Where were you?

Fifty years.

What a mind-boggling thought. Half a century. And yet, I know where I was fifty years ago today.

I was flower-girl at my beautiful sister Rosie's wedding!

Oh, there are photos, really cool ones, but they have never been scanned onto facebook. I don't even have possession of them all, but let me tell you how it was.

Because the wedding was during Christmas week, the church was already decorated with evergreens and red and green and gold. Naturally, Rosie's colors were red and green. My grandmother made everything--all the dresses, the pillbox hats, my headband, Rosie's dress and even her headpiece and veil (a huge rose, of course, for Rose Anne). The maid of honor, her best friend, and I wore red velveteen, and the bridesmaids (my sister Janet and Auntie Marylin) wore green. I remember feeling deprived in a few areas, however. The maid of honor and bridesmaids carried white rabbit fur muffs decorated with a poinsettia instead of flowers. I think I carried a basket. (I angst-ed over not having a muff for forty-five years, till my sister Janet blessed me by giving me hers!) The other girls also wore dyed-to-match satin heels; I had to wear plain ol' black patent Mary Janes. My mother wore champagne satin, with a black velvet pillbox hat. (I was so impressed with her dress, I wanted to have one as close to it as possible, when my own daughter got married!) It was very, very exciting to be part of the wedding party!

There was a buffet supper at our house after the rehearsal, and all the grown-ups were dancing afterward to phonograph records. Daddy left early the morning of the wedding to get sweet rolls from the bakery--my first ever pecan roll....I can still taste it, I think. The reception was in the school cafeteria, or what you might call the "church hall." Potato chips were in paper bowls on the tables, and we had fountain pop--a real treat! Of course, we had cake, and husband and wife opened their gifts at the reception, a tradition that I wish had never become passe.

Unfortunately, Rosie's marriage lasted only twelve years, but produced two beautiful children. But the glamour of that day stays with me (as you can see).

I have been both mother-of the-groom and mother-of-the-bride. That last one just 'bout kilt me. I think I didn't leave the house for six weeks afterward. When I think of my  Mom that day in 1962--not only mother-of-the-bride, but with an 18-month old and a 2 1/2 year old (and four other children, as well)--now, SHE was a Super-Woman.

Rosie passed away in 2001. My mother, father, and Auntie Marylin are gone, as well. But I thank the Lord for memories, because I can remember that special day, today, fifty years later.

Old Shoes.

I was reading a magazine the other day. I read very few magazines, outside of doctor's offices. Just no time, I guess. And I was, in fact, at a doctor's office, or rather, the County Health Clinic. I had a nice selection from which to choose: Redbook, Ladies' Home Journal, People. Of course, they were all ancient: Will and Kate's Upcoming Wedding!! I don't even remember which magazine I chose, but I was interested in an article about Keeping Your Marriage Fresh. I kinda took offense when the article began by talking about being Comfortable as an Old Shoe, because that would keep you from Having New Adventures.

 

You understand the saying, don't you? Being married a number of years, you, as a couple, become "comfortable as an old shoe." You fall into the "comfort rut," whatever that means.

 

I had a pair of shoes in high school. They were brown oxfords, and were the most comfortable shoes I think I've ever had. I had them repaired a number of times. New shoelaces (of course), new soles, had them re-sewn a few times, where the stitching had ripped. Even when the grommets started coming out, I was still wearing them. Finally, the holes where the grommets were started ripping, and I couldn't fix them anymore. It went sore against me to throw them away. I might have even had a funeral for them, but I don't remember.

 

I have never forgotten those shoes, and have been "on the lookout" for some to replace them ever since. (Mind you, I graduated almost forty. years. ago.) I finally saw some about five years ago that sorta looked the same. They were:

 

 

["Ontario" oxford by Eastland]

 

 

Carnival Shoes carried them for four years. Every time I went in the store, I'd look, but they never had my size. I finally looked for them on Zappos, but they no longer carried them. I did find them this fall and snapped. them. up. They are NOT, however, the "same" as my favorite shoes. They are very, very comfortable, but the leather is more rigid (my fav's were supple) and the sole is much heavier. But these may be the closest I'll ever find.

 

But I digress.

 

I wanted to talk about New Adventures that, for some reason, the magazine article thinks can't be had in Old Shoes. My first image of a new adventure would be, maybe, a hiking trip. And why would anyone in their right mind want to take a hiking trip in brand-new shoes that have yet to give a blister? I think that my mind would be on my feet, 'way more than my new adventure. Any adventure would be more fun if I wouldn't have to give a thought to what was going on on the foot-end, right? Obviously!

 

So, back to the idea of long-time married couples being in the "rut" of being old shoes. The comforting thought here is that, we know each other so well, we don't have to worry about "what will he think?" We know, for the most part, what each of us will "think" about just about any situation we could imagine. Now, imagine a New Adventure of any sort--we are already ahead of the curve of any dating couple or newlywed couple on the planet. Yes, for them, many things they do are New Adventures. Us, not so much, with the "vicissitudes of life" happening every day.  But when New Adventures happen, we only have to slip on our old-shoe-ness and take off.

 

Charming and I are in a transition season before one of our greatest adventures--that of the Empty Nest. We've taken longer than many couples, having our last child at almost-forty. And I am so, so, so looking forward to the Things that are Coming Ahead.

 

And I already have my comfy-shoes partner. Fortunately, I'll never have to throw him away. He's a keeper.



Voting.

Man, I am so sick of political postings on Facebook. You know, I have never heard of anyone changing their political views because of what you are posting. And some of you are so vitriolic! I'm "hiding" a lot of posts these days.

 

 

 

 

[my beautiful mother. She'll be speaking to this issue later on in this post.]

 

And yet, we claim to be Christians. We make a show of "praying for our President and all of those in Washington," because "the Bible tells us to." But woe unto you if you consider voting for someone not "approved" by the church. (Now, don't get the idea that I'm speaking of myself, I am not disclosing my preferences, but you could probably tell what they are by my blog posts of the last seven or so years...)

 

Our church had a Harvest Party last week. My son-in-law thought it would be fun (and controversial--he likes to "stir up the pot") to put on a President Obama mask and use his pretty-darn-good President Obama voice imitation, and walk around. He thought maybe he'd get a few good-natured comments from the parents.

 

Boy, was I surprised at what happened.

 

One parent, who had brought two children to the party, told them to go over and "find out who is under that mask!" Other children came up to him and said, "you are going DOWN on Election Day!" Others (grownups)came up and said the most vitriolic things you could imagine, including "how could you come to a church party in the costume of such a wicked man?" It wasn't a Hitler mask or even a Bin Laden mask, folks. It was a mask of the President of the United States. Our President. Yeah, that one who we pray for every Sunday.

 

He further stirred up the pot by telling a few adults (no children present for this conversation) that he was thinking of voting for a write-in candidate instead of one of the two main choices. He got an earful of "how can you waste your vote like that? That is so irresponsible!!!"

 

This is where my Mother chimes in.

 

My mother, born in 1921, did not take voting lightly. Throughout her life, she treasured both her "right" and her "responsibility" to vote as part of the privilege of voting. Throughout her life, she told me this story:

 

"When I married your father, I promised to love, honor, and obey him. But there is one place where I do not have to obey him, and that is in the Voting Booth. In the voting booth, it is between me and God."

 

You are not "wasting your vote" if you are voting your conscience. If ninety million people vote for the Democrat, and ninety-one million vote for the Republican, then really, only one million of those votes "count," and one hundred eighty million people have "wasted their vote." In this country that is different from any other that has ever existed on the Earth, we have the privilege and honor of voting our conscience. Of voting for the candidate who best reflects our ideals. Don't you think that people around the world would give their right arms for the chance to "vote their conscience?"

 

In my opinion, you only waste your vote if you don't vote at all. And that, my friend, is irresponsible. I helped my mother vote for the last time, in her room in the nursing home, in 2004. And yes, I know for whom she voted, because I had to fill in the little circles. But I'm not telling you. How she voted is between her and God.

Tiger Lily turns 2.

My beautiful granddaughter Tiger Lily turned two in June. She is gorgeous (naturally), and has curly red hair and blue, blue eyes. Here she is at her other Grammy's after a dip in the pool:

(She looks just like me, at least in the chunky-thigh department.)

I always make a quilt for the grands' second birthday. Tiger Lily's favorite things are horsies, monkeys, kitties, and princesses. I added ballet dancers, because I know that will be a favorite as soon as she discovers ballerinas:

I love the green and white polka dot border. It is also the backing of the quilt.

In other news, I am having brunch today with an old friend, catching up. All of our children are growing up, and you know, that means it is hard to find the time to have Mom-time. She is making zucchini bread, and I will add strawberries and coffee. But conversation will be the Principal Thing.

Hooray!

It's time for Me.

After almost an entire year, I have been able to make something for myself. Me! Me! Me!

Some time back, I found a piece of vintage barkcloth at the thrift store. Baby boomers will remember this fabric. Whenever I see it, I think, "family room curtains." It is heavier than quilting cotton, and has a really great "hand" for purses, in my opinion. I used my favorite purse pattern, as well. It is sorta-big without being as big as the duffels that girls and women carry today. Don't get me wrong--I'm a "big purse" girl. This "sorta-big" size holds all that I need, and can be carried on the shoulder.

The purse is lined with brown/white polka dots. Gotta spread that polka dot love.

I always make my purse pockets special. I have many cute, cute fabrics in my stash, usually in fat-quarter size (18" x 22"), so they won't make anything big. This particulat one is of vintage girls going to a birthday party (carrying festively wrapped packages) in the rain. The print is complete with umbrellas and puddles!

The pockets are lined with Ivy fabric. Ivy has a connection with our high school , and with the school I am attending, Ivy Tech Community College. Besides, ivy is green, and green is the greatest color in the universe!

My new purse has been filled (which means my old purse has been cleaned!) and is Ready. For. Shoppin'.

In everything...

I was thinking about the verse in I Thessalonians 5:18:

In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

I think we'd all agree that this is not always easy to do. I've sometimes heard people rail against this verse: "What?? My husband just left me/I just found out I have cancer/My son got his girlfriend pregnant. I'm supposed to thank God for that???"

I guess I never noticed before, that little word "in." God does not call us to thank Him *for* everything, but *in* everything. "FOR everything give thanks." That would change the situation entirely, and I couldn't do it. But switch our thinking to "IN everything?"  We may be barefoot, but can remember that old proverb, "I was sad because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet." Not so difficult to do.

We've just been through two weeks of 95-105 degrees, four and a half days of which we had no power. Threw out the contents of my frig, but had opportunity to clean it sparkly clean and, even though I threw out four bags of food,  have managed to eat every meal since. Friends offered their lovely home for a respite. Got considerable visiting time with neighbors, since there was nowhere else to go. Time slowed down for a bit, and isn't that what we are always saying we want?

We don't have to thank the Lord FOR the heat/inconvenience/loss of food and the basic comfort factor. But I can thank Him IN the circumstance, for we all know that there are always an abundance of things for which to be thankful, no matter what is going on in our lives.

A Stream-of-Consciousness Recounting of the Last Week.

(this may not interest you at all, I'm mostly doing it for myself.)

What a week! Not only did it hit a record high (106 degrees--to be repeated today!), but we had a storm-of-a-decade last Friday night. Our power was out for four days and five hours--a total of 101 hours! We've never been without power for so long. 138 of 146 (95%) of the circuits which serve our area were damaged. I spent three of the four nights at home (more of that to follow), and was blessed by a church couple in letting us stay in their home for the fourth night. (Actually, they volunteered to house us all of the nights.)

The first thing that comes to mind when I think about these last days is that the quiet and the crisis give you time to think about the Lord and how good He is to us. For one thing, this happened in the summer (but really, could I have not learned these lessons at 80 degrees?) so we didn't have to deal with frozen pipes or anything. We still had water and gas, so I could light my electric-pilot stove with a match, and showers were uninterrupted. Coffee in the morning went a long way towards making it through the day.

I traveled wa-a-a-y back into my memory to remember how to do things old-school: open the windows late at night (when it finally got below 80 degrees, the temp of the house), and close them after a couple of hours in the morning. Of course, we did not have access to fans, like my childhood, so sleeping was pretty bad. When I'd wake up after a couple of hours, I'd jump in the shower for a wet-down, and back to bed to air-dry. Hopefully, I'd get to sleep before I dried!

I really, really don't do well in the heat. I'd be a quick candidate for heat stroke, but mostly, I just feel like my organs are melting inside. I quickly turn beet-red, and then get nauseated. So mostly I did dishes, did a little hand-sewing, and wet my head a lot. After the third night, it got worse. My son and I drove out to my friend's house to get keys for that night (they were going out of town). She asked me if we wanted water--I declined because I had a bottle in the car. I did not, however, drink it when I got back to the car. When we got home, we fell asleep for two hours. My son had to run an errand after that, and called me awhile later. I couldn't quite understand what he was saying, and vice versa. I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I had taken a drink. I also realized that I hadn't been to the bathroom since about 9 am. Thank God I "saw the signs" and began to drink water. I drank about 24 ounces in 45 minutes, and my neighbor brought me an electrolyte drink (I didn't remember eating, either). Soon I was feeling much better, and was grateful that I had said yes to my friend, with her lovely air-conditioned home! My daughter told me to keep water beside everything else I drank: coffee and water, milk and water, pop and water, alternating "sips."

Power was restored late Tuesday night, so we slept a second night at our friends's home. We came home Wednesday and tossed the refrigerator and then cleaned it (eeuuww). My daughter facebooked: "I'll bet there are 100,000 newly-cleaned, shiny-bright refrigerators today!"

There were originally 138,000 customers without power in our area. They reduced the number to 3400 before another storm hit yesterday (Thursday). 10,000 additional customers lost power, some for the second time. We were fortunate this time. My a/c, however,  is still trying to recover. After running for twelve hours, the thermostat still said 80 degrees. Overnight Wednesday it got to 75, then with the above 100 degrees yesterday, it was back to 78. I think it says 74 this morning. Charming thinks that all of the 2x4s in the walls got hot, that is why it is taking so long.

The point of all this is that, no matter how much we think we are in control, God can remind us in an instant that He is the one in control. (I didn't tell you about the myriad trees uprooted and crashing branches that virtually stopped traffic in many areas of the city.) Suddenly we are all reduced to Survival mode, the way so much of the world lives their entire life. I think of our soldiers, living in this heat, with full gear, and being shot at, to boot.

Lord, help me to be grateful, every, every day.