had disliked the climate and come back to Latvia.

She mused to herself, wondering what might have been had he stayed there, and whether she would have gone so far from home herself.

A sudden cramping in her abdomen suddenly pulled her back to the present and she begin to wonder what might be happening. Another contraction and she realized perhaps her time had come. She waited a bit longer and then quietly told Voldemars they had better head to the hospital. He glanced up quickly from where he had been reading, jumped up and grabbing her coat helped her into it. Then running quickly upstairs he informed Olga’s mother Darta that their time had come and they must get Olga to the hospital.

Darta hurriedly removed her apron and said she would be going along as well. They hurried out the door and walked along on either side of Olga, supporting her when she was overcome by a contraction they made their way to the trolley stop.

Time seemed to drag as the trolley rolled through the streets to get to the hospital. Between contractions Olga noticed  the passersby purchase pussywillows from the street vendors and thought about what a special day this was to be having a baby. On their arrival at the “Otra Pilsetas Slimnica” or  Second City Hospital, Olga was swiftly whisked away from them and they were left to wait and wonder.

Several hours passed in worried silence when a doctor finally came and informed them that all was well. Voldermars eagerly bounded to his feet asking if he might see them? “Don’t you want to know what you have, my boy?” asked the doctor? “Yes, sir” responded Voldemars. “A girl, a dark beauty.” Darta smiled in relief and joy, at long last, a grand-daughter.