Month: February 2026

When my grandmother died in October 2024, I flew to Pennsylvania for the memorial and stayed with my parents. My mom and her sisters had been going through Grandmother’s things, and the table was covered with items, both mundane and meaningful. Mom told me I could pick something of Grandmother’s to take home. Of course, I chose her cooling rack.

No, really. It fit perfectly in my suitcase on top of my clothes, and I’d been meaning to buy one for a while.

It’s not that I’m not sentimental. I can get lost in the “Google memories” section of my phone, staring wistfully at my baby boys who are not babies anymore. I tear up when I hear certain songs because they take me back to special times or places. And don’t even get me started on smells.

As nostalgic as I can be, I’m also very practical. My husband knows well that I’d like a vacuum cleaner or new kitchen tools for gifts rather than a useless piece of jewelry (I made an exception for my engagement ring!).

So, the cooling rack. In my mind, it encapsulated both the meaningful and the practical. Grandmother was a professional homemaker, if there ever was one. She raised six children as a stay-at-home mom, cooking, cleaning, and making all their clothes. I only knew her home once it was an empty nest, but it was always spotless, beautifully decorated, and one of my favorite places to go as I grew up.

Now that I am a professional homemaker myself, I have even more respect for Grandmother’s great skill and dedication to excellence. She was so happy for me when I married Sandy, and embarked on my own journey as a wife and soon after, mama.

I use her cooling rack several times a week when I bake bread or muffins or cookies. I think about her each time, imagining her in her own well-used kitchen pulling that same rack off the shelf. I know she was happy that I was developing my culinary skills as a wife and mama. I think she’d understand why I took the cooling rack.

Because it’s practical. And sentimental.

“Aaargh. Canada just did something wrong again!”

I heard Shiloh’s exasperated announcement from the living room as I sat at the kitchen table finishing breakfast with Shadrach.

“No, buddy, it’s not wrong, it’s just the way the game is played,” I called back, laughing.

The game we were referring to was curling. The “wrong” our neighbors to the north had committed was, I was certain, knocking out the United States’ stone.

Until last week, I had watched maybe 5 minutes of curling in my entire life. It was one of those boring, obscure sports that I always ignored at the Olympics in favor of the more exciting skating and skiing games.

But one morning, in an effort to introduce the boys to the Olympics, I turned on the TV to discover an array of live options, all of them curling matches that comprised the mixed doubles (one male/one female) tournament.

It was a hilarious start, as my sons, used to relying on me to explain anything and everything to them, peppered me with questions about this sport that I quite literally knew nothing about. My answers were massively unintelligent.

“Um, I think they are trying to get that rock thingy into that little circle there. I guess the broom thingys help?”

It was an inauspicious introduction to a new sport, but here’s this funny thing about the time difference between here and Italy. Curling was scheduled to be on in the morning and early afternoon here in Wisconsin, perfect for homeschooling! It has been one of the only things we can watch live consistently. Shiloh was quite interested, and so we kept tuning in.

Slowly, some of the fog has lifted, and I can understand the basics enough to begin thoroughly enjoying the game. New words like “end”, “burnt rock”, “hog line”, and “hammer” are intelligible. This morning, I even predicted to Sandy what a team would do in a certain scenario, and they actually did it!

Now, I freely admit I’m ridiculously unaware of all the intricate strategy, rules, and ins and outs of curling, but watching people who have played for years and are at the top of their sport is very enjoyable. I find the game exciting and soothing at the same time, watching the curlers expertly maneuver the stones smoothly over the pebbled ice.

So, football season is done. Baseball is a month away. But this week, we’ve got curling!

Sandy took the boys ice fishing again yesterday. He called mid-afternoon to check in, and my exuberant children began talking over each other, all about the fish they were catching. Shad even caught a blue gill while I was on the phone with them.

As he was saying goodbye, he told me, “We gotta keep working.” “Okay!” A little pause, then the clarification in case I missed the point, “Our work right now is fishing.”

True. Maria Montessori said, “Play is the work of the child.” And, on the other hand, work is their play. Clearing brush from the neighbor’s yard. Putting laundry in the dryer. Shoveling the sidewalk. Helping Papa, even if “helping” may look more like “getting in the way”. “Playing math” (Shiloh’s description) with Mama most mornings.

I call them my helper boys and my workin’ men. Shadrach will put his hands on his hips, his head tilted with pride as he describes a task he completed, or I observe details on his coloring page. When he takes this stance, he indeed looks like a miniature man, satisfied in a job well done.

My little guys’ attitude toward their “work” is joyful and precious. I know at some point, drudgery will invade, but for now, the world is new and fresh. They are just beginning to learn to do so many things that we as adults take for granted and grumble and groan about. But when I look at my chores through their eyes, I can see work as the gift it is. Maybe I should get going – I have some dishes to play with.

I came to the coffee shop this afternoon without knowing what to write about. But this is my writing time, so there’s nothing else on the agenda except this blog post and my cup of coffee. Accordingly, my thoughts have flitted from here to there, which is typical of thoughts when there’s nothing to corral them.

Things I have thought about since sitting down:

1. The dream I had last night, which included Mt. Marathon in Seward, Alaska, the house I grew up in in Kenya, and my husband and sons. It was bizarre, but also totally sensical while it was all happening.

2. My Sunday school lesson from this morning, including the prop of a hard-boiled egg (representing Pharaoh’s hard heart).

3. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. I’m listening to the audiobook/commentary on the podcast “Storytime for Grown-ups”, and whew, is it a doozy.

4. Ice fishing, archery, and skiing. Sandy’s great at doing activities with the boys, and all three of these were on the agenda for this weekend. All three are also included in the category of “stuff Katie could never do with her kids and therefore is grateful that they have a papa who can”.

5. The weather. We are finally above 20 for our high temperatures for the foreseeable future. Ah, February. Your weather is whispering that spring is coming next month.

That’s the lovely thing about setting aside a time for blogging just for the practice. There’s no pressure, no deadline. If the ideas aren’t fully formed, it’s ok. Because there’s me, my laptop, a coffee, and my happily wandering mind.

And, oh, look. It’s a new post.