Lace and Memories

It is a chilly morning here in Western New York State. The sun is shining brightly in a blue sky, which is not the usual for us during the winter due to the lake effect from Lake Erie that casts clouds and drops snow over the region. But, it is no longer winter. The season changed to spring three days ago. But March is very changeable and so while it is a pretty morning, it is a very cold one with a temperature of only 19 degrees and a wind chill "feels like" temperature of 5 degrees. There is an inch of snow on the ground from overnight flurries and my plans to rake out one of my little gardens where spring bulbs are popping up through the layers of dead leaves are dashed. But, this does not depress me or deter me from making the inside of our home more spring-like. I changed out the Valentine's Day décor when Mardi Gras and then St. Patrick's Day approached. There was a lot of green to be seen, and it remains still, but in a quieter voice. The dried hydrangea bloom leaf wreath that I made last fall is back up on the wall and a few favorite green depression glass pieces, pottery and such decorate the mantle, along with a handmade piece that a quilting friend made for me when I was recovering from surgery, hanging on the wall. The faded sage tablecloth that I used on the table looked pretty drab, so I decided to give my lace tablecloth a chance to shine. I have had this beautiful handmade crocheted gem for over 30 years, but have never owned a rectangular table until last January, where it could be showcased. I had used it as a throw draped over the shoulder of a wingback chair and as a cover over a plain white sheet on a twin bed, but never has it had the chance to be used as it was intended . . . on a table.

This is a very special piece that I treasure. It was made especially for me by my Aunt Mabel, who lived just down the road from us in a little house that always smelled like sweet perfumed dusting powder and showed the activity of a busy seamstress, fancywork maker, baker and gardener. We were always very close and when the only grandmother I had ever known passed away when I was 8 years old, Aunt Mabel seemed to step in and assume the role. At her knee, I learned to sew and crochet. She would show me the steps to make things and I would practice until I got it right. She was a stickler for doing good work, so I became adept at ripping out stitches and trying again. I would often walk down to her house after supper and stay until after dark, even on school nights! I would lose track of time and my mother would call on the phone to ask if I would be coming home. I would stay just a few minutes more and walk back, sometimes after midnight, on a very dark rural road.

Aunt Mabel always had something new that she was working on to show me when I visited, which was several times a week; and on one such visit, when I saw a little 5-inch square of a crocheted wheat motif, I knew I wanted something made in that pattern. I asked Aunt Mabel if she could make something for me and a few years later she surprised me with the tablecloth. I was thrilled and never expected such a gift, although I think I may have hinted that a tablecloth would be my wish. The wheat motif held special meaning for me because our road was bordered by fields of golden wheat every summer and the harvest was always an important event for our farm family.

Please click on the photos for a closer look, if you wish. 

The 5"x5" square crocheted wheat motif that is used throughout my heirloom tablecloth.

Back to my story about covering that drab sage green tablecloth . . . I went to the closet and pulled out the folded tablecloth and carefully laid it out on my ironing board. I starched it and it came out beautifully. I carried it downstairs and started to drape it over the table and as I did so, my heart started to beat a little faster and when I made the final adjustments, I began to cry. It was a perfect fit. I could not have asked for a better gift. I was filled with emotions and memories and now every time I walk through the dining room, I feel such a sense of comfort, connection and belonging. Yes, belonging in my own home. The tablecloth's presence is like an anchor in a safe harbor for my heart.


The heirloom tablecloth adorns our dining room table.

Thank you for stopping by to read my post. Do you have favorite heirlooms, either passed down to you, or those you have acquired over the years? If you do, I hope you will find ways to enjoy them, or that you are doing so already, because even on a cold day such as this, you will find they can warm your heart. As always, your questions and comments are welcome. I read all comments and will respond here on my blog or on Facebook. It is my hope that you and those you love are happy and healthy . . . and until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand.


Emmy

I Wish . . .

Don't wish your life away. Have you heard this old adage? Perhaps it was told to you by your well-meaning elders when you were a child. I heard it plenty of times.  Dreams and wishes are a part of life, especially when we are young. Maybe dreams are more a part of our lives as young people than they are as we grow older. I seem to think about wishes quite often nowadays. I wish this and I wish that. I still wish on the first star I see in the evening sky.

I wish ________. I am certain you can fill in the blank with at least one little or big wish. For me, the wish that I have been thinking about quite a lot is the wish that I had pursued my artful endeavors at an earlier time in my life. I have so many interests that the art supplies are starting to crowd me out of my studio. More often than I would care to admit, while searching for a certain item in my studio, I stumble across supplies I bought to use in a future project. That always makes me shake my head, serves up a good dose of guilt and sends pangs of anxiety to my core. I whisper to myself, "me, and what army?" That is what I say. Really. I do. I say that because I would need an army to actually use all my supplies and actually make all the things I have in planning stages, in my dreams, or sometimes in various stages of unfinished-ness.

But before you continue reading, let me assure you that I am not spending my days heaping loads of guilt on my shoulders. I am still a dreamer. And I like that about myself. I like to think of possibilities. Of course, I may need to be reined in a bit at times before I go off on a trip to the store to buy supplies without a plan . . . or with a plan that requires the army I would like to command in my studio. Just like you, just like any of us . . . our lives are what we make of them. Unplanned and uncontrollable things happen to all of us, and to those we love; but we each have today and hopefully we each have tomorrow. So, I continue to dream about what I can make and when I am browsing Facebook, Pinterest, or DIY videos on YouTube, that list of dreams gets a little longer . . . along with my shopping list for supplies. 

So, back to the topic of wishes. I wish I was an architect because I like to learn how things are made and can be made differently. I wish I was an interior decorator because I enjoy transforming a room into something that fits its purpose. I wish I had the energy and physical stamina I used to have before my three surgeries. I wish I had planted the romantic garden of my dreams 10 years ago, so it would be lush and full of mature plants, trees, bushes and shrubs by now. I wish, I wish, I wish . . .

As a child, my teachers may have wondered about me. Teachers would tell me I was bright, but I was also told I needed to try harder. I'm still in touch with one of my elementary school teachers. He may agree, if he remembers what it was like to have me sit in his classroom for the fifth and sixth grades. Even my teachers in the lower grades observed and encouraged me as I dawdled and daydreamed . . . always drawing in the margins of my papers. But I learned to work fast, when it mattered, to get something finished and handed in with those little drawings often in the margins.

My parents emphasized being a good girl, not making waves, being polite and respectful, and of course getting good grades. That was a given. I wish they would have noticed my artistic side. Playing the piano and singing in the church choir and school choruses and musicals was as artsy as I got. Getting the carbon papers from my father's farm contracts was always a treat, as odd as it sounds today. I would find places on the carbon paper that still had some ink on them and use them to draw flowers, birds, trees and I would practice writing in cursive. My father had to hide his pens because I would use up all the ink in them if I found them by writing and drawing. He started giving me fancy Papermate pens and refills for Christmas so I would stop taking his from his desk! Now I have drawing paper, colored pencil sets, paints, brushes, lots of pens with colored ink and I have taken a few art classes.

One of my favorite scenes from the movie Uncle Buck is when John Candy's character makes a visit to the assistant principal's office at his niece's school. I so identify with his niece and not just in my memories of being a six year old, but as sixty-six year old! Take a look at this clip from the movie:

https://youtu.be/xEt5dEOcW0I

I will continue to pursue my artsy side and sometimes I may be a twiddler, a dreamer, a silly heart and a jabber box. I can continue to wish, but I also need to act. And if people don't understand or approve, I will ask Uncle Buck to explain a few things to them. We all need an Uncle Buck sometimes, don't we?

Photo source: CityNews

Thank you for taking the time from your day to read my post. As always, your comments and questions are welcome here on my blog or on Facebook. I will read them and respond. It is my hope that you and those you love are happy and healthy; and until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Emmy

Mardi Gras in Alexander!

Fat Tuesday is in two days and then on Wednesday, the season of Lent begins. Still buried under snow, and with daytime highs in the teens and nighttime temperatures in the single digits, it is not like celebrating Mardi Gras in New Orleans. But, when I saw the pretty mesh, ribbons, beads and masks at the store last month, I knew I needed to make a Mardi Gras themed wreath. The traditional colors of purple, green and gold that signify the carnival season are a refreshing change to the red and green of Christmas and pink, red and white of Valentines Day. Full of color and life, it is a welcome change while we wait for signs of spring to emerge. It may already be meteorological spring and in just seventeen days, it will be astronomical spring; yet in Western New York State, it will be a few more months until we can really experience the sights and sounds and smells of spring. But . . . that is just how it is here. It is a fact of life in Western New York. Winter has its own beauty and gives our earth the rest it needs under a blanket of snow, but once the ground warms up and signs of life return to the brown fields, then we can say it is really spring. For now I am happy to stay inside where it is warm and not go out walking on the ice and snow.

For a closer look, click on the photo to enlarge it.

Mardi Gras Wreath
The wreath is approx. 24 inches across and 7 inches deep.
People have contacted me about selling my wreaths.
They are for sale locally for $65 and can be shipped by USPS at an additional cost.

I finished out the month of February and stayed on task with my goal for the month of deep cleaning the rooms in our house. I used Mrs. Meyers products and have been pleased with their effectiveness. They do the job and they smell nice. I am happy to have found my very own cleaning products and not the same old products my mother and grandmother used. The scents of Windex and Pine-Sol were never my favorites and I was not convinced that they did a great job, anyway!

My goal for March is to get more connected with people and be a better communicator. I have let the ease of technology create a false feeling of connectedness. I miss hearing the voices of my friends and relatives. I wonder what the future will be like as people text more and talk less. In their golden years, will their memories be brightened by remembering text messages they received? I don't think so. I think we remember things that we are more involved in, such as a conversation in person or on the phone, than the current form of communication via textspeak and emoticons. So, friends . . . don't be surprised if you hear from me via a letter, or a phone call. I really miss talking on the phone. I hope to do more of it in March.

It is my hope that you and those you love are happy and healthy. I hope you are communicating in meaningful ways with those you hold dear. They can't know how much they mean to us if we don't make the effort to reach out to them and let them know. I urge you to do it now. I planned my March goal in January...long before I had any thought of writing this post. In February I missed the opportunity to communicate meaningfully with a friend after I learned her precarious health had taken a turn for the worse. She passed away last week. I can't go back. I can't call her or send her a card. Reach out. Communicate. You won't regret it.  ♡

Your questions and comments are welcome here on my blog or on Facebook. I will read them and I will respond. And, as always, until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Emmy