by MarianBeaman | Mar 8, 2014 | Amish, Conflict, Education, Mennonite History, Uncategorized
When I bring 5-pound bags of Wenger’s famous ham-loaf frozen from Pennsylvania to Florida, the plastic-coated tubs of meat are wrapped in newspaper and then shrink-wrapped in plastic. The wrapping on one of the packages (we need two to feed the clan now!)...
by MarianBeaman | Feb 15, 2014 | Coming of Age, Family / Nostalgia, Mennonite History, Mennonite Lore, Nostalgia, Reflection, Uncategorized
“Your DNA has a story. It’s time to discover it,” invites an ad on the back cover of the February 10, 2014 issue of The New Yorker. “It’s easier than ever to discover your ethnic heritage – and possibly find new cousins along the way,” the advertisement...
by MarianBeaman | Feb 1, 2014 | Coming of Age, Conflict, Family / Nostalgia, Memory, Mennonite History, Mennonite Lore, Nostalgia, Uncategorized
If I swallow a water-melon seed, my stomach might swell up. If I touch freckle-faced Ricky with the dirty fingernails, I might grow a baby. Oh no! Those were my childhood fears. With a limited sex education, I tried never to swallow watermelon seeds or touch grimy...
by MarianBeaman | Jan 21, 2014 | Conflict, Mennonite History, Mennonite Lore, Reflection, Uncategorized
On the eve of the Gulf War exactly 23 years ago today, I took a walk in the brisk evening air. As I rounded the curve of Emerald Isle Circle West in our neighborhood, I noticed the scarlet blush in the sky at sunset. With that striking image in mind and an imminent...
by MarianBeaman | Dec 21, 2013 | Conflict, Memory, Mennonite History, Mennonite Lore, Nostalgia, Uncategorized
The Longenecker Christmas Tree. Well, there was none. Not one. Not ever. Despite the fact that the Christmas song, “O Tannenbaum” is of German origin, most Pennsylvania Dutch Mennonite homes of the 1950s and 60s did not light Christmas trees. Decorated...
by MarianBeaman | Nov 16, 2013 | Coming of Age, Family / Nostalgia, Mennonite History, Mennonite Lore, Nostalgia, Reflection, Uncategorized
My mother and I are waiting in Doctor Garber’s examining room, which always has a sharp smell of rubbing alcohol. She’s the patient, and I’m with her sitting on a chair eyeing the metal tray holding at least a dozen tiny vials, so cute they look like they could fit in...
