tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12846829358137099172024-03-05T09:20:47.689-06:00Miles to go before I sleepDenisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-50984030004378209682021-10-06T11:16:00.003-05:002021-10-06T11:16:23.003-05:00Heartfelt Haiku - "Serenity"<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRf6PuJ4NF5gaO0jffULC5r0O63GDcN5S0ZFkvj2TdWqjNVwnU2X9jGaXPKBDlq8ltCeRZVI6q__n0X62vRClOFwUdLcickLFgjXalI9wtinQ3iPnM2euJYMb-w5sDjTyM_8zuoG1OSbc/s960/cape+san+blas+gabriel+beach.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRf6PuJ4NF5gaO0jffULC5r0O63GDcN5S0ZFkvj2TdWqjNVwnU2X9jGaXPKBDlq8ltCeRZVI6q__n0X62vRClOFwUdLcickLFgjXalI9wtinQ3iPnM2euJYMb-w5sDjTyM_8zuoG1OSbc/w290-h387/cape+san+blas+gabriel+beach.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">I'm longing for blue</p><p style="text-align: center;">Waves and tides and beach campfires</p><p style="text-align: center;">The October cape. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-10456616290246741122021-09-29T15:20:00.001-05:002021-09-29T17:24:35.761-05:00Serenity, Shipwreck, & Sea, .<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once upon a time, in a land - not so far away...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A shrimping boat named the "Donna Kay" made her last voyage and came to rest on the Florida Panhandle. There are several accounts of how she came to be at Cape San Blas - "The Forgotten Coast". One story says she was abandoned, another says the captain fell asleep or nets became entangled in parts of the ship making it lose its steering capabilities. Whatever the case, it was jostled about in the Gulf until Hurricane Michael finally ran her further aground on Cape San Blas. Hurricane Michael made landfall on October 10, 2018. Since that time, the Donna Kay delighted locals, tourists, artists and photographers with its maritime romance <i>and </i>annoyed local residents who viewed it as maritime refuse. I strongly disagreed with the latter. Sadly, the Donna Kay did not stand the test of time. She was dismantled and removed in August of this year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPrKlRxB1WKsogc93A2IEbSGlw62pZRPyGMSFcE_dCNwgUEosvbzF_lKByo28WdhdZesqso0j1FoNOfyp-2A9gbVKZo8cdy_9Pibn_Um1gykHlLeWHwI11vulfeUZG7mCriTNSHRS92I/s1263/Donna+Kay+by+Kathryn+Stivers.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1263" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPrKlRxB1WKsogc93A2IEbSGlw62pZRPyGMSFcE_dCNwgUEosvbzF_lKByo28WdhdZesqso0j1FoNOfyp-2A9gbVKZo8cdy_9Pibn_Um1gykHlLeWHwI11vulfeUZG7mCriTNSHRS92I/s320/Donna+Kay+by+Kathryn+Stivers.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A stunning capture of the Donna Kay by Kathryn Stivers<br />www.DistantLightStudio.com<br />She can be found on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/kstivers<br />and Instagram https://www.instagram.com/distant_light_studio/?hl=en</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br />My husband and I visited the cape with our children in 2012 and 2013. Last year (2020), we were able to visit the cape with just the two of us. We walked miles of shoreline and collected countless souvenir shells. It is a magical, "Forgotten Coast". Aside from one Inn, which appears to be quite small and quaint, you'll need to rent one of the homes or condos that line this beautiful shore. <div><br /></div><div>Most of our vacation last year was spent lounging or walking on the beach. We have always loved the cape for its peacefulness and serenity. We made an occasional trip to Port St. Joe and dinner out a night or two - and that's it. This is the exactly the way our vacation was planned. We wanted to relax and simply shut out the rest of the world. We succeeded. </div><div><br /></div><div>We went to see the Donna Kay on one of our walks. We parked near "the stumps" and started our trek. As we walked, I turned to John and said, "We're about to do something very, very tourist-y..." We both laughed. Neither of us cared - but I did think I should warn him. We're just not in the habit of following the crowd or doing <i>anything </i>just because it's trendy - except this. It trumped our quasi-commitment to not following the crowd. We walked alone and saw parts of the cape most visitors don't get to see. It's wild and untouched there (relatively speaking). We found later that alligators and snakes are more frequently seen on that part of the cape... I'm glad I didn't know that or I'd have been more reticent to take that hike! We were mostly alone on the way to the Donna Kay and back. The weather cooperated too. Hurricane Zeta was just to our west and made landfall on southeastern Louisiana. We had occasional showers while we were walking, but the sun would break out from time to time. I won't lie, the first glimpse of the Donna Kay gave me a little chill. It was just an old, broken-down shrimping boat with faded paint, rust and broken/missing parts. But I immediately saw the romance in her presence and fully understood the desire to leave it where it rested. We stayed for some time, taking photos, making Forrest Gump jokes and just being in <i>that </i>moment. We're both so thankful to have taken this hike. It was, without a doubt, the highlight of our vacation. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are at least two schools of thought pertaining to the Donna Kay. <i>Most </i>property owners wanted it be to dismantled and removed. There had been one or two failed attempts to tow the boat out of the area, but it was embedded too deep in the sand. Local government and the military are not happy about its presence - it rested on Eglin military property. People visiting the Donna Kay sometimes chose to climb aboard and then it became a matter of liability. There is also the matter of the ship being vandalized. Many items in and on the ship were removed and became souvenirs. None of this was the right thing to do - on the part of the visitors. But the owner of this boat was seemingly not in the picture to claim or guard his property. So, it appeared to be fair game. </div><div><br /></div><div>The other side of this coin is the romance associated with this boat. It rested in an unpopulated and beautiful spot on the cape. The Donna Kay made a wonderful subject for photographers. Kathryn Stiver's photo is one of the loveliest I have seen. So lovely, I felt compelled to include it in my post. This "Hidden Gem" brought visitors from all over and for many reasons. In March of 2020 a couple was married at the site of the Donna Kay. I'm sure if I researched longer than already I have, I would find many other stories of why people visited this simple, red shrimping boat. </div><div><br /></div><div>I do feel there could have been other options to have the Donna Kay remain <i>and </i>insure the safety of those who visit. But this was not my battle and the point is now, moot. As John would say, I have no horse in this race. I'm just lucky girl who spent a beautiful afternoon with her husband hiking along the shore - dodging the surf, weaving in and out of and over and under trees and marveling at our surroundings...all to see the Donna Kay. It was absolute bliss.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbW1OIevCN17d36F046aHCqOmjFRD7Z24gSZU-4IK7r6eHZgaSBpat9tmntS9_X5TFGdr0ewwFafkhSse64y2dcYAgmfOfDxewvhy0CC-B1I9Qld4W8IM1XeftZtUKck8QOWKEitYPSY/s640/IMG_7319.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbW1OIevCN17d36F046aHCqOmjFRD7Z24gSZU-4IK7r6eHZgaSBpat9tmntS9_X5TFGdr0ewwFafkhSse64y2dcYAgmfOfDxewvhy0CC-B1I9Qld4W8IM1XeftZtUKck8QOWKEitYPSY/s320/IMG_7319.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just starting out. Somewhere near the "stumps" I believe.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRH7TYUYRcVsTgDJw1jvYaRisdLx8qfG9UvEA41FOd7zwjKT5ExmhOLNEx_9Jr93qRs_ZFBWweBDeTBIz7MrVNdux4nAjzbClGNRzectNZNBmBoF-LEyyM5qhLLqrtFr_HVvAjRmRv_w/s640/IMG_7320.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRH7TYUYRcVsTgDJw1jvYaRisdLx8qfG9UvEA41FOd7zwjKT5ExmhOLNEx_9Jr93qRs_ZFBWweBDeTBIz7MrVNdux4nAjzbClGNRzectNZNBmBoF-LEyyM5qhLLqrtFr_HVvAjRmRv_w/s320/IMG_7320.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even a cloudy, blustery day on the cape is a beautiful day.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZAnG6-0tRxF-1_3Ye6WOrwC8XE4LnxtGjPrN2HD21wNmCi_Ma9p-n8AH8wj_41xDPhOLdS04vE9zGf3W660-pH-exSriDYTyu6ZTCdWi39OwKK4aLySx0PR8EZCP6tOACepgp1oD_TY/s2048/GEDC2090+%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZAnG6-0tRxF-1_3Ye6WOrwC8XE4LnxtGjPrN2HD21wNmCi_Ma9p-n8AH8wj_41xDPhOLdS04vE9zGf3W660-pH-exSriDYTyu6ZTCdWi39OwKK4aLySx0PR8EZCP6tOACepgp1oD_TY/s320/GEDC2090+%25281%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shells adorning driftwood</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ibkMfAx4hMBi2KmSY7nJYP1Rpw4q-jqPuo51OYWhuoJZ4Wsz9WhyKvrK39Lrm8t5K1BSN8rNiyf8ut-rGW8HtgjQRvPX9chYhBpTQyBB7WsHO1IquG1gaAI_T5dCkGVqzsuEfMcyCAg/s640/GEDC2091.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ibkMfAx4hMBi2KmSY7nJYP1Rpw4q-jqPuo51OYWhuoJZ4Wsz9WhyKvrK39Lrm8t5K1BSN8rNiyf8ut-rGW8HtgjQRvPX9chYhBpTQyBB7WsHO1IquG1gaAI_T5dCkGVqzsuEfMcyCAg/s320/GEDC2091.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Explorers decorate palm trees with shells along the way</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIExRA106wx-K-cYoRcmAAkaFyqkflpYdaPASVa_2SVILukSqJgR6tujtoAcvra9JilWA3whMophyphenhyphenEotMomswsT7OwmmNQkcxd_RLTA4gRZ4RxY9SQ5_WWWc3VZMjYBvqeiJlBZsm8nNM/s2048/GEDC2078.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIExRA106wx-K-cYoRcmAAkaFyqkflpYdaPASVa_2SVILukSqJgR6tujtoAcvra9JilWA3whMophyphenhyphenEotMomswsT7OwmmNQkcxd_RLTA4gRZ4RxY9SQ5_WWWc3VZMjYBvqeiJlBZsm8nNM/s320/GEDC2078.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of several shots from that afternoon. The weather was very unsettled due to Hurricane Zeta!<br /> <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtEWK_AQnbCTZAQEKlDpA2_jvq9Irkc6hstuVUEtChBuUf727u9Wyit5vzf-tW0C8WZqlL4S2qW2maxXvpWlijEA7YPR424mDDWj0ZOkjvWKp0cwTIsghj3Z_I0L3ygpA9WadR_vOwfM/s845/IMG_7315.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="845" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgtEWK_AQnbCTZAQEKlDpA2_jvq9Irkc6hstuVUEtChBuUf727u9Wyit5vzf-tW0C8WZqlL4S2qW2maxXvpWlijEA7YPR424mDDWj0ZOkjvWKp0cwTIsghj3Z_I0L3ygpA9WadR_vOwfM/s320/IMG_7315.jpg" width="242" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zeta - Just a tad close<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMXTDyiVyj29ZexX4ySXkE0ErJq-kCG8QmGkvLsnBtOJDVh75gpoeMb_7ArVkH37Bad5ig8TNSqeiNzfEaUV8AZ6yN-v5NPU6KOiPpgs3Xn6ZUPc5C-E4Xgo5EK-ameA4vEKj0gcN-5w/s2048/GEDC2072.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMXTDyiVyj29ZexX4ySXkE0ErJq-kCG8QmGkvLsnBtOJDVh75gpoeMb_7ArVkH37Bad5ig8TNSqeiNzfEaUV8AZ6yN-v5NPU6KOiPpgs3Xn6ZUPc5C-E4Xgo5EK-ameA4vEKj0gcN-5w/s320/GEDC2072.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's pretty cute. I think he said something Forest Gump-ish when I shot this..<br />"This is mah boaat!"</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTWUQHxGby7PWImelY1mixam0X6boEgKfSKfq8owS2JUx9F3zcI6ifWqijJgwR8A5yiATHEdB5hwjUrBRozrNVatVCgBF9hS1avJkAl97ffB_fcDTiQMDIQ_XQJzORcVua0NvtCJI5Eo/s640/GEDC2089.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTWUQHxGby7PWImelY1mixam0X6boEgKfSKfq8owS2JUx9F3zcI6ifWqijJgwR8A5yiATHEdB5hwjUrBRozrNVatVCgBF9hS1avJkAl97ffB_fcDTiQMDIQ_XQJzORcVua0NvtCJI5Eo/s320/GEDC2089.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the site of the Donna Kay, looking east. So beautiful there! </td></tr></tbody></table><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_X5Vvj5QJbHbggMQdSOMx6U2JYRgBiXq-brPn5z0ZN3SDQ4AFrV4_CmUsTBphfFfHpDppzkxYnuMHHWL39pKzf7zRe_Tu0A1Oa2SCLkmpNYER5CS2P0LXn5ZAzlNM36ifreA8rXYV9I/s2048/IMG_1393.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_X5Vvj5QJbHbggMQdSOMx6U2JYRgBiXq-brPn5z0ZN3SDQ4AFrV4_CmUsTBphfFfHpDppzkxYnuMHHWL39pKzf7zRe_Tu0A1Oa2SCLkmpNYER5CS2P0LXn5ZAzlNM36ifreA8rXYV9I/s320/IMG_1393.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm a happy girl!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ffP-xsxNrsDGPws8noaD5VpU4MjoXKNxLxx8vvCoWus_rRgV_eQSIXcO7UnKmipAiogdkcAGTdrCtNz5OqdkXbRIjAegWhgNUkzyy0csXcLJdRp78enkWAxMqPDKWAu3-jRzObegTnM/s2048/IMG_7350.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ffP-xsxNrsDGPws8noaD5VpU4MjoXKNxLxx8vvCoWus_rRgV_eQSIXcO7UnKmipAiogdkcAGTdrCtNz5OqdkXbRIjAegWhgNUkzyy0csXcLJdRp78enkWAxMqPDKWAu3-jRzObegTnM/s320/IMG_7350.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just us, after our hike <3<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-237012990536389352021-08-26T13:08:00.000-05:002021-08-26T13:08:47.153-05:00"If It's Gable, I'll take him!" and other Gram-isms <p>My maternal grandmother, Ruth Francis Lewis Kirby was born on December 14, 1901 in Paris, Kentucky. For as long as I can remember, she left a fragrant trail of Tuvache's Jungle Gardenia perfume wherever she went. Her beautiful white-gray hair was piled on top of her head in a sweet and grandmotherly way. Her fingernails and toes were neatly painted and manicured in her signature fire engine red polish. Her blue eyes shone through her glasses like aquamarine gemstones. She was a lively and feisty girl with a great sense of humor and a quick wit! I loved her dearly.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd7z8qGZzq501Wig1vA7wGNag7Oz2k5a7xaL4qFcfry25A3__ef_lPdQk7ia9uChZcPKIzcshsjOtrC71OeBFtk-WoIFMlvxrI3kqWGfNNPblRRWG5iRcCF6rdAxRjQzUp-styboOvbg8/s1643/IMG_0472.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1643" data-original-width="1086" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd7z8qGZzq501Wig1vA7wGNag7Oz2k5a7xaL4qFcfry25A3__ef_lPdQk7ia9uChZcPKIzcshsjOtrC71OeBFtk-WoIFMlvxrI3kqWGfNNPblRRWG5iRcCF6rdAxRjQzUp-styboOvbg8/w212-h320/IMG_0472.jpg" width="212" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b><p></p><p>She lived with her parents until her father's death in 1911 - which meant, at the approximate age of <i>ten</i>, she and most of her siblings were shuffled off to an orphanage. I understand these things happened in families where there was not sufficient income to care properly for children. I get that. I know <i>very </i>little about my great grandmother and I wouldn't want to judge her unfairly. But the fact remains - she gave my grandmother and her siblings away to strangers - and that breaks my heart.</p><p>As far as I know, Ruth was never adopted or fostered and left the orphanage when she became of age. She married my grandfather - Harris Breck Kirby, III. He was a railroad man-tall and handsome with blue eyes like her own. The one story I remember about Gram and Grampy as a couple, was when they made a long trip to the home they would both share after they were married. At the end of the day she was tired, and lay down on a sofa to rest. She awoke to a goat licking her face... I remember her telling this story laughing. I'm fairly certain farm life was relatively new to her. But being the girl she was, she made the best of every situation with what she had...and with a smile on her face. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMO7Mdowak5BZWnY7lAEKF7lXXL4DRLpCIU-s5GpiJVIacQFLy5iZgyCQS5BOdCk-NywQlR8vl9cZ8MYLC7CbPXXm7jubvVrDbvfE_5aIqBUPF4-OnSjQOkF8M9Ecca_7GGF2sxGE7lo/s2048/image4.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1409" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMO7Mdowak5BZWnY7lAEKF7lXXL4DRLpCIU-s5GpiJVIacQFLy5iZgyCQS5BOdCk-NywQlR8vl9cZ8MYLC7CbPXXm7jubvVrDbvfE_5aIqBUPF4-OnSjQOkF8M9Ecca_7GGF2sxGE7lo/s320/image4.jpeg" width="220" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gram & Grampy's 2nd wedding day-nearly 30 years after their first! <br />Oh, that's my sweet brother trying to stay out of the shot <3 </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ757_EHA_PCbnQwal0oPaBqH2P9I67PFXCQKwFohlph6uIp8ZXQaQ6fza6P-yljSWm1QtNJiwzuDPyx57jfwemcjWHfTCXyBE1sOlND4wKwD0iP0AB7hookFuoHONQILSaqi6OpiZXAU/s479/grampy+and+me.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="479" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ757_EHA_PCbnQwal0oPaBqH2P9I67PFXCQKwFohlph6uIp8ZXQaQ6fza6P-yljSWm1QtNJiwzuDPyx57jfwemcjWHfTCXyBE1sOlND4wKwD0iP0AB7hookFuoHONQILSaqi6OpiZXAU/s320/grampy+and+me.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sweet Grampy reading to me. <br />I'm pretty sure I thought I was a Winnie the Pooh character... <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>But while she was apart from her Harris, she lived in Chicago. One day, while riding the bus to work in the downtown area in the 1940's, the bus driver called out "Clark" as in Clark Street. Above the conversation in the crowded bus, my grandmother shouted out "If it's Gable, I'll take him!" I'm sure those morning bus riders had a good laugh. I know I did, and I wasn't even there! Ruth had such a great sense of humor, fun and adventure!</p><p><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdw_rgoa0JhMI4dO74WFo3wbYnVlvDi2fewyRwY9HnBdYR9KT6EmjzRycFSZEdYYkV-OYk_4yxxX9BaLHQhQAQrd8baEg8M9BmhAkfpZiWn39yU_ojQkBorpqENUdelBQri_Kav7ecKMs/s2048/image2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1450" data-original-width="2048" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdw_rgoa0JhMI4dO74WFo3wbYnVlvDi2fewyRwY9HnBdYR9KT6EmjzRycFSZEdYYkV-OYk_4yxxX9BaLHQhQAQrd8baEg8M9BmhAkfpZiWn39yU_ojQkBorpqENUdelBQri_Kav7ecKMs/s320/image2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is Ruth with my mom and her brothers, Harris Jr. and Frank.<br />There were four children all together. Elvira (not in this photo) passed away as a child.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8qS5heIqzbn4VrSld91FBDbnWEdve18tmiaxjDLcHv5RWn1YWwf3s7ePElVHhFQEHA55w6pDYAT6ciUOOkHbTe1ictXF0UlEi8TnSs49z3PRUbbRVp-L9pOFyaPxaywlRdVxy1q4vS0/s2048/image3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1405" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8qS5heIqzbn4VrSld91FBDbnWEdve18tmiaxjDLcHv5RWn1YWwf3s7ePElVHhFQEHA55w6pDYAT6ciUOOkHbTe1ictXF0UlEi8TnSs49z3PRUbbRVp-L9pOFyaPxaywlRdVxy1q4vS0/s320/image3.jpeg" width="220" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My two grandmothers! They really liked each other and included Ruth at family events</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></b>Ruth wasn't a girl with whom one would trifle... She was kind and funny, but we pitied anyone who crossed her. A fast forward to a few years later, she was watching my two older brothers- who were then, just little people. Gram asked them to do something- get ready for bed, finish their dinner, etc. Now... I don't know which one said it - I can only guess. But the reply was "I'll do it when I'm good and ready!" Gram walked in the room and gave them <i>that</i> <i>look</i> - "What did you say?" To which he replied... "I'm ready, I'm ready!" I laugh to myself when I replay that scene in my head as I have done for many years. It never gets old. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9OsrX25RETytT-9XCHhSri63AMl4-KNfsbQAO-qF95ASa2j_6nIsEOxlihkjO2pHhjNNq2FUy9-Ed3fKQGhQ7QOKqZcDiPCXc9LXp8RkpBy9VujFWQIpMlLoB_OaeErGJbCXNB03IiYI/s800/scan0001+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9OsrX25RETytT-9XCHhSri63AMl4-KNfsbQAO-qF95ASa2j_6nIsEOxlihkjO2pHhjNNq2FUy9-Ed3fKQGhQ7QOKqZcDiPCXc9LXp8RkpBy9VujFWQIpMlLoB_OaeErGJbCXNB03IiYI/s320/scan0001+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are the sweet little monkeys who challenged my grandmother!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I rarely saw my grandmother seated, without some manner of needle work in her hands. She was talented in so many ways. Ruth was also an accomplished seamstress. She worked sewing car upholstery for a time while living in Chicago. She certainly used her love of fiber arts to her full advantage! She made my mom's simple and elegant wedding gown! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9zuSsmB0t6_ZRRlw6PrrDUOzdk-bsn4CWiniL8ctQ-qWvrVLdWF1gAwaX1lrshrX1m0QMfVmydNszwyhFMLfwCJY9dFnxn-BkHqzl2ukoBCo6EwKq4vcHHgrW4KxKi41rWCgCZcz89A/s2048/mom+and+dad+wedding.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1462" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9zuSsmB0t6_ZRRlw6PrrDUOzdk-bsn4CWiniL8ctQ-qWvrVLdWF1gAwaX1lrshrX1m0QMfVmydNszwyhFMLfwCJY9dFnxn-BkHqzl2ukoBCo6EwKq4vcHHgrW4KxKi41rWCgCZcz89A/s320/mom+and+dad+wedding.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom & Dad - Aren't they beautiful...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wyVoDIp-dhkkW9QzcUO0AdFGcOw0jqMylB5UPnQ64hSd2m8d8-68DEMM2I4DKMGPFUtxgO2a0d0-DTxhYQxeYGAXUolFZtgwktQR8sgywWH0fbcyhRWMKy2YPb7-J310XeaIBbX0AwA/s2048/image1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1485" data-original-width="2048" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7wyVoDIp-dhkkW9QzcUO0AdFGcOw0jqMylB5UPnQ64hSd2m8d8-68DEMM2I4DKMGPFUtxgO2a0d0-DTxhYQxeYGAXUolFZtgwktQR8sgywWH0fbcyhRWMKy2YPb7-J310XeaIBbX0AwA/s320/image1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicago - January 17, 1948</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Gram knitted, crocheted, tatted, embroidered and cross-stitched, sewed, and probably more things than I will ever be aware. I have many cherished items she made during her lifetime and am </span><i style="text-align: left;">absolutely certain</i><span style="text-align: left;">; this is where my love of fiber art and needlework was borne. </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDfziwC3gqmI7vYKbkDvHcLftqsSMorgy8z-5oBeXdkDqBjtL-_l7KEfSagVibRTsWlhyphenhyphenYgp5xrh-1xzJ-ojp0OpPBuvbToChuUOT0xSf8obTTS_0LTEaPVD0T1s-lmbz2xzy2gxiqFyA/w211-h281/240784169_175816321320299_3053411453182936527_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="211" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is just one of Gram's sweet handmade items. I love this little apron...</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72HlfpnUWnf0a4TTKQ-YtoLJ4DeL2ez1i0pOuWeBoWn9KSAPSQSdN5mv4pXfkY4TvCSCIBa_fXJYfX2tWTQ1mEdc2pfdlXF0HcOXDCjNZJp4VpfWWLYHyfzOrujK9AcnQlfK3KJPfBPA/s2048/240796027_360506272219636_5248899733743130921_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg72HlfpnUWnf0a4TTKQ-YtoLJ4DeL2ez1i0pOuWeBoWn9KSAPSQSdN5mv4pXfkY4TvCSCIBa_fXJYfX2tWTQ1mEdc2pfdlXF0HcOXDCjNZJp4VpfWWLYHyfzOrujK9AcnQlfK3KJPfBPA/s320/240796027_360506272219636_5248899733743130921_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3CgPJsPbWMwiy-vUQBBwO1XX4Pb2Rv2FCaEhDWY3qlc1fUSWUeUmFreEYWGGTyklwmdMcTalJFxAc6FKInVCYH1d6nGRwnxlbNqwqycmK3wYaMiHubHIXrxF50_2j_MSlIs1UTolT0U/s2048/240786424_2907407192846981_1504122301539702793_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3CgPJsPbWMwiy-vUQBBwO1XX4Pb2Rv2FCaEhDWY3qlc1fUSWUeUmFreEYWGGTyklwmdMcTalJFxAc6FKInVCYH1d6nGRwnxlbNqwqycmK3wYaMiHubHIXrxF50_2j_MSlIs1UTolT0U/w184-h139/240786424_2907407192846981_1504122301539702793_n.jpg" width="184" /></a><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sam and Mable were a pair of House Sparrows who nested in the eaves our our home in Chicago. Gram visited often and we talked about these little birds. All these years later, I see in this apron, just how much my Gram loved me. <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>To date, I have learned many different fiber arts. Primarily, I spin, knit, weave, felt, dabble in natural dyeing, crochet and sew. I teach most of these skills to other like-minded souls who, almost always, become life long friends. </p><p>I also write, draw, paint in oils, acrylic and now watercolor. My right brain is apparently developed to a much greater degree than the left... Many years ago, a friend told me it was simply a natural progression for creatives to "try" everything. Some things just seem to stick with us longer. She was definitely right. However, I can with great certainty, say - everything I have learned and continue to practice, will be with me as long as I'm around. I can be a flaky artist or a focused program director. I just always hope the days are appropriately distributed. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhi0MrK_qdJl5r3SIqHE9PB5U-ejXcBcitKtaBuJM9FXPOM8cQULuo-lXm4BTEWMn2fKiAoBY8ojlOgFw9GovBEaOsghHPhfFUTZ_Vja6tQfrEH-nGAB0vjz2Tg7ljXEif3gucH7oz5A/s960/knitting+blue+sock.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhi0MrK_qdJl5r3SIqHE9PB5U-ejXcBcitKtaBuJM9FXPOM8cQULuo-lXm4BTEWMn2fKiAoBY8ojlOgFw9GovBEaOsghHPhfFUTZ_Vja6tQfrEH-nGAB0vjz2Tg7ljXEif3gucH7oz5A/s320/knitting+blue+sock.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful hand-dyed yarn purchased in Georgetown, Colorado at The Quilted Purl<br />It started out as toe-up socks...(this was before I learned to knit two socks at the same time!) It was taking way too long to finish even the first sock. I frogged this sock (knitter terminology for take-apart. Rip it, rip it..) and decided to make this lovely "Roller Coaster" scarf! Life is too short to be frustrated by socks. <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexPa1ZTweb9j_AVnVNHPhKPYCKugqTPQokOVIqJASkqTsNOwGVsAJtpJm2UqoeYVSwZZnj8Mi-z5dzkcK-CbqFnlTSvMzVCSajPsn6Je0C68iCyYFA8XthRUB4ub3HaUOd5_YBdXRBAg/s2048/blue+colorado+scarf.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjexPa1ZTweb9j_AVnVNHPhKPYCKugqTPQokOVIqJASkqTsNOwGVsAJtpJm2UqoeYVSwZZnj8Mi-z5dzkcK-CbqFnlTSvMzVCSajPsn6Je0C68iCyYFA8XthRUB4ub3HaUOd5_YBdXRBAg/w317-h238/blue+colorado+scarf.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Roller Coaster Scarf! </td></tr></tbody></table> </blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WWE-sv8pC6g5Jx-XgQ7AYUHobWLyC3BqPq1_5EWUgNbxJmN_YitvmE2hXQnA4mzxpH_Yt5KK9UvNuROOtHscWJNpxw6Yj0K6qxuejotbBEW2aCStzalXMPeclwyO_UH1lhnJSB2GUDw/s315/cable+vest.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WWE-sv8pC6g5Jx-XgQ7AYUHobWLyC3BqPq1_5EWUgNbxJmN_YitvmE2hXQnA4mzxpH_Yt5KK9UvNuROOtHscWJNpxw6Yj0K6qxuejotbBEW2aCStzalXMPeclwyO_UH1lhnJSB2GUDw/s0/cable+vest.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at all those tiny little cables! Need to finish this little baby vest!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></blockquote><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8nu9VvyHKxZxUC4rwGldJEDOAsuV5rY65sEhT9fYClYT8deeETixzGy9XcjxwF6PdfNJCcE3MBDTEP_SJ5kv8zMWy0FACToiJO8bzgZBbLnTMu6ki8OCe6QNIhg_M5ZI-DBB0m_cU1I/s600/csb+vacation+supplies.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8nu9VvyHKxZxUC4rwGldJEDOAsuV5rY65sEhT9fYClYT8deeETixzGy9XcjxwF6PdfNJCcE3MBDTEP_SJ5kv8zMWy0FACToiJO8bzgZBbLnTMu6ki8OCe6QNIhg_M5ZI-DBB0m_cU1I/s320/csb+vacation+supplies.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Essential beach vacation supplies!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhyp95QufVi5r78iKsXUNKgCTLRIOyGfh1TiMXwJOdx7eQ4roJPCOOdetPs8_dkAdSxdys-ClPotZC6cNTcrUatLYMxRc92aNRe0DPcZ_Bek2cBMYvnZUy-RA1gekWc0Ud_8VmWVaVF0/s2048/gabriel+socks.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzhyp95QufVi5r78iKsXUNKgCTLRIOyGfh1TiMXwJOdx7eQ4roJPCOOdetPs8_dkAdSxdys-ClPotZC6cNTcrUatLYMxRc92aNRe0DPcZ_Bek2cBMYvnZUy-RA1gekWc0Ud_8VmWVaVF0/s320/gabriel+socks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A warm pair of alpaca socks for my son</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_f_uuTSZ27YQYNcs4IHBpZcqyR91AUPRPNJVfMhgtvDVUe6F0jJXbDwUErfdHaz5hazcDc1dqKP98RxBxk5wWcB1yQVNwwK7uehyphenhyphenW2HNsgD8AptiRIAqTBIsQRrUtXAoiEA6UrZWkYcM/s2048/IMG_1033.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_f_uuTSZ27YQYNcs4IHBpZcqyR91AUPRPNJVfMhgtvDVUe6F0jJXbDwUErfdHaz5hazcDc1dqKP98RxBxk5wWcB1yQVNwwK7uehyphenhyphenW2HNsgD8AptiRIAqTBIsQRrUtXAoiEA6UrZWkYcM/s320/IMG_1033.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twill table runner</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGYFl6DaexS8kuFn9_gsXbREdGkzry5tPmu5zHB6uORcxNj-baBtUbuPfxD3FgT1_b1ovskz3IQn3swOHh_XJxKEGgA61W9qy32Hxt7aejn5emtcTpbVOTdry2BYhIHNI4Xkaf4Wi2OA/s250/IMG_1927.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="188" data-original-width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGYFl6DaexS8kuFn9_gsXbREdGkzry5tPmu5zHB6uORcxNj-baBtUbuPfxD3FgT1_b1ovskz3IQn3swOHh_XJxKEGgA61W9qy32Hxt7aejn5emtcTpbVOTdry2BYhIHNI4Xkaf4Wi2OA/s0/IMG_1927.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Orange Peel" overshot table runner<br />My sister has two of them! :)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxH4h4RzsKM9zdpo45LoetuNiAfQFkUbLJQzFyi6zHmdDPF5BIKUY1dQ9ZDyPJLHvQZt-jQ6xh1nLbIHdIp14ih4Orzmng9IJYjeQgvvUZ7JnRzXhYuIZrQVm8buIx_zfxfgL9u4ZVI1k/s2048/me+festival+knitting.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxH4h4RzsKM9zdpo45LoetuNiAfQFkUbLJQzFyi6zHmdDPF5BIKUY1dQ9ZDyPJLHvQZt-jQ6xh1nLbIHdIp14ih4Orzmng9IJYjeQgvvUZ7JnRzXhYuIZrQVm8buIx_zfxfgL9u4ZVI1k/s320/me+festival+knitting.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Knitting on a hot day, in my booth at a local festival.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWeuz5i-dM-kbgXS71iwjnfYW73vRhab62it6bMvo-4SQgAUlYRNMPkKYtqy3KIIBFFhLKderRt7MKGgcTTw5iwP-AqkP5YYCk3vNf4n3ORgN-ToFOwqUmP8QNHRQslCayojA81Nqmuk/s315/painting+party+me.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWeuz5i-dM-kbgXS71iwjnfYW73vRhab62it6bMvo-4SQgAUlYRNMPkKYtqy3KIIBFFhLKderRt7MKGgcTTw5iwP-AqkP5YYCk3vNf4n3ORgN-ToFOwqUmP8QNHRQslCayojA81Nqmuk/s0/painting+party+me.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A cheeseball photo of me at a Willow Oak painting party. I was truly enjoying the evening!<br />I like very few photos of myself - My friend and coworker Lacie took this one. I would probably only smile like this for her... </td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbbc-1msqo_vjteejNeGhcrENld13tkpDYOReXhS8Tld1IrF9vZ3ZI6XWHzw_1Vjs7shd9I-_npOoHSgPuJoK8INQdL01Sl5F2KIhj3tJpsJOlIrRkhP-khjMY9XZ7R7jKcn_Mju3jwpE/s2048/237754707_258786632574198_1956541099844941006_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbbc-1msqo_vjteejNeGhcrENld13tkpDYOReXhS8Tld1IrF9vZ3ZI6XWHzw_1Vjs7shd9I-_npOoHSgPuJoK8INQdL01Sl5F2KIhj3tJpsJOlIrRkhP-khjMY9XZ7R7jKcn_Mju3jwpE/s320/237754707_258786632574198_1956541099844941006_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little writing nook is a beautiful and usually sunny spot. It sure feels good here!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There's so much to do, see and learn in the future. I don't want to miss any of it. </div><p style="text-align: center;">Thanks Gram </p><p style="text-align: center;">and</p><p style="text-align: center;">Thank you to anyone who ever helped me along the way to fulfil a goal or dream.</p><p style="text-align: center;">💗💗💗</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-24040490408372057082021-05-07T11:17:00.000-05:002021-05-07T11:17:50.597-05:00A reintroduction. Who are we, really…?<p> <span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I am a wife, mom, fiber artist, program director
for an art center, teacher of fiber arts, writer, painter, starter of
projects.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I have actual moments of
clarity.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I aspire to do many things and
even accomplish a few of them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was twenty-something, I told my sister I
was going to move out of state, change my name, live on a hill and learn to
spin wool from my own flock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I did
just that.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I didn’t set out to do <i>any</i> of these things
on purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I originally made that
statement, I hadn’t considered marriage as<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>part of the scenario.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I planned
to change my name in the metaphorical sense and not the way it happened. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I felt adrift. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom passed away when she was 56 and I,
21.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in the midst of several
job/career changes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was unhappy dating
and frankly, didn’t want to be married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I couldn’t stand the thought of telling my life story
one.more.time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was restless and wanted
to run away and become someone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My home was in Chicago (and a suburb).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quite by happy accident, I met a man from
Tennessee and fell in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told my
life story one more time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We married, I
changed my name, moved – to a house on a hill – and bought my first two sheep
in 1992.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned to spin a year before
that, and weaving came shortly thereafter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s rather unnerving how this happened in retrospect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it wasn’t simply a passing
thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted these things to become
my reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spoke my life into
existence…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0n5sgUR46E92rrzyN_mBOahbm0ANA481W56qGLc2d-p61PMmrf01SrKCbcB6um3T8n6u_DUMlAiH6GTUXsnqX7Z5TaCW0ox-Pzt1v8Fza6RRXAw25Xd5CJfNaGmvHyP4u1xSbXaCIFq8/s880/IMG_9188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="880" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0n5sgUR46E92rrzyN_mBOahbm0ANA481W56qGLc2d-p61PMmrf01SrKCbcB6um3T8n6u_DUMlAiH6GTUXsnqX7Z5TaCW0ox-Pzt1v8Fza6RRXAw25Xd5CJfNaGmvHyP4u1xSbXaCIFq8/s320/IMG_9188.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vintage photo of my first sheep Anddie and me</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Sheep aren’t a part of my days anymore.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">They all lived happy content lives until, one
by one, it was their time to leave.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
work as a program director for a school of art and humanities.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I teach fiber arts there as well. </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Our children are grown.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">We have time to focus on each other and the
things we wish to bring into our lives.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Life is full, but there’s room for more.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today, “Berta’s Flax” brings me to the page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Berta’s Flax is a new Facebook group to which
I belong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quite simply, a wonderful
Austrian woman named Christiane came into the possession of two large chests
filled with sticks of flax and linens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They belonged to an Austrian woman named Berta who married in the
1940’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has passed<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>away and her son wanted his mother’s belongings to go to a good home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chests and their contents were Berta’s
dowry. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christiane soon realized she
would not be able to spin all the flax in the gifted dowry chests and began to
give it to other spinners for only the cost of shipping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is a kind and gentle soul I wish I knew
in person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieCSSP5Ue1Pbz7vN6KCiy_Gxiun62CpjaDjPF5tGrt6pXF9maFl4ZN5FjJH0O1yK-R4z2KXSxnB2LVwQRY138I2W0PXgKWBDiW51fNPhgIY0HJE2dVhbw2lQIeiTIL9egqlhW71Jr2OwE/s1080/IMG_9172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1080" height="339" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieCSSP5Ue1Pbz7vN6KCiy_Gxiun62CpjaDjPF5tGrt6pXF9maFl4ZN5FjJH0O1yK-R4z2KXSxnB2LVwQRY138I2W0PXgKWBDiW51fNPhgIY0HJE2dVhbw2lQIeiTIL9egqlhW71Jr2OwE/w344-h339/IMG_9172.JPG" width="344" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christiane. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJomNE61D9dW4JqSfkWUrmU9tigZdVNhZkESi0e8mxpSMramUwgFosixEwnNmwV5ZSRlDeUGaNhc5CNZkTVnxMM_4vEuugcmESql-ngr1itn3EExEXYDnZ5oLZ16afcfEnSmapESN8fAA/s1600/IMG_9184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJomNE61D9dW4JqSfkWUrmU9tigZdVNhZkESi0e8mxpSMramUwgFosixEwnNmwV5ZSRlDeUGaNhc5CNZkTVnxMM_4vEuugcmESql-ngr1itn3EExEXYDnZ5oLZ16afcfEnSmapESN8fAA/s1600/IMG_9184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJomNE61D9dW4JqSfkWUrmU9tigZdVNhZkESi0e8mxpSMramUwgFosixEwnNmwV5ZSRlDeUGaNhc5CNZkTVnxMM_4vEuugcmESql-ngr1itn3EExEXYDnZ5oLZ16afcfEnSmapESN8fAA/w266-h355/IMG_9184.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christiane with a bridal chest.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The last time I checked, Berta’s Flax has grown to
an amazing 745 members!</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I have not
requested a strick from Christiane yet.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I
want to wait until I feel she has caught her breath.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">My experience spinning flax is minimal and
poor at best.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">I do think, with the
addition of this wonderful group, I may learn many useful tips…</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I read stories daily about Berta’s Flax members
receiving their stricks and more stories of dowry chests lovingly handed over
to Christiane - and some not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find myself thinking of
my Austrian grandmother Anne and great-grandmother Barbara - both with the last
name Rostan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My paternal grandmother
Anne was wonderful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was warm, loving
and always armed with a hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In regard
to fiber, I never saw her with any kind of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>kind of needlework in her hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She was a busy girl – a wonderful cook, she kept a beautiful home and always
had time for family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anne had arthritis
in her hands and that may very well have been the reason she didn’t do any kind
of fiber art when I was a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Truly little is known about my great-grandmother,
Barbara.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and my great grandfather,
Lawrence were married against her family’s wishes. Barbara came from a wealthy
family and Lawrence was a farmer - with what I can only guess, was an austere
lifestyle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together, they had a large family
with twin boys being the last of their children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are several stories surrounding my great
grandmother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most logical one I have
been told is Barbara passed away giving birth to the twin boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This would have happened somewhere in the late
1800’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After her death, Barbara’s family
came to the home to take the twin boys and “furniture” belonging to Barbara.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lawrence then traveled to the United States
and later sent for his children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lawrence
remarried very quickly upon coming to the states to a woman named Mary who was
also from Austria. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together, <i>they</i>
had many children as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Until last week, I never considered what the
“furniture” might have been that was so important, Barbara’s family would come
to retrieve it after her death (along with two precious baby boys).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m nearly convinced now; part of the
furniture must have been her bridal chest(s).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wonder what they contained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was
it flax and linens?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s doubtful I will
ever know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxKyTkOwjR-ajs8CbFnBCyKQVQxeR1TcBKfLLWC2_1v45PL4N_ZwshkpwDCuBmqOtNiSdfs_jIqbD9BbkDpUaTeSssq5M1wJTNjzE3XXyFyYh4mQ5zLBFk5yHyaqtV2J2xN8rJEeT_uY/s960/IMG_9185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxKyTkOwjR-ajs8CbFnBCyKQVQxeR1TcBKfLLWC2_1v45PL4N_ZwshkpwDCuBmqOtNiSdfs_jIqbD9BbkDpUaTeSssq5M1wJTNjzE3XXyFyYh4mQ5zLBFk5yHyaqtV2J2xN8rJEeT_uY/s320/IMG_9185.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenLffMZSpqloduykhPhLMq8VZ1mY5wpZE9_yOIcyqUOcX4TwdkIwFBVazlyrP70p1nKDO58i9EM6en_K6To2AGDWhoPu1fXknoK23EMs4ekx_ZeggyJrPWcpWGuAmbgoiyYzWds59BtI/s960/IMG_9182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhenLffMZSpqloduykhPhLMq8VZ1mY5wpZE9_yOIcyqUOcX4TwdkIwFBVazlyrP70p1nKDO58i9EM6en_K6To2AGDWhoPu1fXknoK23EMs4ekx_ZeggyJrPWcpWGuAmbgoiyYzWds59BtI/s320/IMG_9182.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhurvuLGk57l3-0giJrgLYnbNDiqwsytuonGf11qCKi6YVgIIBzZ6xcw0xBZdKWtAmsjuop3cS4M6-d10cKqGmkFswp8neN7e20x-2x5a5KkZKnQ6EnZyx028exZkf2bVXd_rqbTXSH7pg/s960/IMG_9183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhurvuLGk57l3-0giJrgLYnbNDiqwsytuonGf11qCKi6YVgIIBzZ6xcw0xBZdKWtAmsjuop3cS4M6-d10cKqGmkFswp8neN7e20x-2x5a5KkZKnQ6EnZyx028exZkf2bVXd_rqbTXSH7pg/s320/IMG_9183.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></span></p>When I think of Barbara, I am in awe of her strong
and courageous spirit.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Against her
family’s wishes, she married a man whose social and financial standing was
beneath hers. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">She married into a life of
hard, physical work, but also full of love for the man who made her want to
leave a much easier life behind – and not look back. I want to know more about
this woman, from where she came and what she was like.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The church that held the records regarding
this family burned, so all recorded information was lost.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Somewhere in my soul, I feel I have family in Austria who were borne from
the lineage of my twin great uncles.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
could have distant family in Berta’s Flax.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">They are most assuredly my family in fiber.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am grateful to be part of this group that
ties together my love of fiber and the culture that is part of my
heritage.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Here’s to you, Barbara and
Berta!</span><p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGcbT0bjJy43ROImEXL4rYoYZnomyyc1KvlXRqD7mNMPjQNFBHzrLospEvfrwFvEIze3Won24fkEAWkHeKuFxLwCKDu-P2n7nLoM05GTuxszVJRNidRVbEpdrfIS5hBWLu-JpMVqVTdA/s2048/IMG_9181.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1608" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGcbT0bjJy43ROImEXL4rYoYZnomyyc1KvlXRqD7mNMPjQNFBHzrLospEvfrwFvEIze3Won24fkEAWkHeKuFxLwCKDu-P2n7nLoM05GTuxszVJRNidRVbEpdrfIS5hBWLu-JpMVqVTdA/s320/IMG_9181.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My grandmothers - Ruth and Anne on my parent's Wedding Day!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqqFQXVWOdmFL6zQa9W82VJ3zXXwkWdKo5unfz2NicXIRK7gJOzgfkW71r0pPGvg6oiowMcjF_8_t38TYfmkOwu-aA1RINfLQSw3vdZ8MYXvOKskOKUqsuvyAQ-XiugSaOAeQOYw3kEs/s1440/IMG_9187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqqFQXVWOdmFL6zQa9W82VJ3zXXwkWdKo5unfz2NicXIRK7gJOzgfkW71r0pPGvg6oiowMcjF_8_t38TYfmkOwu-aA1RINfLQSw3vdZ8MYXvOKskOKUqsuvyAQ-XiugSaOAeQOYw3kEs/s320/IMG_9187.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christiane's photo of an Austrian morning. <br />I feel strong ties to this part of my heritage. <3</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br />Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-69058065663015763502021-01-29T17:35:00.003-06:002021-01-29T17:35:25.008-06:00White Stuff is Falling from the Sky!<p>I was sitting at work looking out the window the other day. It was snowing with gusto. It's a rare commodity where I live and work. At one point, I found myself with my hand propping up my chin, staring wistfully at the snow. I'm 58 years old and I've never hated seeing the white stuff fall from the sky - and pile up on the ground. It turns me into an 8 year old. </p><p>I have lived in the midsouth for many years. Snow that sticks to the ground opens a whole new Pandora's box here. Most people here don't really drive all that well in the white stuff...and the hills and hollows can make a slippery road, one hundred times more dangerous. Most people just don't have much experience with it. However, the weather is routinely (mostly) predictable here regarding snow. It rarely gets that bad. The roads had been brined and all will be well. </p><p>But still, I'm looking out the window watching the giant flakes dance and fall soothingly from the sky - only to melt as soon as they touch the ground. In the distance, I hear a train whistle - another sound I love. It was definitely a zen moment. Somewhere inside me, I'm wishing for hot chocolate, a fire in the hearth, a cat beside me and my knitting in my lap. I'm either a little kid or an old woman (inside), waiting to play. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2j8Wc7kDsT4EpLwcTmNwlWeVDStF2PIhLPSBubyTms84A23gsgTKtdXgbvzzIPwqslVpvfz8IwwQFEJxbEAC3pTxfEUxnV5iA3or8hqr3GOJxthtviFm7Cy1H3FhmzLn3y2LkQ3UWOIU/s2048/IMG_8139.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2j8Wc7kDsT4EpLwcTmNwlWeVDStF2PIhLPSBubyTms84A23gsgTKtdXgbvzzIPwqslVpvfz8IwwQFEJxbEAC3pTxfEUxnV5iA3or8hqr3GOJxthtviFm7Cy1H3FhmzLn3y2LkQ3UWOIU/s320/IMG_8139.jpg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">I hope you get a snow day soon, to simply enjoy. </p>Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-79952392988062919262021-01-19T17:41:00.000-06:002021-01-19T17:41:00.270-06:00The Tale of the Christmas Carousel - 1985<p>Once upon a time, in a land far far away (Illinois), there was a girl (me), who lived with her dad (Dad). They were getting ready to have the family over for Christmas the next morning. It was late. They had just come home from midnight mass and had a few last minute things to accomplish. </p><p>Dad was vacuuming and I was downstairs working on something else. I heard Dad saying <i>something </i>upstairs but couldn't understand exactly <i>what </i>he was saying. I went up to see what was happening. When I got there, I saw his thing was more important that anything I could have been doing. The Christmas candle carousel was on fire! Dad was attempting to put the fire out with a towel. Within a few seconds, the fire was out and all was going to be well. But all the while, he was kind of laughing and said "Fire in the hole!" a couple times. When the fire was out, he was still laughing - we both were... It was a small fire and nothing was destroyed. All was well and we had a good laugh. </p><p>Several years later, Dad was thinning out his decorations and asked me if I wanted "our" scorched Christmas carousel. I immediately told him yes! It is now in my possession and one of my treasured holiday decorations. Dad has his own permanent reminder of that night. There is a burned ring on the wooden divider where the carousel was sitting. I like knowing that little ring is there...</p><p>Now, every season, I unpack the Christmas carousel and proudly display it. Most likely I have told the story behind it every year. When our kids were younger, they may have rolled their eyes a little each time it was recited. That's ok. I want them to have the memory of this little item that I so strongly associate with their grandfather and those few minutes in my life. I don't want them wondering why I have this thing they, or even other people might consider junk. </p><p>It's not that I have become the custodian of Dad's Christmas carousel ... It's so much more than that. It's those 5 crazy minutes their Grampy and I shared on that Christmas Eve somewhere around 1985. It represents his character as a father, protector, teacher and friend. He put the fire out and made it amusing at the same time. He didn't become angry, fearful or any other negative reaction. I was in my mid 20's and he was <i>still </i>teaching me - to not freak out and make the best of a bad (or what could have been bad) situation. But he didn't do it intentionally. That's just Dad. Even to this day, that's my Dad. I sure hope to be just like him when I grow up.</p><p>So, when the carousel comes out for all Christmases in the future, I hope they remember this story. I hope they remember the kind of man my dad is - and what kind of human they want to be in this world. I also hope they bicker just a little over who gets the carousel when I'm not here anymore. </p><p>You see, it's just <i>not </i>about the thing - it's about what the thing means to <i>you</i>. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdrVSPpve2Nv0DZGnj64y5U7vl5ARu391S2aMlBrFG5SGH-syPQyow56vhPxbVFISoY6T-79D6PrGduNZrteyGBDfDZn8iKDMz8rur2jj_VLJ51JUZo3CaNn_EjbmgZODc8hQ_jR-Wkmk/s2048/IMG_8029.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdrVSPpve2Nv0DZGnj64y5U7vl5ARu391S2aMlBrFG5SGH-syPQyow56vhPxbVFISoY6T-79D6PrGduNZrteyGBDfDZn8iKDMz8rur2jj_VLJ51JUZo3CaNn_EjbmgZODc8hQ_jR-Wkmk/w480-h640/IMG_8029.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-85891360614737120742020-12-04T11:07:00.006-06:002020-12-04T11:20:02.759-06:00Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas <p><span style="background-color: #eeeeee;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Josefin Slab; font-size: medium;">I had a nostalgic thought several months ago. It literally brought tears to my eyes - I miss
Christmas. I miss everything about it. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Josefin Slab; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222;">Simply thinking about Christmas, I am immediately transported to a time when people are happier,
friendlier - more joyous.</span><span style="color: #222222;"> S</span><span style="color: #222222;">trangers wish me Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Kwanzaa or Hanukkah too. I
miss the gentle lights that frame my mantle. Their warm glow brings me <i>actual </i></span><span style="color: #222222;">warmth and happiness. I miss the twinkling of colored lights that illuminate my
windows, the snowflake light my dad gave me.</span><span style="color: #222222;">
</span><span style="color: #222222;">I love every element of this season. The Christmas tree, the manger
scenes, the advent calendars - I miss Christmas.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Josefin Slab; font-size: medium;"><span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; line-height: 107%;">It's not the commercialization of the season that I miss, but the coming of a
baby-everything I do has to do with Him.</span>
Even within the hustle and bustle of the season, every present I purchase, every candle I light, every time I sing Jingle
Bells- it all goes back to the little babe, lying in a manger.</span><span face=""Century Gothic", sans-serif" style="color: #222222;"> </span></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtc113XmCFFtoezsq5SOPCfnBWnO8RpwTzmflEOi8XaXxfQEvVmpc0ecJ06w79Lc3zXhzqb46pop8FzvWtt1oQQvxDFUhoEnzzM_jh7pZF_Q7TpUI4wRT9JkYI4R4ocZG_XSApw8J8lc/s480/20268_248463046587_712390_n.jpg" style="background-color: #eeeeee; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtc113XmCFFtoezsq5SOPCfnBWnO8RpwTzmflEOi8XaXxfQEvVmpc0ecJ06w79Lc3zXhzqb46pop8FzvWtt1oQQvxDFUhoEnzzM_jh7pZF_Q7TpUI4wRT9JkYI4R4ocZG_XSApw8J8lc/s320/20268_248463046587_712390_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Josefin Slab; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222;">I’m the ebullient little toddler on my mom’s lap.</span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span><span style="color: #222222;">I’m sure there isn’t a thing wrong in my
world.</span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span><span style="color: #222222;">We are all together (Dad is
behind the camera), and it’s Christmas Eve. I was two years old in this photo,
but it’s how I feel every Christmas season.</span><span style="color: #222222;"> At two years old, I don't think I had much of a grasp on what this time was really about. But I was a happy little girl here. </span><span style="color: #222222;">I may not have her expression that was captured in this photo, but it’s
inside me - just below the surface.</span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Josefin Slab; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span>We are just a short time away from my favorite holiday.</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span><span style="color: #222222;"><span>I go through my days with a happy, fluttery
feeling inside – it feels like anticipation – as if something wonderful is
about to happen.</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span><span style="color: #222222;"><span>It could be all the caffeine or maybe </span>adrenaline<span> …but
probably not.</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span><span style="color: #222222;"><span>Christmas is about to happen!</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span><span style="color: #222222;"><span>The tree is about to go up!</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span><span style="color: #222222;"><span>I'll be burning Paine’s Balsam Fir incense
in its little log cabin holder and decorate to my heart’s content, write out my
Christmas cards and say Merry Christmas to complete strangers.</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"> I think we need to make some wassail too! Man, I'm excited!</span><span style="color: #222222;"><span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Josefin Slab; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span> </span></o:p></span><span style="color: #222222;">If you happen to see me in February, July or September… I’ll
be thinking of Christmas then, too. I will be silently counting down the days until I can decorate without hearing the whine "It's too early".</span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span><span style="color: #222222;">You
see, that feeling - it lives in me every day of the year. </span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Josefin Slab; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #222222; line-height: 107%;"><span>So, Merry Christmas my friends!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Live
in the moment</i>, it’s what it’s for.</span></span><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitZDEKSRmUIRoo00f_AVPJJo-xhI7H0pC8oWmIuiOXdv2j1T6lR0La07ocMgbhqOm3kk9GYbscJoyWlTPUb_7zg6PpmxMwv9sMzwc3GR1eSds2PzxV5eGZQVSjgJy-jfPQecGmNN51qzA/s480/vintage+santa.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="304" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitZDEKSRmUIRoo00f_AVPJJo-xhI7H0pC8oWmIuiOXdv2j1T6lR0La07ocMgbhqOm3kk9GYbscJoyWlTPUb_7zg6PpmxMwv9sMzwc3GR1eSds2PzxV5eGZQVSjgJy-jfPQecGmNN51qzA/w292-h460/vintage+santa.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-50437150719104421452019-04-19T10:58:00.002-05:002019-04-19T10:58:54.962-05:00Thoughts this morning.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The wound is the place where the Light enters you. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>- Rumi</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVRYqIGPQjEqHytRHsSEP4gTDxZN-VqplUwfvbMkncUH8B663d6tdPKNEJHUIeXf9W25tm-MRZ8W55bonV5SmfywsINMfXYyuklTV3EbrdWf3vdsovZzOynga7Lx8XuJQBDcqu-kxEx5Q/s1600/30740870_10155523282371588_4647147982842494976_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVRYqIGPQjEqHytRHsSEP4gTDxZN-VqplUwfvbMkncUH8B663d6tdPKNEJHUIeXf9W25tm-MRZ8W55bonV5SmfywsINMfXYyuklTV3EbrdWf3vdsovZzOynga7Lx8XuJQBDcqu-kxEx5Q/s320/30740870_10155523282371588_4647147982842494976_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greg</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Yesterday marked the first year without my brother Greg. He was born October 28, 1948 - which was nine months and eleven days after my parents were married. So sweet. I sure did love this guy. It's been a very rough year. His death came without much warning - maybe three months. He was only 69 years old. We, as a family, were devastated. <br />
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This quote from Rumi resonates with me for several reasons. I've felt like an open wound for the last year and broken by circumstances around me. Clearly, I'm not the victim. It was my brother. But after someone you love passes away and their suffering is over, to a degree we assume the role of victim. That's just grief. It's the big hole in your heart - the wound where that someone used to be. They're still in your heart, but gone at the same time. <br />
<br />
I'm still waiting for the light to enter. Perhaps it has already begun- but it's happening at such a slow rate, I'm not noticing the darkness is dissipating. I can look at a photo of Greg now without completely losing control - and that's huge. I can find joy and beauty in my surroundings. I've laughed so hard, tears flowed. I didn't allow myself to feel these things for many months. It wasn't a conscious decision to deprive myself. When a fun or joyful opportunity presented itself, I didn't want any part of it. <br />
<br />
Thanksgiving was pretty hard. Greg often came to visit over Thanksgiving and the following weekend. I cried as I prepared his favorite pie-mincemeat. I cried again a week later when we had to throw most of it out. Greg and I were the only ones who really loved it. When Christmas rolled around, I had to make a conscious decision to make things happen. Decorating and shopping were the hardest they've ever been. Even enjoying a simple glass of wine seemed like celebrating- but at least by the holidays, I could allow myself to enjoy <i>that!</i> <br />
<br />
If life had been a color, it would have been gray - not bright or dark, not happy or sad, just devoid of interest. Clarity of thought is something I have also missed - not that this has ever been my strong point. But I'm pretty sure my coworkers have missed this as well. So, I have to assume I'm making my way through this process. It has been a year of incredible stress and loss.<br />
<br />
I'm with my theoretical friend Rumi. I'm looking for the light. Waiting for it to shine even brighter through the gaping wound grief brought when my brother left this world. <br />
<br />
My message isn't particularly cheery this morning. It's a gray, rainy Good Friday. <u>However</u>, my hopefulness for even brighter, happier days ahead, is certainly not gray. I'm looking forward and my energy is returning. The gray funk is receding. <br />
<br />
If you're grieving for any reason, I hope you're able to see your way though it. Find a way to grow from the pain -even if it's developing a blog and spilling all your misery out on a page for people you don't know, to read. ;) <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Thanks for reading!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzAVxIoLaK-YhWv49INMo2xM5iJkP4Byiu0wh6gk-q_QZ9GzgBVmjEyij4UTkFCvSe_umEvUB5MJsyW0laumEuFVzhkrPdDS_UdVOjQGZHLzmpJHbwlMRw1R1LT4MMHHsd90M-sar-dx4/s1600/31117947_10155525146776588_2795891532077465600_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzAVxIoLaK-YhWv49INMo2xM5iJkP4Byiu0wh6gk-q_QZ9GzgBVmjEyij4UTkFCvSe_umEvUB5MJsyW0laumEuFVzhkrPdDS_UdVOjQGZHLzmpJHbwlMRw1R1LT4MMHHsd90M-sar-dx4/s320/31117947_10155525146776588_2795891532077465600_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greg & Bobcat last Summer<br />We lost Bobcat, Bobby, Bob, last week. <br />I like to think this is what they're doing right now. :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-68918488953464952632018-03-18T13:43:00.000-05:002018-03-24T10:15:46.462-05:00Better Late than Never<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">May
your shuttles always be full </span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">when you need ‘em </span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">and
</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">empty
when ya want to fill ‘em.</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">May
your warp never tangle while you’re dressin’ your loom.</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">May
the sun shine on your work and not in your eyes.</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">I
pray ya have no floats </span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">and </span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">perfect
be your web.</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">May
your drink be at hand, </span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">bare be your feet </span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">and </span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">swift
be your hands as you throw </span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">for
the next beat!</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">May
God’s blessing shine upon your weavin’ </span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">to
bring joy to all who it touches!</span></span></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #38761d; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 26.0pt;"></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 26.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeJw2UfvPeDGc7BvpVt9uoYlGy4NYHDQy6o5l2Vngr-VIMbWkWDSb4n6O8h4kj4sUqjuiKF3Av3FtGX1O8B2YanLz4x2Qb-kx6ekiafaiKLm-Tq69IxevTABGvXcQQxltvCq6_XRt9nM/s1600/GEDC0650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZeJw2UfvPeDGc7BvpVt9uoYlGy4NYHDQy6o5l2Vngr-VIMbWkWDSb4n6O8h4kj4sUqjuiKF3Av3FtGX1O8B2YanLz4x2Qb-kx6ekiafaiKLm-Tq69IxevTABGvXcQQxltvCq6_XRt9nM/s400/GEDC0650.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-81730021900196644492018-01-27T11:48:00.002-06:002018-01-27T11:48:57.040-06:00Spearmint Breath<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
I was encouraged to share some things I wrote in a Creative Writing workshop...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">"I will go to the bank by the wood and become naked and undisguised." -Walt Whitman</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSI8tw3NRFduh9Xg-RHBBdl9qQTgpHvcSaZL_DiNg5lthPTBPdV87XnE9G4trIQvJ1vkxMZ080kL-eaQDl8hw0Fqiq1Ahs_sMkF1vBxJo9s2g3AQW4GItwahnbwle9OclFrgpWalR0ycA/s1600/12310483_1072328759456106_4915052425384345305_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="521" data-original-width="417" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSI8tw3NRFduh9Xg-RHBBdl9qQTgpHvcSaZL_DiNg5lthPTBPdV87XnE9G4trIQvJ1vkxMZ080kL-eaQDl8hw0Fqiq1Ahs_sMkF1vBxJo9s2g3AQW4GItwahnbwle9OclFrgpWalR0ycA/s320/12310483_1072328759456106_4915052425384345305_n.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit -Mark E. laRowe Photography</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;">Spearmint Breath</span> <br />
There is weirdness and oddness that is part of a creative's life.<br />
I looked at the words I laid down without out noticing.<br />
Follow the mountains. <br />
Cherish your today.<br />
Discover being "naked and undisguised" in your thoughts.<br />
Dream of the sniff of hay in the barn,<br />
the green of the pasture,<br />
the radiant glow of a daffodil...<br />
Be with your kindred spirits as their fluff speeds through your fingertips.<br />
Reality lives in the spearmint breath of a sheep or maybe even, a yak.<br />
The universe is offering that, which I will not be inhibited from accepting!<br />
The words are hollow, but happy. I think them as a melody playing in my head.<br />
Be naked<br />
Be undisguised<br />
Share your melodic and happy thoughts<br />
or not.<br />
Reach for victory. Celebrate the mountains climbed.<br />
Just don't choke on enthusiasm.<br />
-DRH </div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-27756189266539390052016-06-25T17:57:00.001-05:002016-06-25T17:57:45.652-05:00Some Old Quilt<div>I'm working on my daughter's quilt this afternoon. It's an old quilt we found at a yard sale several years ago. We bought it for $20 just because we liked it. It's Pink, white and a very light green. She's away this weekend, so I decided to work on repairing it. I've not always worked with fabrics and quilts. But since I've been at The Fabric Shop, I've gained a much better understanding of it all. </div><div><br></div><div>Each of these blocks were hand pieced. The sashing, binding and quilting were all done.by.hand. When I bought it, the woman told me it was just an old quilt... </div><div><br></div><div>Ive always liked it. It's</div><div>soft and well worn. But after working on it for the last hour, I have a newfound admiration for this "old quilt" and the hands that made it. It's a piece of art and history of its maker. How many hours did it take the quilter to finish it. What did she do while she sewed? Was there music, tv, children at her feet? Was dinner simmering away? I hear very little about quilters hand-piecing their work. It's just not really done anymore. There's no time for it. Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against sewing machines. Machine quilts are beautiful too! It's just some stuff to think about. ✂️</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxf8KTmKyjoOeqIeQlt5hamX11UInAk7ebOYY5e7j_br7b2jFpDxSwzYRYrbNgC9_xqeQqoAxpcPi8-yVRTOKa-E7aDFmvIU-1qJ-A_sUDsZ92wyprZ4k7LQDDJSwz40G6QZYycLsax0/s640/blogger-image--274773401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTxf8KTmKyjoOeqIeQlt5hamX11UInAk7ebOYY5e7j_br7b2jFpDxSwzYRYrbNgC9_xqeQqoAxpcPi8-yVRTOKa-E7aDFmvIU-1qJ-A_sUDsZ92wyprZ4k7LQDDJSwz40G6QZYycLsax0/s640/blogger-image--274773401.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-64768682625439078322015-09-11T12:42:00.000-05:002015-09-12T00:08:07.275-05:00Sometimes, you just need to tell the story. September 11th. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was asleep. My six week old baby lay in his cradle next to me. The phone rang, jolting me awake. It was my husband. He was calling to tell me about the first plane that flew into the World Trade Center. I watched the news for only a few moments, and realized I was witnessing an act of terrorism and an historic event. My other children were two and a half and four. I watched the rest of the day in absolute horrific amazement.<br />
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At the time, we lived in Nashville, Tennessee, very near the airport and National Guard Armory. Low flying planes and helicopters flying overhead were a regular occurrence. That morning, the skies were empty and eerily silent as all flights nationwide had been grounded. I never imagined the sounds of jets flying over my home would be a comfort. Ordinarily, they were an annoyance and a reason to pause phone conversations. I would have loved to hear the normal sounds of air traffic and erase the horrible events of the day.<br />
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So many thoughts crossed my mind. How far reaching were these attacks? Where were my family members? After calling my Dad and my sister, some of these anxieties were calmed. My brother-in-law had been flying into New York on business that morning. His flight was diverted and put down elsewhere. Finding transportation home was a nightmare for him. According to the FAA, 4,000 flights were grounded that day. All these unfortunate travelers then had to secure a way to either reach their original destination or go home. Fortunately, my brother-in-law was able to rent a car and make a very long drive home.<br />
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Later in the week, I talked with my brother. I asked him where he was on Tuesday. He casually mentioned he was in the air on his way to New York as well. He hadn't been traveling for work recently, so his news shocked me. In retrospect, neither my brother or brother-in-law were in danger that morning. But the unpredictability of terror attacks fueled everyone's anxiety. It frightened me to know the people I love and care about were even close to this event.<br />
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While talking on the phone with my husband later that morning, I asked if he was going to come home-fearing for <i>his </i>safety. He was somewhat incredulous I felt he needed to be home. I wanted my little family together and as safe as we could possibly be. I had even wondered that morning, if our water would be safe to drink. When terrorists want to end the lives of as many people as possible, water seems like a natural choice to me. At that time, no one knew the extent these attacks. Thank God, I was wrong about it. Looking back, I was a sleep deprived, saturated in postpartum hormones, mother of three-and in particular, a six week old baby. All we had built together could be wiped out so easily. <br />
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I watched the news most of the days following September 11th. My four year old, inadvertently absorbed as much as he was able. He was angry, but in a sad very controlled manner. Bin Laden's image was shown over and over and he had seen it many times. My little son said he was angry with the "man in the dress" and wanted to "send planes to hurt him". We all wanted to hurt him. My son both amazed me and broke my heart with his comprehension of everything that happened. As the weeks following September 11th unfolded, the rest of the country's sentiments matched my son's. And well, we all know how Bin Laden's story ended.<br />
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Today, as I watch the 14th Anniversary coverage of September 11th., the same tears fell for the same reasons as when this day first occurred. So many lives were lost and changed forever. Two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-seven innocent people.<br />
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Thankfully, we have risen from those ashes. We stand <i>together </i>and sing God Bless America, hold our hands over our hearts and stand strong against the dark and evil forces that changed us forever. My flag flies proudly every day. I am a patriot.<br />
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While attending our kid's high school football game last fall, the soldier in the photo sat down in front of me. We all stood as The Star Spangled Banner began to play. . The sight of this man in his uniform saluting our beautiful flag brought me to tears. It's not <i>just </i>this one man, but all the men and women <i>he </i>represents. It's their loyalty, service and love of Country that pulls at my heart. For, without these brave patriots, we would not exist as a nation and have the freedoms it affords us.<br />
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I later showed this man the photo I had taken, and asked his permission to use it. I thanked him for his service with a lump in my throat. He was being deployed to Africa shortly after we talked. I'm thankful to report he has returned safely to his family.<br />
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-81450497666317306072015-06-07T17:17:00.001-05:002015-06-07T17:17:27.167-05:00Vegetable matterAs I was knitting along on a shawl today, I stopped to pick a bit of vegetable matter out of my yarn. I took a moment to look closer at the little bit of hay or fuzzy weed seed I had procured. <div><br></div><div>Suddenly, I felt quite happy-warm and fuzzy in fact, to think of the living creature who had some dinner crumbs left in her fleece. It reminded me of my own sheep. They created a wreath affect around their necks from sticking their little faces too deep into the roll. It was cute and funny until I needed to process and spin that wool! But today, it just took me back in time, watching my sheep be -sheep. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4GW2t4upUOw6DVGDzlAb0GllukEY8tvKhhOo654vbF4MCmsqmgzMihTcWHhX006XJrAecA9yzl_nQkbW8DAH2_oLo68r3lM1k9BmJUd0wDc9sQRK1vgBKuT7S1_bKCPfTfoUGDTDiAU/s640/blogger-image--1273572808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4GW2t4upUOw6DVGDzlAb0GllukEY8tvKhhOo654vbF4MCmsqmgzMihTcWHhX006XJrAecA9yzl_nQkbW8DAH2_oLo68r3lM1k9BmJUd0wDc9sQRK1vgBKuT7S1_bKCPfTfoUGDTDiAU/s640/blogger-image--1273572808.jpg"></a></div>Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-9521411131089586122014-10-27T14:16:00.001-05:002014-10-27T15:42:55.274-05:00Memories and saltines<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I was very young, my sister and I woke up early on Saturday to watch cartoons. It's a pretty foreign concept to little people these days. They can find cartoons at virtually any given moment of the day. But Saturdays were special to us for several reasons. Obviously, the cartoons were highly rated. What else would make children who didn't have to go to school, get up earlier than normal? The snacks we prepared, were the second jewel of Saturday mornings! We had; (and this is the short list) potato chip and pickle sandwiches, milk shakes (there's a story here too), butter, dark Karo syrup blended together and spread on white bread! Oh they were yummy! But the one standing out in my memory today, is toasted saltine crackers with butter. <br />
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A very, very, long time ago, in a land far far away, saltines were made four to a square. The box didn't come with four separate sleeves. There was only one and the crackers were all connected.<br />
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We would toast this "sheet" of saltines and proceed to slather them with butter. The butter would sizzle as you rubbed it across the cracker. It tasted pretty good too. </div>
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I still love saltines. But finding this little sheet of four connected crackers is impossible to do these days. This makes putting them in the traditional toaster a little tricky. ;) </div>
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What is my point? I'm not exactly sure. I miss those little sheets of saltines! I miss cartoons on Saturday mornings. I miss my sister-we live pretty far apart. I miss the snacks. Most of them I can recreate. But I just can't bring back everything together. I was having a saltine with some soup today and it all came back to me-like it was yesterday. </div>
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Oh, and the story about the milk shake- it went like this... One Saturday morning, I apparently pestered my sister to make a milkshake for me. She made them for us from time to time. I was too young to actually do it myself. So, in between cartoons, she took me to the kitchen, had me stand on a chair and gave me a glass of milk to drink. Honestly, I thought she was really going to make a milkshake.. I drank the milk, then she put her hands on my waist and shook me from side to side... She said "There's your milkshake." and left the room. Today, when I think of this story I laugh and shake my <i>head</i>. (That's not what I did back then!) </div>
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Don't ever ask about a haircut I received from her my junior year in high school-wink wink. </div>
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I think that's enough reminiscing for today. </div>
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Thanks for the memorable snacks Dee. xoxoxo</div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-55073009035826768842014-08-07T11:47:00.000-05:002014-08-07T19:57:46.635-05:00"I'm Fine"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's a beautiful summer morning. But for me, time is slowing and a somber veil is slipping over the day.<br />
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Paul was my friend. He wasn't my dad or uncle or brother. But he played all these roles in my life. Paul passed away this morning after a long and courageous battle with cancer. <br />
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I have countless memories of being with Paul. But today, I will share just one.<br />
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Quite some time ago, we were sitting in church alone together. We were praying for another friend. When we were both finished, I passed my little prayer book to him. It was opened to a page with this poem...<br />
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I'm Fine</center>
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<span class="body">There's nothing whatever the matter with me.<br />
I'm just as healthy as I can be.<br />
I have arthritis in both my knees<br />
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.<br />
My pulse is weak and my blood is thin<br />
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.<br />
I think my liver is out of whack<br />
And a terrible pain is in my back.<br />
My hearing is poor, my sight is dim,<br />
Most everything seems to be out of trim.<br />
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.<br />
I have arch supports for both my feet,<br />
Or I wouldn't be able to go on the street.<br />
Sleeplessness I have night after night,<br />
And in the morning I'm just a sight.<br />
My memory is failing, my head's in a spin.<br />
I'm peacefully living on aspirin<br />
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.<br />
The moral is, as this tale we unfold,<br />
That for you and me who are growing old,<br />
It's better to say "I'm fine" with a grin<br />
Than to let them know the shape we're in.<br />
--- Cardinal Cushing<br />
<br />
He read it, looked at me and grinned his huge Paul grin, giggled softly and said "I'm fine"! <br />
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<span class="body">I love you Paul. </span></div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-5954780920490700132014-04-16T12:16:00.000-05:002014-04-16T13:36:06.314-05:00This whole completion thing... <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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How big is your fiber stash? Could it, does it take up a whole room? How many projects do you have OTN? (on the needles) How many projects would you call a WIP? (work in progress) Do you lose track of all your needles because they're on your WIPs or OTNs?? </div>
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Then, my new and personal favorite...<span style="font-size: 100%;">PIGS (Projects In Grocery Sacks) </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">Whenever I decide on a new project, I <i>do not ever </i>have the required yarn or roving. Not ever. I will search and search for the perfect color, fiber content, and gauge. I'm certain the people I live with have to wonder, <i>but never articulate</i>, why don't you use up the stuff you have? I don't really have a good answer for that! Typically, what I have doesn't meet my standards for the upcoming project! It's just not right. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">All this is and more is part of a disorder I have discovered <i>and </i>named since becoming a fiber artist- It's called Fiber Accumulation Disorder or FAD. I like to say the whole name...it sounds more official.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">Fortunately for us, Ryan Gosling is here to help assuage us of our guilt surrounding Fiber Accumulation Disorder. I can hear the angels singing! There is hope! :)</span></div>
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Yes! I am dedicated to my work! But as any person with a real, functional case of Fiber Accumulation Disorder knows, we never.ever. leave our Michael's, Hobby Lobby, Knit Picks or independent Yarnie receipts just laying about-do we?? No. They are tucked away, someplace out of the way, where they won't see the light of the day until we retrieve them for a ceremonial burning. <br />
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I recently found a whole glossary of slang knitting lingo which I am compelled to share with all of you! Some of these made me laugh so hard, all the cats scattered!<br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"><b>Ambistitcherous</b> Having the ability to knit in two different styles</span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>BeauFO</b> A beautiful Finished Object<br /><b>BFL</b> blue-faced leicester, a breed of sheep<br /><b></b><b>Bicraftual</b> Someone who both crochets and knits<br /><b>Bistitchual</b> The ability to knit in two styles eg. English and Continental<br /><b></b><b>BMFA</b> Blue Moon Fiber Arts (yarn company)<br /><b>BSJ</b> Baby Surprise Jacket (pattern)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>CAL</b> Crochet ALong<br /><b>CIP</b> Crocheting In Public<br /><b>Clap</b> Clapotis (pattern)<br /><b>Colorway</b> The name or number assigned by a manufacturer to the color (or multi-colored combination) of a yarn<br /><b></b><b>CPH</b> Central Park Hoodie (pattern)<br /><b>CPY</b> Crystal Palace Yarns (yarn company)<br /><b>CTH</b> Cherry Tree Hill (yarn company)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>Darn Overs (DOs)</b> - The YO</span><span style="font-size: 100%;">’s you forget and have to tink back to. AKA @&%<b>^</b>#&%<b>@</b>!!<br /><b>DB</b> Debbie Bliss (designer and yarn company)<br /><b>DPN</b> Double Pointed Needles<br /><b>DS</b> Destash (sell unwanted yarn)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>EOR</b> End Of Row or Every Other Row<br /><b>EZ</b> Elizabeth Zimmermann (designer)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b></b><b>FO</b> Finished Object<br /><b>frog</b>
To rip back (for the sound “rip it, rip it”) by removing the needles
from the project and pulling on the loose end of the yarn; also applies
to crochet<br />Generally used when mistake is found <b>below</b> the row you are currently working, or when completely un-doing an entire project or piece. (see Tink)<br /><b>frog pond</b> a storage place for knitted and crocheted things waiting to be frogged<br /><b>FSOT</b> For Sale Or Trade<br /><b></b><b></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>Gifted</b> The act of giving yarn/items to another for free.<br /><b>GOFO</b> A GOrgeous Finished Object</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>ISO</b> In Search Of</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>KAL</b> Knit ALong<br /><b></b><b>KIP</b> Knit(ting) In Public<br /><b>KL</b> Knitting Loom<br /><b>KP</b> Knit Picks (yarn company)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>LK</b> Loom Knitting<br /><b>LPW</b> Lamb's Pride Worsted (yarn)<br /><b></b><b>LYS</b> Local Yarn Store<br /><b>LYSO</b> Local Yarn Store Owner</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b></b><b>MK</b> Machine Knit(ting)<br /><b>muggle</b> non-knitter</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b></b><b>NoTN</b> Not On The Needles<br /><b>NWT</b> New With Tags</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b></b><b>OTH</b> On The Hooks<br /><b>OTN</b> On The Needles</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>PIF</b> Paying It Forward (or Pay It Forward)<br /><b>PIGS</b> Projects In Grocery Sacks<br /><b></b><b>Pooling</b> When one color in a Variegated yarn bunches together in an area.<br /><b>Puddling</b> According to the Yarn Harlot, similar to pooling, but more like a blotch.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"><b>SABLE</b> Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy<br /><b>SEX</b> Stash Enhancement eXperience = buying yarn <b><br />SIP</b> sock(s) in progress <b><br />Skank</b> funny way of saying skein of yarn (skein+hank=skank) <b></b><b><br />STR</b></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"> Socks That Rock (yarn) <b><br />SWTC</b> South West Trading Company (yarn company)</span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>Tink</b>
To undo knitted stitches by reversing the knitting motion, effectively
un-knitting the stitch. Used when fixing an error on the same row you
are knitting. (tink is knit spelled backwards) (see also Frogging)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>TOAD</b> Trashed Object Abandoned in Disgust</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>UFO</b> UnFinished Object (usually a WIP that has been abandoned or neglected)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><b>WIM</b> Work In Mind<br /><b>WIP</b> Work In Progress<br /><b>WoTA</b></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"> Wool of the Andes (yarn)<br /><b>WPI</b>
Wraps Per Inch (number of times yarn will wrap loosely around ruler or
similar tool in one inch; more wraps indicates thinner yarn)</span></div>
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"><b>yarn barf (yarf?)</b> a big lump of yarn that accidentally gets pulled out of a new center-pull ball, when you’re trying to find the end</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%; font-weight: bold;">Yarnie</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"> independent dyer or spinner with a small business</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;">I hope you have a wonderful day! Decide to create something beautiful. Whether it's in your mind or with your hands. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 100%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdenastnJXrmeqQrqm9A_879HdlORswKfNOAORzBGZ3iAr1RHOCjgfxjISj0-LRWCM3-9AtueCPlN-J9p7bLFUwrr3z19Z357gLgbM2MhIH2vX5-HcUJ8xNwMF4eB4DawemfQnh_qokWY/s1600/denise-jane-austin-font1.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdenastnJXrmeqQrqm9A_879HdlORswKfNOAORzBGZ3iAr1RHOCjgfxjISj0-LRWCM3-9AtueCPlN-J9p7bLFUwrr3z19Z357gLgbM2MhIH2vX5-HcUJ8xNwMF4eB4DawemfQnh_qokWY/s1600/denise-jane-austin-font1.gif" height="42" width="320" /></a> </span></b></div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-68730705228680982592014-04-10T15:00:00.000-05:002014-04-10T15:08:18.947-05:00Thank you Mr. Chip.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The morning began normally. I was rudely awakened by a tickling, running nose and my alarm clock. It is a beautiful, breezy, sunny, pollen laden day. My oldest son was already up and getting his day started. I began the task of waking our 2 youngest children This process can take some time, so I have to start early...<br />
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My oldest son then informs me he has seen Chip the horse is outside of his pasture. Chip has done this a time or two, so I immediately pull on some boots, grab his halter, a lead and fly out the door! Chip had indeed breached the pasture fence! I spotted him at the bottom of our driveway. He was headed towards an area planted with wheat-and at this point in the season-very tender wheat grass. Good! Maybe he will be completely distracted by the grass and go no further. <br />
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I am <i>running </i>down the hill in my purple, flannel, sheep pajama pants...a t-shirt...a zip up hoodie and my son's army green boots. I can't even imagine the state of my hair. I looked absolutely fabulous! I prayed no one I knew would see me or that I wouldn't have to go anywhere near the road. When I was within about 20 feet of him, he popped his head up from the luscious grasses and looked at me as if to say calmly "Oh, hi. Didn't hear you coming." (When I imagine Chip talking-its Owen Wilson's voice I hear...) I had been calling loudly to him the whole time I ran...<br />
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in my pajamas.<br />
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Fortunately, <i>he </i>didn't run. I wrapped the lead rope around his neck for insurance, and went about fastening his halter. Chip is a very calm and level headed horse. He doesn't 'play games' with us, unless we ask him. He loves to race with us. Chip <i>always </i>wants to be first in line when he's with other horses. Since we're part of his 'herd', he takes this into consideration when we are walking with him in his pasture. If we start to run, he will quicken his pace until he has the lead. This whole game will never play out if we don't make the first move. I <i>do </i>love this animal and I'm thankful he didn't think I was playing the race game... <br />
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With the halter in place, I led him back to his pen. He entered with no incident and didn't complain- even when I closed the gate that separated him from the tender shoots of wheat grass. I enclosed him in a smaller area. This is so I could make certain little "Houdini" wouldn't escape before I had a chance to survey the rest of the fence. <br />
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After everyone had left for work and school, I made my way to the pasture. I found Chip's escape route rather quickly. A small tree had fallen and taken the braided electric fence rope with it. This part of the fence has never been electrified. But Chip is smart enough to not test things like this! However, since it was laying on the ground, he stepped right over it!<br />
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I made a quick repair and let Chip eat his breakfast. After he was done with his grain, I walked him over to the fence charger. I wanted him to hear it clicking away. His eyes became quite large and he took deep breaths. He flared his nostrils in the direction of the charger in an effort to take in all the smells. I wasn't holding onto him and he could have left at any time. But he stood there even as I walked away. I was now satisfied he realized or sensed the fence was hot. A good friend told me horses can sense or somehow smell the electricity. What a demonstration Chip gave me this morning!<br />
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I believe we are secure now and Chip won't be having any more <i>walkabouts</i>.<br />
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One more realization I've had from my morning. Despite my recent inactivity, I can <i>indeed </i>run at length, early in the morning...in my pajamas...and my son's boots! <br />
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Little Houdini-I mean-Chocolate Chip</div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-26258974558317213642014-04-09T12:45:00.003-05:002014-04-09T12:45:35.735-05:00Happy Places<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have many happy places. One of them is standing in front of my Keurig as it brews a steamy, hot mug of Sumatra coffee... I then procure a chocolate chip fiber bar, pour <span class="st">crème brûlée</span> creamer in this mug and my day is off to a good start. I'm smiling and looking forward to that first, delicious sip of warm, brown, goodness. <br />
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After the happiness has all been consumed, I move on to other happy places. This is one of a small pair of white and ocher colored socks on which I'm currently working. Socks are definitely a fun and happy project for me. My favorite part of sock knitting is turning the heel. It's so cool to see it emerge after a series of stitches that don't necessarily make sense when you look at them on paper. But once completed, you have a heel! </div>
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As I was sifting through photos on my computer, I found so many other photos of happy places. But when I found this one, I knew it belonged here. This is about 2004 or maybe even 2005. Were they ever that small? They are the cutest, smartest, most wonderful little people I have ever met. Not to even mention...my handsome, loving husband. This really is a happy place and a happy life. </div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-13994185626635314592014-03-27T14:44:00.002-05:002014-08-12T14:37:36.541-05:00Tale of the tobacco twine bath mat.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Once upon a time, I made custom order bath mats made of tobacco twine. I sold them on Etsy and had quite a bit of business generated from them. The bath mat business was good. Then one day, a customer ordered a very odd and specifically sized bath mat. The customer wanted the width to be within a half inch. This is difficult to do with such large yarn. But I did it. They also wanted it to be quite long. In my opinion, this was no longer a bath mat, but a runner or a rug. I made the mat and sent it off to the customer. A few days later, I was contacted and told the mat/runner was the wrong size. I let her know I would do whatever it took to make her happy with her purchase. The mat was sent back and remade and returned to her at no cost-to her. Before mailing it, I measured and photographed it on a freshly washed floor...<br />
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I did learn something valuable about my mats in this process. It's a crocheted item and somehow with the size of the tobacco twine, it will decrease in size from the first couple of rows to the last row. So when I measured it after the first few rows to make certain I had the dimensions right, it wasn't. I gladly remade this item and sent it back to her. However, I sensed a storm coming and took these photos.<br />
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A few days later, I received a message from her telling me there was animal hair on the mat and because of her allergies, she felt she had to wash it. I made a point of vacuuming and washing my floor before I put it down to be photographed. She measured it after washing and again, noticed it was too small. If she had laundered it according to my instructions, which I included with her sales receipt and on her mat, this wouldn't have happened. I will make a long and frustrating story short. Nothing I did made this person happy. She would only be satisfied by a full refund-which she received against my wishes. I am still not happy with PayPal over this. <br />
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So, the mat/runner sat in my laundry in a sealed bag room for a long time. It had an odd odor and was slightly discolored. I have no idea what was done to this mat, but I hardly wanted to touch it.<br />
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Months later, my sister and i discussed dyeing this rug. I was resistant to the idea because cotton (and this very thick yarn in particular) doesn't do well when dyed. I reluctantly agreed to give it a try. With all the necessary dye materials in place and a large cup of motivation at hand, I began the task.<br />
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I used a largish kid pool I found on sale at the end of the Summer season. I put it on my back deck so I could carry out buckets of hot water to dissolve the dye. I thought this was a great idea...until I started wondering how I would drain this pool of it's dye later on. I really didn't want dark green dye all over my deck and driveway...<br />
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So, after following all the directions from the special solution to pre-soak the item to soaking it in vinegar and salt afterwards, I was greatly disappointed in the results.<br />
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I removed the dyebath from the pool with a garden hose. I ran the hose from the deck, down a small hill to drain. After pinching a portion of the hose shut, I filled the remaining portion with water from a pitcher. I then plunged the filled hose into the dyebath, released the pinched hose and the suction did the rest of the work! It was a proud moment. :) <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicGXdOoWsM8uE5JrNeLzIAbF3WBPetsYP2KTm1IiQKv4MIOkNd31ag7wrMlQKQuoJyOEQoLg6qxmcIAjsQmTl8lZNbWpY-7uM5BVI50-VGR0OB2qCM1DeOBd0KmH0mgcCqoPBfTPmnB78/s1600/IMG_0086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicGXdOoWsM8uE5JrNeLzIAbF3WBPetsYP2KTm1IiQKv4MIOkNd31ag7wrMlQKQuoJyOEQoLg6qxmcIAjsQmTl8lZNbWpY-7uM5BVI50-VGR0OB2qCM1DeOBd0KmH0mgcCqoPBfTPmnB78/s1600/IMG_0086.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
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This is the mat after dyeing it for a <i>second </i>time. I made a more concentrated solution of the dye and painted it on! It <i>still </i>had areas where the dye hadn't even bothered to take-and other spots, the dye actually took-twice! More disappointment.<br />
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At this point, I wanted to set it on fire and let the ashes blow with the four winds.. But I didn't. I thought about it at great length. I thought about the last year I had basically wasted with this ill fated bath mat. Finally, I came up with 2 (more) possible solutions. I could disassemble the mat and re-make it with another strand of unifying yarn. I could also, simply make it again using only the partially dyed tobacco twine.<br />
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I consulted with my sister about our choices. She agreed with my first solution. As I was taking the mat apart, I saw the pile of yarn at my feet. Oh my goodness, it was lovely! It was a tweedy combination of the natural and green dyed yarn. I finally loved something about this thing! Now, I was actually excited about this project. <br />
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I purchased a synthetic yarn to combine with the tobacco twine that would subtly pick up on the colors in my sisters kitchen. It was such a joy seeing something so lovely come from something that, up to this point, brought me nothing but grief.<br />
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This is the final bath/kitchen/mat/runner/rug. I can honestly say it was an enormous pleasure to give this to my sister! </div>
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This is almost the end of the Tale of the Tobacco Twine bath mat...</div>
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I don't do custom orders...any more...</div>
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and they lived happily ever after. </div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-21127890861377366792014-03-26T11:54:00.000-05:002014-03-26T11:54:13.641-05:00That's it, I'm weaving! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is my current project. It's a cotton table runner woven in a twill pattern. When I'm done, it will measure about 80" long and 15" wide. This project is destined for Etsy! I've had this warp on my loom for a very long time. But it's coming along nicely now. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love these colors together. They're simple and calming and remind me of the beach! </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The next project for my loom will be a huge undertaking. I'm planning to weave an overshot coverlet in "Cat Track and Snail Trail" or "Orange Peel". "Cat Track and Snail Trail" is very old and has roots in a Tennessee family dating back to 1812. This pattern was first called "Drunkard's Path" and then "Wandering Vine" in Scotland around the turn of the 18th century. In the United States, it has become known as "Cat Tracks and Snail Trails". Examples of this pattern can be seen from the mid-18th century, through the 19th and into the 20th centuries. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_OCeqTP37KxVUXaRmkNWN1CccN9HQ8e0y_gvMkz_JbLtcpVe8MvFgS5iZZMY3rRcibWU8DLRLHdAg0PDz_50enq5R4_fzST0AhEpcTJWTcMF7hE_FkAh8se9HOjgdvp4MK8l3zeTFZiY/s1600/Snail+Trail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_OCeqTP37KxVUXaRmkNWN1CccN9HQ8e0y_gvMkz_JbLtcpVe8MvFgS5iZZMY3rRcibWU8DLRLHdAg0PDz_50enq5R4_fzST0AhEpcTJWTcMF7hE_FkAh8se9HOjgdvp4MK8l3zeTFZiY/s1600/Snail+Trail.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo is of another weavers lovely interpretation of "Cat Track " or "Snail Trail" <a href="http://deborahbee.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"> http://deborahbee.wordpress.com/ </a> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLfUnc7qeWumZL5iLPbjwjg5PvOOh1-mWxAW9fWv1Hdeltf9bfaHDJJHGsUU2HhJRqikrXi2K5eTVq4xDunQL9Msn4rDVqUITCYzr8IVHczPFuSdxSrULyVZV3NQf2SyrzmEIUaR9uNAg/s1600/Natalies+wedding+and+Birds+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLfUnc7qeWumZL5iLPbjwjg5PvOOh1-mWxAW9fWv1Hdeltf9bfaHDJJHGsUU2HhJRqikrXi2K5eTVq4xDunQL9Msn4rDVqUITCYzr8IVHczPFuSdxSrULyVZV3NQf2SyrzmEIUaR9uNAg/s1600/Natalies+wedding+and+Birds+003.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orange Peel</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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The other pattern in the running is called "Orange Peel" This photo is a table runner I wove for my sister many years ago. It's familiar territory for me and has a short-ish pattern repeat. This might very well end up as my coverlet pattern. It will be woven with 10/2 mercerized, natural cotton (warp) and the pattern yarn (weft) is Peruvian Highland wool in fingering weight. The color is indigo. <br />
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Weaving overshot patterns is somewhat of an undertaking. You really have to love the processes of weaving to begin <i>and </i>finish a project of this magnitude. I have a friend who firmly believes this will still be on my loom in ten years. I'm pretty sure I'm up to the challenge and out to prove her wrong! Wink! <br />
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I can't wait to start sharing my progress on this project! <br />
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If you would like more information on Overshot weaving, I'm including a link that gives a bit of history. <br />
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<a href="http://web.utk.edu/~museum/archives/textile/index.shtml" target="_blank">http://web.utk.edu/~museum/archives/textile/index.shtml</a><br />
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-17263103807337857332014-03-25T10:49:00.000-05:002014-03-25T10:49:38.750-05:00On the fifth day of Spring...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's still chilly here in Middle Tennessee. In fact, it snowed this morning! I am always happy to see snow falling from the sky. It has almost the same effect on my psyche as seeing and hearing the ocean.. The thought in the back of my head has always been "If I were an orphan, I'd want to live in the mountains." However, these last few years, I've begun to understand how "Snowbirds" evolve and eventually migrate! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chip didn't care about the snow-he cares about his grain. :) </td></tr>
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The bottom line for me today is I woke up to a sweet frosty surprise from the sky. It didn't make anyone's commute dangerous or cancel classes for the day. I might have been the only one- <br /><br />
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but it put a smile on my face. </div>
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Here's hoping something unexpected comes along in your day that makes you smile too!</div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-43248260849353273562014-03-24T12:51:00.000-05:002014-03-24T15:12:07.543-05:00La Mer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I've been thinking about this place on this sunny, but very chilly morning in March. Here I sit in my warm socks, jeans and hoodie. There-I could very well be wearing the same thing. Simply being near the water, with the sand below my feet is soothing in ways I can hardly explain. The sound and the smell of the water give me a feeling of freedom I didn't know I was lacking. I'm transported somewhere blissful. It's like a glass of wine or massage that hits all the right reflexology points. My eyes relax and I feel a smile come across my lips. I can spend hours, no-days sitting or strolling, picking up seashells I swear will become something lovely when I get home. <br />
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Nighttime on the cape evokes the same feelings. It's time for family, a
fire and a glass of 2 of good wine. The crabs come out and run with
wild abandon to and from the water's edge. They make me laugh. My son
chases them on his hands and feet-this makes me laugh even harder. He
is filled with the same abandon as those little crabs. It's good to be twelve. I'm glad I get to witness his twelve-ness in this beautiful place or...at all. <br />
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Even a stormy, chilly day at the beach is a good day. It awakens the artist and dreamer in me.<br />
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Now, I can go back to my weaving and daydream some more about waves, beaches and the delightful, ever-changing skies above them. <br />
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-52082115298820070332014-02-21T10:59:00.000-06:002014-02-21T10:59:04.310-06:00What a difference a day makes. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good morning moon! Aren't you sleepy?</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The stormy night is over. The sun has risen and left the moon in place for a while. The skies are an astounding azure blue today. There is no storm damage here. We were safe as kittens last night. End of story. <br />
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I will spend the day feeling grateful and making sweet little stitch markers, bath mats and spinning wool. <br />
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Blessings to your day!<br />
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-8075437659064664152014-02-20T15:28:00.001-06:002014-03-24T15:20:25.702-05:00Weather Neurosis. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm writing about the weather...probably again! It's really not calm here at all. The winds are blowing very hard out of the South. A cold front approaches from the North. Bad weather is on it's way. Apparently, where I live is the bulls eye. I'm rolling my eyes at this prospect. Jim Cantore from the Weather Channel is in Nashville for the impending weather doom. Someone said today, "If Jim Cantore is there, you shouldn't be." Sounds like good advice!<br />
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I often wonder when or from what I came to be so terrified of this weather. Most people seem to go on about their business and are <i>mindful</i> of what is to come. I've been completely distracted and unable to work today. My mother and grandmother as well, were both very distracted when the weather was bad. My grandmother would get up in the middle of the night and get dressed and watch the weather. <i>No one </i>was going to catch her in her jammies if her house was sucked into the sky and she was left wandering...! It reminds me of countless movies I've seen where the main character dies and wears the same clothes for the duration of the movie. The lesson? Never die in something you wouldn't want to wear for eternity! Pick something comfortable! <br />
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But I digress. My objective was to talk about how I came to own this neurosis. I wrote about this briefly the other day. When I was done, I was a little shaky and nervous. So I must be on to something.<br />
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When I was a little girl, our family lived in Chicago. It was a sweet little community called Brighton Park. Very seldom was the weather violent there. Feet of snow piled up in the winter and that was the worst I can remember up to April 21, 1967. I was 4. During the afternoon, I could see the skies becoming stormy. My 9 year old sister was already home from school and my 16 year old brother <br />
would be on his way home from Quigley South High School. The school was closer to the town of Oak Lawn. Which is, I would learn in later years, why my mother became so frantic that day.<br />
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That afternoon, an F4 tornado touched down in Oak Lawn. It destroyed everything in it's path and killed 33 people. My sister and I were playing in the basement where our mom had sent us. We knew she was freaking out a bit, but I don't think either of us understood fully why-not at the ages of 4 and 9 anyway. My brother's high school was directly in the path of this tornado. It was predicted to carry on it's Northeast trek and end up somewhere over Lake Michigan. After hitting Oak Lawn, I believe the tornado dissipated/ascended or whatever it is that tornadoes do when they aren't on the ground anymore...and my brother made it home safe and unharmed.Coincidentally, our family moved to the town of Oak Lawn in 1972. That house had a finished basement to <i>hide </i>in as well.<br />
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I lived in Nashville for a while in a home with a basement. Our children were all born while we lived there. I never really <i>worried </i>about these storms before we had children. The basement in Nashville was tricky. You needed to exit the house and go down the stairs to get to it. So, when storms were bad enough to warrant a tornado warning, it meant going out in the weather with small children to get to that safe room. My husband and I now have 3 teenaged children and have moved to a beautiful rural area. Our house sits upon a hill and gives us a lovely view of the scenery. We um, don't have a basement. Soooo, you can guess what this does to me . (she said in a humorous and snarky way)<br />
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We lived in this house <u>not one year</u> before we had a tornado in our front yard! On May 5, 2003 at approximately 1:00 am, a tornado warning was issued for our county. I had brought our 3 children into our closet and covered them with pillows. I think I might have even put a football helmet on one of them! The last thing I heard WSMV's Nancy Van Camp say before the power went out was the wind speed-110 mph.. Yikes. My husband was the last one in the closet. I was praying and holding on to our children. When it was over, I asked him if he had actually heard it because I really hadn't. He said he heard the <i>train</i> and was really surprised I hadn't. I realized right then that I had kind of 'checked out' while it was actually happening. There's a tiny little lapse in <i>my </i>memory! lol<br />
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Neither of us really slept that night. The next morning, we saw what it had done. The house was covered with tiny little shreds of leaves and bark. A shingle or two were found in our back yard. A few limbs were down on the 8 acre property. But it wasn't until we tried to leave to get some breakfast, we found the small, but effective tornado had churned up many trees and stacked them neatly at the end of our driveway. Fortunately, we had 4 wheel drive in the Jeep and found another way out. When we came back, the work began and we spent several days cutting and dragging brush and limbs. John used the tractor to pull the larger trunks and limbs that littered the driveway. The power was repaired that afternoon. All was well. Our home was basically untouched. We were blessed! The turbulent weather lasted for a few more days. The sky would appear
to be clearing and then darken again. Then another warning..and another. It was
very tiring. But still we were blessed. <br />
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Nearly 10 years later, I sit at the computer listening to the wind howl and toss things around outside. It unnerves me to have to hear it. It's been difficult to concentrate on any one thing today. I've had to force myself to keep at this blog entry in the hopes it will be therapeutic for me and entertaining to you. I'd much rather bury my head in a basement for the night under stack of pillows with iPod ear buds stuck in my ears. It's February 20th. Not a time anyone e<i>xpects</i> violent weather. But in the South, it can happen whenever it chooses. (I'm rolling my eyes)<br />
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My good friend who lives just down the street understands how I feel. She has given us an open ended invitation to her home whenever the weather is bad. We have hidden in her basement several times since 2003. Many times, we end up simply talking, drinking wine and passing the time in the most pleasant way, while waiting for the weather to pass. Thankfully, nothing has ever happened as it did in 2003. But in the event it does, I'm so very thankful to her and her husband for being so gracious. They help me to feel so much more calm when waiting for such badness to pass. God bless them! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scary Clouds!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd rather be here today.... Well okay, any day. ;)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1284682935813709917.post-91366126013360847792013-04-17T13:41:00.000-05:002013-04-17T13:41:47.143-05:00Wedding bird progress<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Magnolia, lilac and viburnum are blooming all around my deck and the fragrance is Heavenly! </td></tr>
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It is an absolutely stunning day here in Middle Tennessee. Warm, sunny, and breezy with lovely white puffy clouds in the sky. I decided to bring my studio outside where I can hear the birds singing, and maybe even catch a little sun on my shoulders. It will be the best of both worlds! I looked at this as 'going to work'. I changed my clothes, washed my hair and even brushed my teeth! I was kind of laughing at myself the whole time I was getting ready. I do, truly enjoy these moments of my own silliness. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Groom, so far.</td></tr>
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I sat outside enjoying it <i>all. </i></div>
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The "groom" will have a tiny little black knitted vest with pearl buttons. The beginning of the vest is to his right on those tiny, little size 1 needles. They look similar to long toothpicks...and they're about as easy with which to work! He also has a little top hat that didn't make the photo! </div>
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I slowly began to realize how very warm it had become but was determined to ignore it. However, my cheeks began to pulsate and my clothes adhered themselves to my skin in the noontime sun. I shifted uncomfortably and then gave up and came back in the house. The thermometer read 91.4 F. Yikes! I think I'll wait for a cooler day before I bring my studio outside again!</div>
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Weather aside, I'll be working on my little birds and posting their progress from time to time. </div>
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Happy Wednesday!</div>
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Denisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09222595443500001123noreply@blogger.com0