One Never Knows...

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These peonies are from last spring,
 soon they will bloom again.

If I should die today

just a few notes

to explain:

You have been wonderful

I have enjoyed

our time, 

truly.

The shirts are not ironed

the dishes,

not done,

the ants are still

crawling in--

from somewhere...

I failed

on all fronts.

I have played a good game of:

1. Not finishing anything

2. Of incompletely understanding everything

3. Seeing the flowers, not the weeds

The needlepoint on the ironing board,

is Candice's.

The yellow bowl,

 is Katie's.

My heart--- yours.

The passwords are in the protected file,

that has been kept safe(er,

then I have kept myself.

This may all be moot, 

but then again,

one never knows. 

Post-Party Thoughts

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Centerpieces I made for dinner yesterday.

It is the day after. After the house was swarming with cousins, sister/brother-in-laws, daughter/son-in-law, children, large and small. The house is tidy, china put away, crystal sparkling in the cupboard, silver, polished, and in it's chest, waiting for the next show time.

I am experiencing a warm glow of the knowledge there are enough left overs in the larder to preclude me from having to think or make dinner tonight. What a lovely sensation.

Family gatherings can wear many faces. The nervous one, the first time you entertain your new in-laws. The tired one, where you have stayed up all night to prepare, the resentful one, that old hurts nursed bring on, and the anxious one, that is paralyzing to one's enjoyment of the event.

My guess is, everyone has experienced some or all of these emotions as they prepare for family gatherings. Yesterday's for me, was a labor of love, a labor of desire to please, and a gift to my husband.

The menu was planned with care by my daughter and I. The setup for tables brought the typical controversy, but was accomplished by moving all of the furniture out of one room into the garage to set up tables, borrowed from my sister to accommodate our family.

Over the years, I have gone from the newest member of my husband's family to part of the family. Which is to say, it is now our family, instead of his family.  I have gone from one of the attendees, to one of the contributors. I have gone from not understanding these people, and wondering if I ever would, to loving these people and wondering how I could live without them.

After thirty-eight years, I have much to look back on. I have; made many mistakes, misjudgments, and have often been part of the problem, instead of part of the solution. But I was blessed. My mother-in-law loved me, and I loved her. She taught me much about acceptance, patience, and setting oneself aside, I miss her everyday, now that she is gone from this earth.

So, this Monday morning wash day, I am reflective. I think about how,  by saying those powerful words, "I do",  all of those years ago, I became part of a wider circle of family then I had ever know before. and how it has changed me, for the better.

Thought in the back of my mind...

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Dishes, for company.

There is a thought
that has been
percolating
for days.


It has drifted
in while
I folded laundry...


As I walked
to the
mail box,
it sails through my mind.





It appears sometimes
when I am
lost in
ironing.


I pause...
consider,
continue,
picking
dust bunnies up from the floor.

Then..again,
I wonder.


When Martha,
complained to Jesus,
about her sister,
seemingly slacking,
did he help her with
the dishes?


                                       
Did our Lord,
gather up the food,
as he gathered those
around him?

I hope,
he did.
I imagine he did.

I hope he stood there...
taking each dish
from her tired hands,
wiping it off,
while,
soothing her spirit,
with love.*



* This thought first came to my attention via my daughter, she shared that she hoped this was the case. From the moment she said this, I have had this thought circling through my mind. 

Creating

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One of my "babies" I like to knit.

Ever since I was very small, I have enjoyed creating.  Not in the sense of  "everywhere she goes she creates a crisis", but in the sense of making things. 

Like doll clothes out of Kleenexes. I may or may not have used a whole box of these versatile tissues,  making a spring wardrobe for my doll. The arm holes are very tricky when your not old enough for pointy scissors, and you have to poke the hands through to make them, this takes a lot of practice.

My other favorite endeavor was making swans out of shirt hangers. If you bend them just the right way, and twist the hook part, very carefully, so it is pointed in the correct position, without breaking it, ...this also take a lot of practice.

Again, I may or may-not have made dozens of these swans. Some may or may not have had butcher paper, "borrowed" from the kitchen wrapped around them to emulate feathers. Tape was an integral part of this creation, so much so, my father lamented the fact he had never bought stock in 3M. (his point totally lost on me)

My grandmother was the lucky recipient of these creations, if indeed, they did exist. Though, I never remember seeing them on subsequent visits. Hmmm.

Just like this one, even the same color,
but not luggage rack, we carried enough of our own.

I started knitting when I was around three. I typically sat in the third seat of our Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser, pointing backward towards the cars behind us. I was the non-carsick child, so this was my lot in life.  I would diligently knit on small double points with left over gray yarn from one of my mother's projects. I would have preferred red, but she was not sharing that color at the time.

I would admire the lovely shape, I produced by my tightly knit stitches (read VERY tightly knit). Kind of like an hour glass. My only concern was, just how to duplicate this lovely pattern.

Upon arrival at my grandmother's house, which was a forty-five minute ride, so lots of knitting time,
(oh joy!), I would jump over the seat, and out of the car, waving my project with pride, for her to view.

"Picking up and dropping stitches, I see, can be corrected, with practice, you will get there."
Which, of course, was meant to be encouraging, but really was just eye-opening to me.

In time, I did learn how to stop dropping and picking stitches indiscriminately, make doll clothes without using an entire box of Kleenex (much to my mother's relief), as well swans without emptying the entire closet of it's hangers (much to my sister's relief, as frequently it was her clothing that took one for the team, so to speak).

Now, I am adult. Or at least it seems to be the case, and I make many things. Everyday. I am grateful to my family for giving me the room to develop, construct, create and imagine. For without their forbearance, (read patience with all of the mess), I would have never spread my own wings, and flown through life so well.

Quiz for Everyday Life

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A floorcloth I have recently made fro my kitchen,
 nothing to do with anything, once again. 

Noticing that quizzes seem to be the name of the game everywhere I look lately, I have decided to make one of my own. 

 Questions for the everyday quiz:

1. Mending, which should be done first: 

  a. for family members

  b. for non family members

  c. for paying customers

2. Entering donations for taxes, what is the largest obstacle:

 a. what is the login password?

 b. what is the user name?

 c. forget the whole thing and eat a cookie

 d. waiting for husband to text the above information so you can proceed?

3. Ironing questions:

  a. should you do it?

  b. Uncle Walter's shirts first?

  c. Husband's shirts?

  d. sheets or napkins next?

  e. go read a book?

4. Oil change on car:

  a. put off one more day?

  b. get someone else to do it?

  c. use it as an opportunity to read uninterrupted, for longer then it actually takes for them to change the oil?

5. Dinner:

  a. wait for someone else to suggest we eat, faining surprise they could be hungry?

  b. go out with a friend and not look back?

  c. find a new recipe that no one will eat?

  d. suggest toast, jam and popcorn (for ruffage) and call it a meal?

Traverse

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Crossing miles of sky
is nothing like
miles of difference.

Between the world,
I left,
to the world
I have landed in.

Much is obvious,
to a casual observer,
like sunshine and warm days
versus snow and arctic blasts.

Barely scratches the surface.
Ironically,
it is the cold climate
of home,
I feel the warmest.

Twenty-seven years ago*...

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Giving birth
is not a 
private affair. 

The world
stands still.

And yet,
does not. 

What was once
inextricably linked,
for what seemed
forever,

is not.

For in that on-going
moment, 
when one becomes
two, 

All of the clichés-
are true. 

*Today is my third child's, (a daughter), birthday. I have watched her grow into a woman of real substance and talent. On that, very cold, January day, twenty-seven years ago, she arrived to; an ice storm, a sister, a brother, a father, a mother, and much love.

Winter Poem

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From a walk I took in the woods.

Winding my way
through lists
longing to be doing
something else.

When  I was young,
It would have been;

Sailing ships,
seeking tropical islands
or
Saving the day
from some tragic event,
scary,
but not bloody.

But now,
I am old.

My dreams are of
a peaceful nature;

Families getting along.
staying in budget
and
finding where I put my cup of tea.

One hundred and one blog posts later...

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One of my recent paintings

Well, just about one year ago, I started writing this blog. One hundred and one entries. These written musings have been all over the map. Poetry, recollections, guest posts (my daughters), and every day occurrences.

Much has happened in the last year. Most of it inside my own head. Which I have found, in my time on this earth, if often the most dangerous terrain.  The rabbit holes are deep, the answers scarce, and the opportunities for growth enormous.

Another one of my paintings

So on this, one hundredth and one post, I want to say, thank you; to all of those who have taken the time to read these meanderings of my mind, an even bigger thank you to those that have taken the time to respond, often with very thoughtful feed back, I have really appreciated your support.

I am very curious what this new year will bring, what words will visit me, calling to be typed out on to this page. I hope you will continue to join me.

All the best, and many thanks,
Naomi

Cake Walk or what life isn't

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Once again, a photo that has nothing
 what-so-ever to do with this post. 

When I was in grammar school, a million years ago, there were many things that transpired I felt confused by. Chief of which was an event called "cake walk*".

I should preface this story by explaining; the school I attended was a  building  about the size of a church, a very small church. It was brick, painted white, and filled with a diverse population. It housed students from first grade to twelfth grade.  Kindergarten was held in a house about ten miles away from this building.

Every year, in the spring, there was a fun fair put on by someone at the school. I was never sure how it happened or why it happened, but this fair occurred none the less. Now that I am older, wiser, and the parent of four children, I know exactly who put this event on, and why. Because I never heard my mother speak of it, nor seem to be involved in it in anyway, I was unenlightened about the organization of this event.

I only remember attending the fun fair one time. My anticipation was so heightened, I drove my mother,  my siblings,  my teacher, my classmates, bus driver, and my Sunday school teacher, wild with my endless exuberance.

Finally, the day of the fair arrived. I was dress,  ready to go. I stood by the back door a full four hours prior to the appointed time of departure. I was unable to eat my breakfast, unable to make my bed, and announced, I was unable to do anything at all, before we left for the school. I refused to move from the door, just in case my mother should inadvertently forget to take me with.  It had happened before. That is all I need to say on the subject.

I was, of course, proven wrong. My mother, informed me, we would not leave until everything was
accomplished. Sigh.

Walking into the gymnasium, I was amazed. It was transformed. I did not see basketball hoops, or anything other then the delights assembled to entertain us. There was a pinata, which I had only heard about previously, and truth be told, was not positive that was what it was for sure, until I over heard one of the older students say so. There were donuts on strings waiting for children to try to eat them without using their hands. Bozo buckets, apples in wash basins, Bingo tables, clothes pins in bottles to be played and cakes. Many, many cakes.

Cakes. Cakes? I looked for my older sister, as she was the most likely of my siblings to be wiling to explain to me:  how could I get a cake? Once I found her, she said " You have to use all of your tickets for the game. It is kind of like musical chairs. When the music stops, if you are on the right number on the floor, you get to choose a cake."

I was stunned. All of my tickets?  My mother had expressly said, "this was it, better enjoy it while your tickets last, when the tickets are gone, so are we."

Attending this was pretty much a miracle, money was nonexistent at our house. Actually, if my Aunt Dorothy had not taken pity on us, we would not have been there.  I had been sharing with her how wonderful this fair would be, if only we could go. (My mother may or may not have sent me to my room over this.)

After intense thought, I handed all of my tickets over for the cake walk, resembling Lot's wife, just a little, as I glanced over at the Bingo table, pinata game, and donuts hanging on the string, hoping I had not made a big mistake.

The music started.  The kid in front of me moved forward, the squares marked on the floor were "told you  if you were out" or still in the game or could to choose a cake from the table, depending which one you landed on when the music stopped.

There they were, cakes,  delicious confections from other mother's kitchens.

I followed closely behind the child in front of me, with butterflies so large in my chest, I am surprised I did not take flight.

I had my eye on the cake with violet colored flowers.  I thought it was beautiful,
not anything like the cakes we had at home. I suspected it may have even been store bought! Wowzier!

Then in a minute, it was over.  The music stopped. I stopped. The world stopped.

*Cakewalk (or cake-walk) is a game played at fun fairs. It is similar to a raffle and musical chairs.^[1]

Numbered squares are laid out on a path. Tickets are sold to participants, with the number of squares in the path equal to the maximum number of tickets sold. The participants walk around the path in time to music, which plays for a duration and then stops. A number is then called out, and the person standing on the square with that number wins a cake as a prize (hence the name).

When one least expects it...

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Bunny, our constant companion
in those dark days. 

Many years ago, I was sitting in a hospital room with my youngest child, he was almost three years old. He had recently (as in the day before)  been diagnosed with cancer.  It had been a sudden transition from a cheerful cherub of a child into a club we were not very interested in joining.

It was a four bed ward, the other three children, of various ages and degree of illness, were all asleep and I was the only parent able to be there (a gift in itself). I waffled between feeling as though a ton of bricks were on my chest to telling myself this was not happening.

 In the darkness of that night, I watched over my child as well as these other sick babies. and prayed. The night nurse was an older woman. From all appearances she was dissatisfied, whether it was from her life or what, I did not know. There was no attempt to do her tasks without waking the children or to give any comfort. While I felt empathy for her, as I would not like working the night shift, I was also concerned that these poor sick babies get as much sleep as possible before another day dawned bringing, in some cases, surgery or in other, more tests.

Read this one A LOT!

During the day shift, the nurse that took care of my boy, was named David. He was extremely kind and my son felt comfortable with his care, which was not the case with any of the other nurses, though they certainly were very helpful.

I said in passing to David, "I wish you were going to be here later to do the various pre-op things that needed to be done as you are so good with him." No more was said about it and the day progressed with scans and blood tests and parades of doctors coming through to examine our boy, one more time, before the next day's surgery.

Soon or not so soon, David's shift ended and the evening shift started, the poor woman that was so tired of her job signed in. I sighed a small sigh inside and read another story (Just Shopping with Mom) to these four very sick children, making sure to walk around to each bed to allow them to examine the pictures more closely, while dreading the various tasks ahead for the night.

As I watched the clock heading towards eight pm, knowing that was when all of the "fun" was to begin, in walked David.

The tears welled up in my eyes, the first I allowed my self to shed since this odyssey had begun, and choked out, "Thank you."

David merely looked at me and said, "I wasn't doing much tonight, so I thought I would come and help. I arranged my schedule for tomorrow so that I will be there when the little fellow comes out of surgery, so he won't be scared in such a new place."

What we give each other has so little to do with things, but everything to do with our hearts and our time. 

The Weather out side is frightful (to be sung)

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View at the Alison Inn, Newberg, Oregon 

Last week I was in sunny Portland, that is right SUNNY Portland. It was about 60 degrees everyday and all everyone said to us was, sorry it is so cold. but at least it is not raining.

I had to laugh. I am from north of Chicago, near Lake Michigan. As I write this, the wind is blowing and the snow is falling and I am happy. I have always loved winter. Which is a very good thing as it is the climate I live in. I suppose I could hate it, but what would be the point?  I am a firm believer in making the best of what you have. Which brings me to another point.

Snowy Illinois, sticking contrast, I know!

Using what I have. Whether it is the ingredients in my kitchen cupboards, refrigerator or freezer or items in my studio, for sewing, painting, and a million other supplies,  I want to use them all up!  I want to bake, cook, sew, create with all of these supplies  until there are not any left.  I almost feel like it is the finish line, kind of like O. Henry's story, The Last Leaf*...but not quite.

So today, after I finish writing this post, I am going to continue on my quest to bake and cook "down the cupboards" and think of ways to use up all of my supplies and treasures in my studio. This way when spring comes, all of the cobwebs will be gone and the spring cleaning will have already been accomplished.

Maybe. Time will tell, I may get side tracked and just read a book by the fire. As one of my sister-in-laws once said: " the only consistent thing about us, is that we are rarely consistent!"






* For those of you that are not familiar with this particular story, it goes something like this: the main character is sick and thinks  that when the last leaf falls off the tree outside their window, they will die. Some ingenious person paint leaves and fakes the main character out. Mind you, this is a very loose synopsis. Read it for yourself. I highly recommend it.