Sunday, July 24, 2005
Ironing Flutterbys
I did laundry this weekend. Considering that the towels from the church luncheon last Sunday were still waiting in the dryer, and we have had a heat wave, the laundry really piled up in a week.
I put all our bedding through both machines, then washed 5 loads of other stuff. Three got hung on the line outside, and two went into the dryer. I do like how soft the towels get with the dryer. I hate making the bed, but it sure does smell better.
When I was doing the ironing awhile ago, I remembered how on hot summer evenings like this one when my Grandma would do the ironing on the back porch. She had pulled the bottom corner of the screen loose and run an extension cord out for the iron.
She’d take the clothes, nice and dry and straight off the line, then sprinkle them and roll them up and put into the bushel basket that had a cloth liner fitted into it.
Then she would sit on a step stool, take those clothes back up and iron them before putting them on hangers. Even though I was so young, I thought it was dumb to let them get dry, then re-wet them to do the ironing.
Nowadays, I take Husband’s work shirts, and my two pair of dress shorts straight off the line and iron them. There have been times when I just shrug and put them right into the closet, but they do look better after they have been ironed.
Ironing is one of those mindless tasks when the hands do something they’ve done thousands of times before, so the brain allows memories to come flitting in like butterflies in a meadow. This evening, the scene that played out was more like a tidal wave of conflicting emotions, and every detail overlapped so fast that I couldn’t breathe for several seconds.
Wonder what the differences are…....
When I was a little girl, doing laundry meant a wringer washer and galvanized steel tubs to do the rinses.
I remember my mom, my dad, my friend Irene’s mom, my grandma, my Aunt Sylvia, each and all, at various times working the wringer in their basements.
And being told to never touch it, it was Dangerous.
That didn’t stop me at about age 5 when I decided to help Mommy. Mom had gone around the wall of the basement to where my younger sister was sitting on the potty. The washer was not swishing around, Mom had stopped while in the middle of putting clothes through the wringer. I fished around with the old wooden spoon she used for just that purpose and brought up a bit of cloth. I pulled on the handle to start the wringer and fed the corner in. I didn’t let go of the towel (I still remember that it was a dishtowel) and so my small child’s hand went on through clear up to my elbow.
The wringer started groaning in protest, and I began screaming in pain. Mom came running back into the laundry room carrying my sister whose pants were around her ankles. I don’t know if her bottom ever got properly wiped.
Just as Mom got to the machine, the wringer did a LOUD Screech and stopped. Mom reached up and pulled the plug from the outlet, then turned to me. There was supposed to be some sort of safety which would work if the rollers of the wringer were forced apart too far, and that is what had made the noise and stopped the turning.
Mom pulled the wringer apart as far as it would go, yelling for Dad to get down to the basement and help with one or the other of us girls. My sister, having been set down rather quickly, had lost her balance, what with her britches twisted around her feet, and had fallen over and bumped her head on the bench.
I’m thinking Dad had been sleeping on the couch, he worked shifts at the mill, so it is hard to say. He came thundering down the steps, took a look at the scene, and must have decided on me with an arm caught rather than younger and half-naked daughter with a bump on her head.
He calmly told me that he was going to pull up the wringer, and I should quickly get my arm out. I pulled away from the wringer and he set it back slowly, making sure it returned to its gears. My arm felt like it had gone to sleep, and was now tingling like it was coming awake again.
Then he took me to the steps, told me to sit on one, and proceeded to hold onto my arm and make me bend it every which way. Came to the conclusion that it wasn’t broken, only bruised. Then he went into the other part of the basement, took a diaper off the clothesline, folded it into a triangle and fashioned a sling for my arm.
Meanwhile, Mom had gotten my sister dressed, and had taken a washcloth off the clothesline and run the water really cold over it, and was putting it on her head. She parked my sister next to me on the steps and told me to hold the cloth on her head with my good hand. Then she and dad went to check the washer. He got everything back into place, then he plugged it back in the outlet, pulled all its knobs and handles, and figured it would be fine.
Mom went on with the washer and wringer and rinse tubs as if nothing had happened.
Dad came over to the steps, took the cloth out of my hand, checked her head, tossed the cloth into the washer where mom was fishing stuff ‘out’. She flung water at him with the wooden spoon. He ducked, laughing. Two little girls sitting there miserable, and he laughed at water on his glasses.
He turned to me, told me to stand up and go on upstairs. Then he picked up my sister and carried her up. We got some milk and Ritz crackers in the kitchen.
I wore that sling for a couple days, then Dad took it away when he caught me smacking my sister with my injured hand. He diagnosed that I was now recovered.
It wasn’t until years later, when I was a mom myself that I understood that when my Mom flung water from the end of the spoon at the guy who had hurried to her assistance, well, that was her way of saying “Thanks for the help, old man.”
She never was very physically loving or sweet. Life in our family was more like crisis intervention rather than planned situations. Maybe a story for another day.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Friday, July 22, 2005
Thinking
I was putting a book on the pile to return to the library when it fell open to this page.
“It need not discourage us if we are full of doubts. Healthy questions keep faith dynamic. In fact, unless we start with doubts we cannot have a deep-rooted faith. One who believes lightly and unthinkingly has not much of a belief. He who has a faith which is not to be shaken has won it through blood and tears—has worked his way from doubt to truth as one who reaches a clearing through a thicket of brambles and thorns.”
~~Helen Keller
That Dang Dishwasher, Again!
The phone rang at 7:10am to tell me that the dishwasher repairman will not be coming today as promised! EErrggh!
The machine has been not working for much of a month. The control panel has been replaced Twice, another part once.
I’ll get one, maybe two loads run, then it won’t drain or turn off. It keeps sloshing and sloshing until I go down and turn off the breaker switch. Let me tell you, the load I left running overnight sure came out Clean!
I’m thinking, because of the warrantee, that if there is one more service call, the machine gets replaced. Maybe that’s why the cancellation.
My leg veins and itchy hands are tired of doing dishes in the sink, but will be doing so for another whole week.
If we can’t get the Best Buy warrantee to provide a replacement machine, Husband says we’ll have to pull out the Sears Card and get a new dishwasher ourselves. With 3 of us doing college tuition and books, appliance payments won’t be easy.
I hope Best Buy lives up to its name.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Lunch, Algebra, Speech
Oh, my goodness! My last post was Sunday! I’m sorry I was away so long, but that’s why I left you such pretty flowers and poem, because I knew I was going to be so busy!
Sunday Noon, was a going away luncheon for my friend Sue. She’s my best friend here in town, but she’s selling her house and moving to Indiana to be closer to family (cutest grandkids ever!) and relatives.
I served in the church kitchen, and also managed to take some pictures. Husband was asked to be the official photographer, and he got some lovely shots with his OLYMPUS.
That afternoon we were making photo adjustments in shades and cropping on two computers before putting them all on a CD. I walked it over to her house on Sunday evening, and I explained about taking it to WALGREEN’s to get prints.
Ever since then has been study and homework. Algebra is graph and algebra for Systems using The Harvest Model, the Business/Market Model, the Growth Model and their applications. Tuesday’s test came back with an 83 of 100, which is a low B. I’m holding my own at a B since mid-term grades were issued.
Homework takes about two hours for me each evening. I’m not yet real quick with the graphing calculator.
One of the girls in my study group had her homework done before she left the classroom today. Plus she got a 10 of 10 on her quiz. I got an 8 of 10, but I asked if I could take a picture of hers just so I could know what it truly looks like.
Then a Persuasive Speech was due Tuesday. When I announced over doing dishes in the church kitchen that my chosen topic is LEGAL PROSTITUTION there was utter and complete silence. I think even the machine had just finished its cycle.
I explained that my job was to Persuade, not fully Agree. Although I do believe that services provided for money should be Legal so that health regulations, zoning codes for brothels, business taxes and income taxes can be assessed. A hairdresser has to have a license, other health care workers have to be Certified, why not prostitutes?
The Speech was due Tuesday, and I was about 60% ready for it then, and I might have bluffed my way along, but I asked if I could wait until Thursday.
My excuse was I had a bit of a problem within my mouth, with something caught under a gold crown and swollen and bleeding gums. If I could not floss or rinse it out, there might even have come a trip to the dentist. Wednesday morning, finally dislodged a bit of pineapple, you know the little stringy bits….feeling so much better.
For my Oral Presentation, I led off with the old family story about one of my paternal relatives being a Madam, one with a good reputation in her business, and the cops often looked the other way when cruising down that street. A personal story which got their attention and a few smirks, but when I explained this knowledge had clouded my perspective as to what is Legal, Criminal, Moral, a few heads were nodding.
Let me tell you, doing Research for 5 credible sources on the Pro side of Legal Prostitution was time-consuming. I really wanted to go about it from the health perspective. Where prostitution is legal such as the Netherlands, sex workers have a labor union, condoms are mandatory. The only place in the USA where legal prostitution is practiced are certain counties in Nevada. Health violations are punished fully for all parties involved. There are no streetwalkers where brothels are zoned. No one has to climb into a car with a stranger and be abused or even murdered. There were a few chuckles when I said that the equivalent of Bouncers work in legal brothels.
About halfway through my presentation, when I was reading a quote full of statistics, my mouth was very dry and I stumbled a bit, but the Conclusion came out fine.
I fielded 6 questions at the end, and my thorough research had brought up the answers.
I did have a cool drawing from the Chicago Tribune newspaper to put on the overhead, and I handed out copies of
Steve Chapman’s column from Thursday July 14. There’s a reason he gets paid to write, he is damn good at it.
At the end of the class time, as I was putting my papers into my carryall bag, I asked the Instructor if I had done okay, what with the mix-up of words. She said I did better than average, and on the Question-and-Answer I “kicked butt.”
When I got home, Husband asked me all about it, said he had confidence in me. Then he went off to the gym and I came over to tell all of you about it.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Sunday
FULFILLMENT
—by Walter Lewis Smith
I have worked in the fertile earth and
planted a garden, so I know what faith is.
I have listened to the birds caroling in
the early morning and at dusk, so I know
what music is. I have seen the morning
without clouds after showers, so I know
what beauty is.I have sat before a wood fire with old
friends, so I know what companionship is.
I have walked the paths of quietness along
the forest floor, so I know what peace is.
I have dwelt in the valley of remembrance
and on the hills of home, so I know what
love is.I have seen the miracle of spring, the
fruition of summer, and beauty of autumn,
followed by the repose of winter, so I know
what life is. And because I have perceived
all these things, I know what God is.
the flowers are in cousin Brenda’s yard in Fairbanks.
The poem is copied from IDEALS magazine January 1964.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Friday, July 15, 2005
Stuff Portrait Day
This is Friday and that means Stuff Portrait Day over at Kristine’s Random and Odd.
My pictures are pictures of pictures because I don’t know how to run the scanner. So I took these out on the back porch and clipped them up on the wall and used my digital camera. They came out pretty good, and I feel so innovative!
The assignment was Total 80’s Flashback!
“Something from the 80’s you can’t let go of”
Well, that would be my sons. Birthdays 1980, ‘83, and ‘85. This picture was taken by their dad during the summer of 1988. He had them sitting on a beach towel on the hood of the car in the parking lot whilst the momma was busy clearing up after teaching Sunday school.
Pretty much what I remember of the ‘80s is breastfeeding, diapers, shots, children’s teeth either coming in or falling out. And making payments for everything. Lots of yard sales shopping. Feeding a family of 5 on $67 a week in food stamps plus WIC coupons. School permission slips and lunch tickets. The head of household working 62 hours a week to pay the gas heating bill in February.
The Challenger in January 1986—Husband called me from work to tell me to turn on the news, the shuttle just blew up. I had 3 small sons around the lunch table eating macaroni and cheese with weenie slices, then pickles alongside. There was no way I was going to disturb the peace by turning on the TV. The world got put on hold while motherhood was my top priority.
An object from the ‘80s is this basket. I carried it full of little houseplants between my feet on an airplane for the trip back from my dad’s funeral in January 1989. The plants are gone. I’m not willfully mean to plants, I just forget to put them in bigger pots or water them because they don’t come crying to me like the cats do. The clothespins are fine in their cozy nest, and I have an almost daily memory about daddy.
“A CD or movie you have from the 80’s”
A couple kid’s flicks. Although, actually, The PRINCESS BRIDE was for me, and BEETLEJUICE for Husband. I think he took at least the two older boys to the theater to see it. We did not get the VHS tape until later. We got our first VCR by pooling all the Christmas money that came our way in 1987.
The CD is THE LIVING YEARS by Mike and the Mechanics. I think the radio tune from the summer of ‘88 was the title name, but we like all the songs.
“A picture of you from the 80’s”
The ones of me alone are only so-so. I like me better when I’m with people.
The first is on Husband’s 25th birthday in May 1982. Also the day before Oldest son’s 2nd birthday, plus Mother’s Day (note my silk corsage with yellow roses—my favorite). I wore contact lenses for about 4 years, but developed a reaction to the solution. Glasses seemed easier after that.
As I recall, we celebrated all of us by stopping on the way home from church at Long John Silver’s Seafood, which had no other customers. Who goes to Long John’s on Mother’s Day? It was what we could afford and had a taste for.
Next was taken by our neighbor the day they put new asphalt on our street, June 1986. I like how we all are barefoot, and my sons are with me, safe on the steps, a clear distance from the working men and noisy machines.
Here are all the girls at my youngest sister’s wedding in September 1987. I was the guest book person, and I got to see everybody as they came in wearing wedding finery.
Being the sister from out of town, at the door was a good place to be, and then I sat in the back and kept my munchkins from being major noisy pests. Their dad was busy taking some nice pictures at the reception.
I still have that dress in the closet, and by the time I will have lost weight, it should be back in style again.
This is what I came up with. Stuff Portrait Friday is a nice way to bring out the best for your viewing pleasure.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Better out than In
Those with a queasy stomach should just move on past. Although I wasn’t brave enough to take a picture.
Begin at the beginning.
Saturday, I noticed a pain coming on in my right cheek.
At first I thought it might be a toothache. Last trip to the dentist was in mid-May, and mouth innards checked out as good as they usually are. However, just to be sure, I flossed well between the teeth of my upper right side, and chomped on some pecans without any odd problems.
Not a headcold, nor any other aches or symptoms. Besides, it was 93o outside, and I walked downtown to the Sugar Creek Arts Festival and got home a bit overheated.
By Sunday, I could hardly stand to touch even the outside of my cheek. This is a sinus problem, and apparently getting worse.
I tried blowing my nose, and succeeded in making my ears pop, but the sinus wouldn’t download.
I tell you, by Monday, I wanted to stuff a crochet hook up there and just yank it out!
There are some who would say it was time for medical intervention, but I wasn’t about to go to the doctor for a local little problem and have her prescribe some sort of pills that make the whole body feel woozy.
Then my nurse’s training kicked in. It might be 28 years since I learned infection procedures, but I decided I can do a bit of research on myself. Nothing to lose, and a trip to the clinic if I failed.
So, Tuesday morning while in the shower, I took a great gasp of air, held my breath, then put my head back and let water run into my nose. Three or four times I did this. Then I felt something letting go in my cheek. Pain, oh the Pain.
One more time with the water flush, then I took the washcloth and blew my nose hard into it. A gob of goo came out, and I got a bit dizzy.
I set aside the washcloth, turned off the water and sat down on the edge of the tub. Once I got my bearings, I finished the shower.
Just as I picked up the washcloth to rinse it, curiosity got the better of me.
It seems I have been watching too many CSI episodes on TV.
I took the specimen to the window ledge, in a brighter light, and examined it closely. The whole um, pile was about 2 cm across. Much shiny slime, some yellowish snot, flecks of blood, and what looked like a dried worm. I surmise that might even be a blood clot, about 1cm long.
And then, what’s this? A straight gray hair, completely surrounded by mucus. I can even tell you from its coloring that it came from the girl cat.
Just as I was about to take the cloth outside and put it under the high pressure hose, I noticed one more tiny piece of lint-like fuzz. Separated that from the rest with a toothpick, and by its color of bright yellow, and the fact that it was a bit curly, I knew it is a fiber from the yarn of my latest afghan project.
My sinus was waging a battle. All the protective cells were trying to get the invaders out. And if not out, then by crackies, they weren’t getting any further into my head! That was quite a barricade of clots and mucus built up. And what I had to go through to break it up!
For much of the last two days, wherever I put my head down to write Algebra problems, I get a drip of clear mucus from my nose. Healing, just like a good body is supposed to do.
Aren’t we a wondrous creation?
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Monday, July 11, 2005
The Livin’ is Easy
a song I remember from Open Mike at Latte Time. Google says it comes from the play Porgy and Bess
Summertime
And the livin’ is easy,
Fish are jumpin’
And the cotton is high.
Oh yo’ daddy’s rich
An’ yo’ ma is good lookin’
So hush, little baby,
Don’t you cry.
One of these mornin’s,
You’s gonna rise up singin’
Then you’ll spread yo’ wings
An’ you’ll take the sky.
But till that mornin’,
There’s ain’t nothin’ can harm you
With your Daddy an’ Mummy
Standin’ by.
“Is this what summer is all about or what? Kick back, feet up, and ice cream. Oh how wonderful life can be at 2.”
Love Brenda
She is one of my cousin’s granddaughters. What relation would I be to her? Second cousin once removed or somesuch.
She’s so cute. I’ll claim any kinship I can.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Movie at Home
This evening I watched a rented dvd of HITCH starring Will Smith and Eva Mendes.
He’s a sweetheart, Kevin James is adorable, and the park ranger at Ellis Island does a great job helping with the matchmaking.
There is a wedding reception at the end.
I thought it was a good way to spend a Saturday evening, crochet hook in hand, of course. The guys passed through the living room every once in awhile, usually making smart aleck remarks. I guess there weren’t enough things moving at high speeds or blowing up to make it worth their while.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Friday, July 08, 2005
Stuff Portrait Day
This is Friday, Stuff Portrait Day over at Random and Odd. I haven’t played for a couple weeks because I was busy with other ideas, but today I wanted to show off my favorite framed picture.
This is an old barn on a country road in either eastern Ohio or the upper arm of West Virginia. I remember the barn, but not its place, when I was a child. There was a man with a foreign accent, German, I think, and he and his wife, who also spoke with a strong accent, sold eggs and garden vegetables at a little roadside stand. The white building in the background is the chicken house, and the smell was terrible.
Everything in this picture is gone now, torn down when the road was made wider.
This picture was painted by the home town school district’s Art Teacher, Roy Reithmiller, and is a limited edition print I bought from him when I went back to the Ohio Valley for my 20th high school reunion. He is retired from teaching, but still does some painting and selling from a room in his basement. Actually, I own 6 of his pictures, but this is my favorite because of the autumn colors and the barn.
Next is the household peeve.
The bar across the doorway was originally installed when the boys were younger and their dad wanted them to have a way to get strong.
Let me tell you, that bar is Anchored within the frame and studs.
For a long time, when the kids were younger, they had to get a chair or climb the frame to grab onto the bar and do their chin-ups. Because of the ready availability and constant practice, Oldest Son was the chin-ups champion of 7th grade.
I always have to stand on tiptoe to reach it, and still use it to stretch my shoulders after an hour of Algebra problems.
Like so many pieces of exercise equipment, the novelty has worn off, and it has become a clothes rack.
My peeve is not so much this is where I leave the clothes when they have gone through the laundry, but that they stay there so long. No one else in the house moves their shirts to their closets!
This is a doorway, People, some folks like to move on through, or flex sore arms, without brushing against clean clothes!
Last one on the list is magazine subscriptions. We have 14 in all, I think, but this is a photo of the ones I, myself, read.
I know, I know, a town newspaper that comes out weekly isn’t exactly a magazine, but I do have to subscribe and make a payment.
One of these is the CHINABERRY books catalog, but it has so much good stuff to read that I love it like a magazine. And I usually end up ordering a book or two. You should too, they need the business.
Also in the picture is a church newsletter. I get newsletters from 3 churches; my own, and two others where buddies from Husband’s college alma mater are the pastors. I make a yearly donation to their postage budgets because I want to keep receiving, and because I love reading what the guys write in their minister columns.
Sometimes I have a hard time remembering that the partner who was across the lab table and doing a dissection on a fetal pig is now preaching from a pulpit. Or that a minister’s wife needed me to help her with childcare and folding laundry because she was so overwhelmed with her own job as a school counselor and with church duties as the pastor’s wife and was approaching a nervous breakdown .
It wasn’t until I saw a parsonage from the inside that I came to realize that all people are only human. No matter what someone does to bring in wages, or what we might believe happens after our last breath, we all need someone to be a friend in all situations while we walk this earth.
How did I get going in that direction? Oh yeah, church newsletters and lifelong friendships.
Golly, my ADD is going full tilt this morning.
I’d better find something else to focus on. Algebra problems will make sure I stay on task awhile. Prof B went easy on us, there are only 10 problems on the assigned page today.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Yellow Roses
My cousin Brenda lives in Fairbanks, Alaska. She sent bunches of pictures to me via e-mail, and it looks like their fishing trip was one for memories.
Awhile later came a photo which totally surprised me. This sets aside the idea that Alaska is all cold and igloos.
She says, “This is a picture of the roses on my back deck. We have to start from scratch every year but the results are impressive. I think these are especially pretty.”
This evening, we all say
~~love and Huggs to Everyone, especially for London, England
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Blueberry Coffee Cake
original recipe found in Betty Crocker’s Cookbook given to me as a wedding gift in 1980
modified to fit a baking pan I found at a yard sale
Blueberry Coffee Cake
pre-heat oven to 350oF
with a dab of margarine, grease a 9x13 inch baking pan
2 cups blueberries. Thaw if frozen. Wash and drain well.
Set aside.
allow 1/2 cup margarine to soften to room temperature
3 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 cups white sugar
4 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon table salt
1 1/2 cups milk
1 large egg
1 1/2 teaspoon oil
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
In large mixing bowl, beat all ingredients together with mixer on low for 30 seconds.
Scrape sides of bowl with rubber spatula
With mixer on Medium Speed, beat for 2 minutes to get some air into the batter.
Scrape bowl every so often.
Pour half the batter into greased pan and spread it out to the corners.
sprinkle with half the berries.
Spread remainder of batter over pan.
sprinkle other half berries over all of it
Bake in pre-heated 350o oven for 35-45 minutes until tester pick comes out clean.
Meanwhile prepare Glaze.
1 cup powdered (confectioner’s) sugar or more if you want to
1 teaspoon grated lemon peel or more fresh is best, but the spice rack stuff is fine
1-2 tablespoons lemon juice or until glaze is desired thin or thickness
1/8 to 1/4 teaspoon citric acid (also known as sour salt)
(Citric acid is the secret ingredient to give it a bit of a tongue tingle. Middle son got ours at a baker’s store in his college town. You can order it online at Spice Barn for three bucks a pound, which is about a lifetime supply)...
When cake is done, drizzle the glaze over the whole panful while it is still warm
Cool on wire rack
Should be ready to cut about an hour after it comes out of the oven.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Sorry, no picture. I took half of ours to DoF’s office, where it was wildly acclaimed. Then 3 pieces went away with Youngest Son to his girlfriend’s place. All we have left is a small piece in the corner, and I might claim it very soon.
Monday, July 04, 2005
A month’s work
This is what I’ve been doing with hook and thread for most of a month. Each one takes about an hour and a half from first loop to tassel. Then I get them wet and stretch them out with pins to get it to lay flat. No starch, it tends to be sticky when put between the pages of a book.
Here are 15 crosses and one Christmas marker (which I made to show to my crochet class teacher). Twelve of these are for graduates, one retirement, two sympathy. Three crosses were given out earlier, making a total of 18 in 38 days.
golly, this is the bestest hobby!
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Oops, there goes the timer for the blueberry coffee cake to come out of the oven. Just in time…...
Saturday, July 02, 2005
A Personal Experience….
This was the first speech I gave for this Summer’s Communications class at HCC. The assignment was to tell about a Personal Experience, and this one happened for me in 1982.
I earned a 78 for my presentation, partly because I choked up with tears in the middle, and mostly because I did not end it according to form.
However, it does look okay as I do it in writing.
>>When a person buys yarn at a store, it is important to notice the DYE LOT number. You see, when yarn is colored, it goes into a big tank of dye. The first few bundles that go in get the beginning of the chemicals and turn out nice and bright. The last few batches are more faded because of breakdown of the chemicals, so No DYE LOT is written on the band of the yarn. These last ones are sold at bargain basement stores, even though the actual strands of yarn is strong, the color is also very important. The idea that there are different shades of yarn will come into play in a little bit.
When I went to college years ago, I didn’t exactly go for an education. I wanted to get away from home, to see new places, find new friends. Although I went to every class during its scheduled meeting time, I did very little of the homework assignments or extras.
One thing got ahead of another, and I learned I was pregnant. I finished that semester, then when my tummy started to show, I went to live in a home for unwed mothers. My dad was very upset, and I did not want to cause more turmoil in his house. Knowing I would be away from society for the most part, I took my crochet hooks and a big bag of yarn with me. I planned on making an afghan for my sister who would be getting married in a couple months.
Some other girls saw what I was doing, and asked me to teach them to crochet. There were about 7 girls, and I gave lessons and we really had a nice way to pass the time.
We got a sort of allowance while we lived there, to be used for personal items, like shampoo. Many of the girls also had extra money from their family. One girl’s mother bought a bunch of yarn, making sure the dye lot was the same and asked her daughter to crochet a blanket for her in time for Mother’s Day.
Another girl decided that she wanted to make a blanket for her baby. She had no one who gave her extra money, so she would use part of her allowance to buy just one or two bundles of yarn a week. She carefully crocheted, and ripped out a row when it wasn’t coming out right. Because she bought yarn at low cost, and different places and times, there were shades of the colors. One of the blues was so faded to be almost gray.
It was getting about time for me to be having my baby. This girl was concerned that I would leave before she finished the blanket. The border uses a different kind of stitch, so she asked me to do it. There wasn’t time to teach her properly. I used plain white yarn, leftover from one of my own projects, and did a nice edge, which actually covered up a couple of her beginner’s mistakes.
I had my baby in May,fairly close to the due date. Very difficult, we each almost died. We went from the Delivery Room to our Intensive Care Units. I was told I probably would not be able to have another. When my dad heard that, he insisted that I bring the baby home, he did not want to lose either of us. I gave the other girls at the home the address of my dad’s house. I never expected to hear from them again. The privacy laws can be very strict.
However, a couple months later, I got a birth announcement. She said she had a baby boy in early July. She wrapped him in the blanket, and handed him to a social worker, who took him to a church for all the legal paperwork to be done. It was easier to give him up inside a church she said. She said she would be returning to high school in the Fall, that my tutoring with math and spelling had been great. She was forever grateful that I had taught her to crochet. That was the last communication from her.
Fast forward almost three years. We had gone through with a wedding, and we had moved to another city so that my husband could finish classes for his Bachelor’s. At least one of us had to get a degree, and he was further ahead than I was. I worked at a restaurant, and I said I was getting my PHT degree. (Putting Hubby Through) Our son was now about age two and a half, running ahead of me at the mall.
He stopped still in front of a stroller, looking at the little boy inside. Have you ever noticed that? Little kids like to watch other little kids? I went up and leaned over the stroller myself. A little boy, about the age of my son, with big brown eyes and dark curly hair, and willing to ride in a stroller, which my son never wanted to do. He took his first steps a few days after he turned 8 months old, and barely slowed down ever again.
And then I noticed the blanket the little guy was holding. I dropped to my knees, right there in the mall in front of a stroller. I said “That is a beautiful blanket. Can I look at it?”
I should mention that the lady who had been pushing the stroller had come round and was standing beside it. She was talking a mile a minute, but I could not tell you a word she was saying right then.
The little boy took his thumb out of his mouth, and handed a corner of the blanket up to me. The lady stopped talking in mid-sentence and did a little gasp.
I carefully brought the blanket up out of the stroller. I held it up, between me and the other woman because I did not want her to see my tears. Almost three years, and that crocheted white border was again in my hands. The colors and all their subtle dye shades were still evident.
I turned again to the little guy in the stroller and tucked his blanket back around him. As I got back up to my feet, I told him,
“That’s a beautiful blanket. Somebody sure cares about you to make something so pretty”.
The other woman realized this was her chance. “Oh that, well, he’s adopted and his birth mother made it for him. The middle of July, and the social worker handed him to me wrapped up in that. I tried to take it off of him because it was so hot, but he grabbed on and has never let it go. It has become his special one, and has to go everywhere with us. It’s all I can do to get it from him for the laundry. It’s holding up just fine though.”
I told her that my son had a special bear waiting back in his carseat, and we chatted a bit longer as mothers do, although I did not say anything I know about the origins of that blanket.
Then I took my son by the hand and we walked off down the mall one way, and she pushed her stroller the other.
I’ve crocheted many, many things over the years, but the one I remember the most had other hands helping to work on it.<<
~~love and Huggs, Diane
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
More than Five Books….
I’ve been tagged by Army of Mom for a book meme.
1) Total number of books I own: Who can say? There are thousands of books in this house, and ownership overlaps. People who come to visit are always impressed/overwhelmed by so many books.
Shelves Full. Stacks on the floor. Beside the lamp, on top of the TV, under the desk.
We are supposed to be getting ready for a rummage sale. There will be many books going out. Hope springs eternal.
2) Last book I bought: It’s been ordered from E-bay, at the Buy it Now! price of $3.50. An older hardback of The Carpenter’s Lady by Barbara Delinsky, who is one of my favorite romance authors.
It is my comfy goal for the end of Summer Session classes.
I like to sit and read a book in a day after I have accomplished something worthwhile.
3) Last book I read: To read all the way through was for last Fall semester Children’s Literature class, I think. No wait, mid-winter, borrowed from the library. The Summer I Dared by Barbara Delinsky. Otherwise, I read two newspapers, and several weblogs every day, and whatever assignments for my HCC classes. Research for a Speech takes lots of time, not so fun.
4) Five books that mean alot to me:
A) In Every Tiny Grain of Sand, a child’s book of prayers and praise collected by Reeve Lindbergh. The pictures by different artists, the mixture of reading material. Good for so many occasions. And I’ve given away at least a dozen as gifts.
B) Motherhood, the Second Oldest Profession by Erma Bombeck.
C) To Kill a Mockingbird by Lee Harper. I own an old copy in hardback and Excellent Condition. The first time I read this book was assigned reading in 8th grade. My mom got on a committee to have it banned from the Reading List, and I, in adolescent protest, told her she was full of s**t.
My dad read it over a 24 hours span (he worked shifts at the mill), just to see what all the fuss was about.
When he finished, he told mom to get off the committee, that was some really good reading, and school Should make everybody learn all about it.
One of the best times I remember when Dad pulled his ‘head of household’ Bible clout.
D) The Golden Hawk by Frank Yerby. Caribbean sailing ships, pirates, gold mines, bawdy women and bastard sons. I was probably too young to be reading it, but my 7th grader’s heart was truly smitten. Then I read Speak Now (also by Yerby) about an inter-racial marriage, and my interest was hooked and reeled in willingly. I read everything by him, and own many, even in hardback.
E) I cannot chose a last book. Anything by Robert Heinlein, Patricia MacLachlan, Jude Devereaux, Kathleen Woodiweiss, Zane Grey, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Janette Oke.
I am supposed to tag Five people to talk about their books. However, I see there are some I might have chosen who have already written about this.
So here is mine, and you can do as you please.
~~love and Huggs, Diane
June 30, 2005
Update: Husband wrote one, over at Decrepit Old Fool