Hearing them

I’m in trouble! A mysterious injury is causing me to limp. Has been causing me to step gingerly. My other foot protested at the extra work and is now on strike. It is hard to limp when both feet are involved.  And this morning an old shoulder injury has asserted itself with a twang.  

If my mother were here, she would have given me some kind and wise advice. Something so simple and practical that I wouldn’t have thought of it myself if I lived to be 100. 

If my dad were here he would have said, “growing old is for the birds!”

If my brother were here he would have made me laugh at myself, my foot, and life in general.   

And if my sister were here, she would have regaled me with her own woeful tales and then added by way of explanation, “old, old, old!”  

I miss those voices but I hear them still. 

Celebration

We noticed the first photographer because his car, emblazoned with his photography business name was an amazing metallic rose. A second photographer was parked nearby.  They were clearly waiting.  A wedding we figured.  It can be hard to pin down exact times where groups of people are involved. In time, two more photographers arrived. Gadzooks! How big would a wedding be to need four photographers?

On cue, two large busses wheeled into the parking lot and an amazing flood of fabulously dressed party goers poured out.  

The women were so wondrously dressed we weren’t sure we would spot the bride but there she was all gold and glitter and grace. 

Family members grouped for pictures and regrouped, their joking and laughter a celebration in itself. 

Same eyes

On a cool summer morning, my daughter and granddaughter and I bundled up our paints and brushes and made the trek to Mill Lake to ‘capture the day.’

This was a second annual event sponsored by a local art group and this time, watercolor paper was offered as a choice along with canvas. 

I’m sorry I don’t have a picture of our three paintings. Though we used different mediums, our color palette seemed chosen by the same eyes. 

Say cheese

When my daughters were very young, four and one, my mother-in-law spontaneously wished to have their picture taken at the mall with Santa  

I can’t think why she wanted a perfect stranger in a photo with her little granddaughters but I guess she was just overcome by the sheer joy of the season.

I don’t remember if we had to wait in a line, only that I felt vaguely foolish. 

My four year old was a friendly little sprite and sat on Santa’s knee without a backward glance. If I was near and  felt no fear, then neither did she.  Any friend of mine was a friend of hers. 

My one year old of course, felt completely the opposite about the situation, such are the vagaries of sibling personality. She wasn’t influenced at all by her nonchalant sister perched on Santa’s knee. Instead she screamed in terror. And kept on screaming as the picture was snapped. 

Baby looking traumatized. Big sister looking concerned.  Santa looking tired. 

Say cheese.  

Ten years

“How did we get so old?”my husband asked, “Ten years at a time,” I replied.

Doesn’t ten years go by in a blink? And isn’t each decade so eventful?

The first ten years is childhood. The second, we transform into teenagers. For my husband and I, our twenties were the decade of babies. And in our thirties, our daughter’s decade as teenagers whirled us in a circle and deposited us into our forties. That was the decade of all things new it seemed. Children sprang from the nest.  There were new jobs and a wedding. A new house. A new town. My parents moved to live with us. I went back to school. But time did what time does. I was amazed to wake up one morning and discover I was 50. And even more amazed to become a grandmother! Cue the music and fireworks. Cue the balloons. Cue the Lego and fisher price, and story books and pretend.  

How in the world did so much life and change happen in those ten years?  

I’m smack dab in the middle of my sixth decade now. I’ll let you know in five years what it was all about. 

xoxo

 

wonderful family

My grandchildren

My husband and I

My pandemic ponytail

Family photo

My son-in-law and daughter

 

My oldest daughter

We've gathered to celebrate a winter birthday.

A wonderful family adventure, even if it is only cardboard.

winter baby

 

My granddaughter gave me a pad of watercolor paper that is two and a half inches by three and a half. I absolutely LOVE painting that size!!

This is a birthday card for my winter baby.

more than anything

More than anything else, as far as wishes go, she wished she could go blueberry picking. She wished she could get in her car and drive through the mountains to Blue River and take her pails out into the woods. She thought she might meet our Mom there. (I thought she might meet a bear there!)

Our mom grew up picking wild blueberries. So did we. We shared the patch with hosts of mosquitoes, and black flies and no-see-ums. No bears that I remember but my oldest sister remembers a friend of our mother crashing out of the woods with terror stamped on every feature. If making noise is the best defense against a bear attack, she was positively invincible. 

I'm sorry I didn't think of making this quilt the moment my sister mentioned our Mom and blueberries. Sometimes I need neon lights and a marching band to wake up and smell the coffee. But the moment a quilt appeared before my glazed eyes I rushed to my sewing cupboard. A few years ago, my sister had given me a quilters panel with bears on it. Hazah!!! Perfect! I phoned the nearest quilt shop to see if they had blueberry inspired fabric but Covid had closed their doors permanently. I phoned another store and another. No blueberry fabric was to be found. I trolled about online and finally found some but the shipping time was six weeks!! And that was just an estimate. 

Fortunately, desperation saved the day. I cast my net further afield and turned up a quilt shop in a nearby town, a shop I didn't even know existed. They had a smidge of blueberry fabric left but were closing in less than an hour. Was it a fools errand to lurch out of the house, just as every sensible person was hastening homeward? Gamely, my husband agreed to drive. He gripped the steering wheel and headed off, changing lanes and taking back alleys. I gripped the door handle and breathed shallowly. 

But we were triumphant. I spent the weekend slicing and dicing and piecing and pinning. When the new week dawned, I had a moment of clarity. I had tried every possible fabric combination and there was no other possible way forward except to have more blueberry fabric. Not much. Just a smidge really. Likely just the amount that had been LEFT ON THE BOLT by me!!! 

I drove back to the shop myself. Sadly, I had not paid attention during my husbands wild race to the store and it was as though I had never been there before. I completely lost my inner compass before I let my phone help.

Amazingly, they still had the snippet of blueberry fabric I had unwisely left behind. And it was reduced in price now because it was a scrap. I could have kissed it. I staggered out to my car with a giant roll of quilt bat and a teeny tiny wisp of fabric.

The backing is a bunch of black bears boldly browsing....... That fabric was from my sister too!! I'm telling you, this quilt was meant to be hers!

 I folded the finished quilt into a postal box and put my faith in Canada Post. They didn't let me down.

like her sister

A small backpack for my small granddaughter.
She wanted one like her big sister's.
She showed it to me on Facetime so I would see what to sew.
She gave me permission to use any colors (but she wanted it to look like her sisters), and have pockets on the front (like her sister's) and a drawstring at the top under the flap and buttons (same reason). She especially wanted to be sure I added buttons (like her sister had) on the heart ( she gave me a nice close-up of that) but a butterfly was optional (in case that was too hard).
I thought about front pockets in bed that night as I tried to fall asleep. I cut them out in my imagination several times and sewed them together just as many times and ways too.
In the morning I snipped and sewed.
Amazingly, with a kind of muscle memory, I cut and sewed little pouches using the same darts I had used sewing face masks last week. Now when does that happen I ask? A sort of sewers transferable skill.
I used wooden buttons. (see above brackets for reason)
And a butterfly was absolutely NOT too hard. I had a little scrap of fabric with blue butterflies fluttering all over it. I had half a dozen to choose from.
It will be love she can carry around with her.

convinced

My daughter texted me a picture of her hands stirring dough.
And she texted me to tell me that the paska was out of the oven cooling.
And she texted me to ask if I wanted mine iced and sprinkled.
And she texted me to tell me that she had put some in a container on the picnic table in her yard and I could fetch them anytime.
She would be watching from her window.
Oh my goodness! My eyes are filling up with tears as I type this because that is exactly what happened when I came to collect the paska and she slid her window opened and called out a hello. I opened my mouth to say thank you and nothing came out. I could feel my eyes beginning to fill and waived a kiss and smile her way and hurried to my car.
We can be connected with texts and emails and phone calls but our heart isn't convinced.

encore

I had little daughters in the 1980s and they were festooned with scrunchies just like all the other little girls. I have granddaughters now and can't believe scrunchies are having an encore.
What's old is new.

again and again

I can't believe I haven't written about this picture before! In fact, I scrolled through my blog forth and back and clicked with ever increasing disbelief on labels but lo, and no, this photo was not to be found. It's the 'not to be found' part that is troubling me.
Aptitudes don't destine us, but they do nudge us along. Some people have a natural aptitude for organizing.
For archiving.
For categorizing.
I struggle with this.
I imagine it is why Pinterest is a wilderness to wander into for me. A wonderful wilderness for sure but how to save the pins. Is the quilted bird meant to be saved to my board called Feathers? Or should it go under Quilted. Or perhaps Color as inspiration for painting. And if I don't know where to place it with clarity, how will I find it later? I could place it in all three categories I suppose. That seems to be what I've defaulted to in my blog. One story/post may have several labels but because life is bewildering, some defy categorizing.
This picture could be Blue River, Photo, Family, and/or Childhood and is one my eye has rested on nearly every time I've scrolled happily though old family black and whites. It captures my very young and happy aunt and my very delighted older sister. They are seated serenely in a construction zone which was likely my cousins downstairs suite in the making. My aunt has her hair piled aloft, funky glasses perched on her cute Nelson nose. My sister is hugging a special baby doll. Her toes are turned in with the joy of it.
Joy.
Yes, it's the joy that stops me in my tracks every time.
It radiates out in technicolor and surround sound.
It's why photos are such a gift. They capture more than a moment in time. They capture the feeling of that moment so that you can feel it again and again.

little skiiers

Ahhhhhh, another Blue River photo with the inevitable snow.
I love this picture; my sisters standing like little Hummels, my father hunkered down to make the photographers life easier.
I love the evergreens freshly frosted, the ski suits hand sewn.
Little skiis.
Little ski poles.
Little skiers.

now and always

I snipped and turned the thin sheet of black paper and snipped some more.
And then there she was in my hand, a little girl just like my daughter once upon a time.
My 'once upon a time' little girl who loved rainy days grew up to be a wise and winsome woman who still loves the rain. This birthday card is for her. May the steadfast love of the Lord rain down on her now and always.

like....congratulations

I have hastened past this photo more than once as I've trolled through old family photos. Today I realized with a jolt that the rather austere woman on the right is the very woman I was nearly named after.
Gadzooks.
Apparently in 1957, there was a bumper crop of babies born in the Royal Inland Hospital, and I was the 1000th. Woohooo, like.... "congratulations, you're the 1000th customer"- cue the confetti and balloons!!' The local paper reported this great moment in history but My mom always felt they could have at least given her a spoon or something.
Enter great, great Aunt Mildred.
My great grandmother's sister-in-law.
Some helpful soul actually suggested to my mother that since Mille and 1000 are sympatico, then calling me Mildred, whence I might be nicknamed Millie would be just the thing to do.
What!!??
I was a little girl in the 60's and a teenager in the 70's. I can tell you first hand that Mildred was NOT a name that would have been at home in EITHER of those decades.
Mind you, I kind of like the name Millie now. It conjures up a certain retro sweetness.
Minnie and Millie and Ella and Allie. Those names would have walked arm and arm once upon a time.
It's taken more than a hundred years for people to re-discover their feminine sweetness.
Sorry Auntie.

I actually have something else to say about this photo of great, great Aunt Ella and great, great Aunt Mildred.
All names aside, the more I look at this picture, the more I love it.
Isn't body language a wondrous thing?
Aunt Ella is perched on the edge of the carriage. She is the picture of inner calm. Her hair is styled low over one ear with only the sun slanting down on it. Her hat isn't primly and properly in place, but held casually in her hands. The shapeless sweater adds a further casual note. Aunt Mildred to the right, is a stunning contrast. Her hat is exactly level, exactly large and exactly black. Her jacket is crisply tailored, almost sober. In fact, her stance says sober or perhaps propriety. It gives me a vague sense of unease. I've never been good with propriety. I've been good with shapeless sweaters and bare hair under the sun though.
And I've been good with leather shoes.
Aren't theirs great?

everyone present

My grandchildren scampered about the lawn gathering up tubs of playdough with lids the color of jelly beans. They created 'moon mud foot prints' and clever cookies and pancakes, while I finished up the squash and apple in the kitchen and my husband whittled away at the ham. Isn't ham a boon to the cook? You just put it in the oven and get on with your life.

Easter decor is fun because I've always had a soft spot for egg shaped things. This year I added eggs (decoupaged with Japanese napkins) to a wooden bowl along with a few wooden eggs (one likely was used for darning socks long ago) and a little metal egg/candy container I got from my sister as a little girl.

I finally have enough vintage egg cups for everyone present. ( and a few spares)

My husband has eaten Paska at Easter ever since he was a hatchling. I'd never heard of it before I met him but it became a part of my own children's Easter essentials and now, my grandchildren's. It's a sweet bread dough (sometimes spiked with orange peel) topped with buttery frosting and sprinkles. (They have to be multi-colored and they have to be round)
Not a true devotee, I prefer mine with just icing and icing alone.

solid ground

Our car stalled in traffic, our truck wouldn't start and our dishwasher spewed water onto the kitchen floor.
Oh, and our throats are scratchy too.
Trouble tends to run in packs doesn't it?

My sister is my Crisis Line.
A conversation with her brings me back from the brink.
Puts my feet on solid ground.
Sends me back into the game.

to the left

I've talked about my grandfather's picture taking before. He was clicking selfies a hundred years before anyone else thought of it.
Took a bit of engineering.
He would position the camera at just the right angle, and attach a string that could be pulled once everyone had achieved the perfect pose.
His elusive dream was to capture his family gazing fondly in exactly the right direction, which meant of course, the same direction. ( AKA, the direction they had been instructed to gaze in)

I couldn't figure out what was wrong with this picture at first.
Something just seemed odd.
And that's when I noticed it.
The string is in my grandmother's hand.
She was the picture taker.
What?!
Yes, Grandma held the power.
Grandpa is gazing thoughtfully to the left.
Such a natural unposed pose.
His two little darlings are doing likewise, just as instructed.
Wow.
That alone is an amazing accomplishment.
Too bad Grandma was so delighted that she forgot to look to the left too.
Her gaze, directly into the soul of the camera is so warm and happy.
It's one of my favourite pictures of her I think.

hot off the press

I bought a roll of Heat and Bond once. If I had taken the time to peruse the label, I would have noted that sewing over it was not recommended. In fact, dire warnings followed.
I didn't read the warnings though. Instead, I waded right in.
Gadzooks.
My poor sewing machine. It was like giving chewing gum to a puppy. When they said, No Sew, they meant it as a command.

It seemed a pity not to bond something with that roll though.
Something fabric-y.
Turned out to be perfect for card making.
Here is a little line-up of hot off the press cards.
My blithe and bonnie daughter and I started the New Year aright by creating cards together.
A grand beginning to 2015.