A Tree Named Carol

My sister sent me a text a couple of weeks ago asking if I wanted her Ficus tree, Carol. My first initial thought was, you named you’re Ficus? But I happily accepted, “sure!” I’ll take Carol. I’m a sucker for plants, although I admit I hadn’t cared for an indoor plant in many years.

About a week later while I was at work, my sister texted me to let me know Carol had been delivered and was on the front porch.

Carol is huge!

Painting by Robin Moreau

I told my husband to bring Carol in and put her in my art studio as I thought that would be the best place for her. The room has bright, indirect light, just what a Ficus would want.

Apparently it was not.

Carol was too cold.

A couple of days later, I walked in to the studio to find leaves all over the floor. Not thinking much of it, I picked up the leaves. The next day, I came back into the studio to find even more leaves. I decided to text my sister.

“I don’t think Carol likes me”.

My sister asked if she was dropping leaves and if so, she was stressed from the move to my house.

My gosh, Carol is stressed? Trees get stressed? Am I missing something here? I have never heard of such a thing. My sister told me the best location of where I should place Carol in the house, but currently the Christmas tree was in that location so to the living area she went.

Carol didn’t like that room either.

Carol was going to end up back at my sister’s if she didn’t knock her attitude off.

After Christmas I moved Carol to the dining room. A few days later she seemed content. Finally she was happy!

Until my geriatric dog had an accident next to Carol when I was out running errands.

Carol was MAD.

She dropped so many leaves and I thought, did she know I would come home and be angry about the dog peeing on the floor? It was like she sensed it and it stressed her out.

The stupid thing is, I caught myself talking out loud to Carol, telling her I was mad too. I must be crazy!

My husband and I laughed about it later and I guess that even though Carol is a tree that stands quietly in the corner of the dining room, as with all living things, Carol has character. I have to at least appreciate that.

But when Carol is not happy, no one is happy.

Not My Father’s Potato Pancakes

Oh, how I miss my father’s potato pancakes! This man made many wonderful foods when we were growing up. If only I could turn back time.

A short list of my favorites were:

Potato pancakes, shortbread cookies, hash browns, peanut butter and cheese sandwiches.

I know you may be thinking, these foods are so simple, what’s the big deal? Well, food allergies. That’s the big deal.

However, I have substituted certain ingredients and it’s simply not the same, unfortunately. I have mastered his hash browns to the perfect crispy consistency throughout. This morning I attempted potato pancakes from leftovers. I can’t have eggs, nor regular flour. However I did have patience and I needed it! A quarter cup of rice flour, a hot oiled pan and a big prayer for patience.

Just as in 2 Chronicles 15:7, “But as for you, be strong and do not give up, for your work will be rewarded”.

I have been trying to master my father’s potato pancakes for years but they never turned out. This morning was different. Despite the ingredients not being the same, I was patient. And it paid off. They weren’t perfect, and they were thinner than his, but in that very moment, the color is what captured the essence of my father. Perfectly golden brown. I know he looked over me and smiled. I could have cried. I did cry!

Just remember, never give up no matter what you are striving for! Remember God and practice patience because you will be rewarded.

Image by Robin Moreau

And they were delicious!

With love,