New Construction/New Decorating

A few months ago we made the decision to do 'something' with the area of the yard outside of our kitchen's sliding doors. After determining that a patio wasn't 'it', we went through all the images in our minds, from wooden deck to roofed deck, to screened-in deck to walled, roofed porch room. We ended up with a 16 x 24 ft 'finished' sun/screen room. I say 'finished' because it has wood wall covering and a beadboard vaulted ceiling, but since it doesn't have any heat, it's not really finished. It's a three-season room, for all intents and purposes.

You may know from experience how projects, which started small, have a tendancey to grow. Yes...from deck to 3 season room is a big jump. From screens to ten windows is a "biggie" too. On top of that, the too-narrow sliding glass doors were moved over to the center of the kitchen and replaced with wide French doors, both of which open. The window, which was where the French doors are now, was moved to where the sliding doors used to be.

Now that the construction is finished and the compressor, nail guns and power saws are gone, I am faced with furnishing and decorating the area.
The furnishing isn't so much a problem as we've had a wicker couch and chairs for years. We've got odds and ends of tables and lamps which I think I can bring together with some sort of cohesiveness. We inherited a heavy pine dining set from my brother. We've got some large cotton, rag rugs to put in the eat-in area and in the 'conversation' spot. Theres a small, old, cast iron pot-belly stove that we'll put in the place which is reserved for a future fireplace. All sorts of little, rustic antique items will accent the room. We've got a great collection of old lanterns that will live nicely out there. I think we're going for a sort of 'Cracker Barrel' decor.

My most monumental problem seems to be the window coverings. What was I thinking, adding ten new windows and a door to the room with two windows and a French door in the kitchen wall? I'd given no thought to the prospect of curtains or what-ever or the cost of that undertaking. I'm not sure how I want to dress the windows, so I've been doing a lot of looking at style, color and prices. Being an A-1 bargain hunter, it sends me into heart palpitations to see the prices of window coverings! Where have I been all these years? I can tell you...thrift shopping.

Reality hits home, though, and I realize that those wonderful mullioned panes of glass with the pine trim need something. They look so naked. Since the wood walls and trim are light and natural colored and the room will have plenty of natural light, I think there needs to be some color. Color, yes, but nothing to bright or too dark. I don't want flimsy curtains because when the sun gets too hot or brilliant, I'd like to be able to filter it a bit. I hate blinds, whether vertical or horizontal, and I feel almost the same about any sort of window shades.

I will cover the chair and the couch cushions with a coordinating fabric and color. That won't be difficult, I don't think, once I settle on how to dress the windows. I'm at a complete loss.

Help!!! Does anyone know the phone number for one of those HGTV decorators?

Preserving Memories

For a few years now, following my interest in genealogy, I've also been interested in creating scrapbooks. Since I'm an avid photographer, it seems to be the natural course to take.

Digital photography, and digital scrapping don't interest me, and I haven't a clue how to go about it. I'd much rather have the paper and assorted 'stuff' at my fingertips, and create 'live and in person'. Although this can get pretty expensive, it's also quite a satisfying undertaking for those of us who are interested in this sort of thing.

For as long as I can remember, I've been a paper freak. I love stationery, drawing papers, painting papers, wrapping papers, and now...scrapbook papers. I love trying to choose just the right paper to be the background for a photo, so as to 'tie in' with the subject matter in the image and yet to not draw your eye from the image. It's a challenge! Then there are all the 'doo-dahs' to decorate the pages with...tags, ribbons, buttons, snaps, clips, gems, stickers..., oh my! The possibilities are endless, at least for now, while scrapbooking is a fad.

I have taken note, however, that the 'hands on' supplies in the craft stores seem to be fewer than they were when I started this endeavor. Does that mean that this 'rage' is becoming a thing of the past?! Oh no!! That might mean I should head to Michaels and Hobby Lobby and buy everything while the gettin's good! I fear that because of the digital options (and the fact that, these days, one is hard-pressed to find a non-digital camera) that scrapbooking, for as long as it endures, is going digital fast and furiously!
I won't do it! No...I will NOT! Call me a purist. Call me old-fashioned. Call me anything you like, but this crafter is sticking to her double-sided tape and other available adhesions!

In time, the contents of bottomless boxes of photos will be nicely placed on color coordinated pages, dated and labeled, some with journaling that tells more of the story than the pictures do. Each of my grandchildren will have their albums chronicalling the life he or she has lived. Each one of my children will have one too. (Actually more likely it will be more than one each!) Both sides of my husband's family histories will have their own thick books, as will my own.

You may think I've got lofty dreams, but each of these albums has been started... and I believe they will be finished, or at least will go for as many years as I'm granted. I so enjoy doing this, and cannot fathom ever stopping. There are stories to be told, lives to be honored, memories to be preserved. It seems it's my blessing to do this for all these whom I love. Life is good...

Uncovering Secrets

When my husband and I were engaged, he was lamenting about the fact that he had only one cousin, the son of his mother's sister. He'd heard my stories of my family history and thought it was pretty special to have a knowledge of a large family such as ours was. He wished he knew more.

I'd been digging for information on my family for some time, as I still am.
At the time, we lived in an area where all of my family had been since the area was established in the 1600's, so it was easy to collect written materials and documents about my people. It was so exciting to me to discover that my grandfather was a part of one of the crews which caught the last right whale off of Amagansett in 1907. It thrilled me to know that my Great Grandmother's brother, Owen Chase, had written a detailed diary of the whaleship Essex (out of Nantucket) after he survived the attack by a white whale. Herman Melville borrowed the original documentation of the whale attack and used it as the base storyline for Moby Dick. Other less special stories were mine.

Mike knew of nothing. His parents had divorced when Mike was four years old, so all he knew was his mother's immediate family...one living aunt, and her son, grandparents, uncle and his wife, all deceased. He knew nothing of his father's side, and his Mom wouldn't talk about the relatives on that side. As a surprise for him, I looked up his surname on the internet, and discovered 13 listings in the phone books around the country. I immediately eliminated four of the listings, as they were his immediate family, his half-sister and himself. I took the remaining list and wrote letters to each one of them, hoping to find someone who was related and might have some of Mike's family information for us. I received a phone call one night, from a man in Texas. He was the first cousin of Mike's father. He told me he'd send what he knew, but would contact another first cousin, a woman, who had all the family history.

The morning of our wedding, I received a long letter from Betty, with copies of pages from Mike's great grandmother's Bible, listing family members, places and dates. She told us that there was a mystery concerning the arrival from England of GrGrandfather W. There was family lore that he'd arrived alone, at the age of 14, that he may have been a stowaway, that he'd had a wicked stepfather who beat him, who knows?
I'm still trying to unravel that, but with no success. It's been said to me that GrGrandfather never spoke of, nor heard from, anyone from his home country. Betty included photographs of family, faces and places unknown to us before. One of those photos was of GrGrandfather, taken
when he entered the United States. He looked far younger than 14 years old.

What joy it was for me to hold this special gift in my hands, and in my heart, until I could reveal the secret to Mike after our wedding festivities!
We rejoiced in the fact that he did, indeed, have other family around the country, and a history to be revealed in time.

Since then, I've kept digging...through questions asked of his mother's sister (who lived to be nearly 98 years old!), by wading through the scrawl of old census records, through books, on the internet, through inquiries to historical societies and libraries. I've found piles of information on Mike's family lines and photos too. What he thought he didn't have, he's discovering he has and always had!

Still, as delighted as he is to know of all these people and some of their stories, there is a sadness, too. Until the day she died in 2007, Mike's mother would never speak of his father or the family he came from. She had no idea that we were searching for that side of the family, as it would have upset her. She had no idea that we'd discovered that Mike would have had a chance to meet his greatgrandfather, his grandparents and a half-brother, if she'd given him the information in time. As it is, all three died before Mike was eighteen years old.

Our family albums have grown to thick volumes. The scrapbooks contain photos of our ancestors, their stories, their work, their own families and their lives. There is much left, I'm sure, to discover, and so, I will continue to seek those sources who hold the keys to uncovering secrets of the past. Just as we have a goal to know where we are going, we owe it to ourselves...and to our children...to know from whence we came.
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Organization..I hate that "O" word!

Why can't it just happen? Why can't things just make their way to their own special place, without my help? I need to get organized...but it's not my strong suit, and I'm not particularly apt to forcing myself to find a home for these things that need their own place to be.

I have to admit that, in this my 6th decade of life, I have gotten better about putting things where they belong. I certainly spend far more time THINKING about where they'd be best put, anyway. It also helps to have a new, larger home, with a room dedicated to my craft items. (read between the lines and see that what I'm really saying is that this is one gigantic 'closet' where my craft items are, in all their disarray.) I actually use these items, but in a different room...either in front of some silly chic flick or court TV...or at the 5 foot square dining table.

Like another blogger, my surfaces tend to 'collect' piles of things....mail that has been sorted, read, and should then be filed either in the circular file or an actual cabinet made for the purpose, unread magazines with articles which are being saved for 'quiet' time, well...you get the picture.
I've been known to repeat many times over the years that the surfaces in our home ought to be on a slant so that they can't hold anything!

I have to force myself to fold the laundry. I don't know why it's such a big chore, but I hate doing it. Good grief! The machines wash and dry them, why can't I fold them without such an effort. In reality, I just make more work for myself (ie: ironing!) because I don't do it immediately. I'll have to work on that.

One of my daughters always used to come home and say, "Mom, I'll help you get this organized if you want me to." No, I didn't want her to, thank you very much. I HATE for someone else to get into my stuff! They have a different idea of what's worth keeping and what isn't. Another of my girls says, "Mom, you have too much *x%t !" Maybe...but it's mine, so keep your mitts off!

When we got ready to move from that house to this one,9 states away, my packrat husband and this recycler/crafter/saver/ wife of his had to make some choices. We did clean out ...not that anyone else would notice, but we did! Still...we have too much. Other packrats, crafters and recyclers would understand us, but most people don't. There really are good uses for old mayonnaise jars and coffee cans! We put all of our dry pantry goods in the jars, and use the cans for nails, screws, etc for the shop area. By the way, a skein of yarn in a coffee can, with a hole for the strand of yarn in the plastic top, keeps the skein free to unravel as you will, rather than rolling around the floor . Oh well...some people will never understand that sort of thing.

Anyway, Spring is coming. I can feel it in the air. I can see it in the blooming Jonquils and hear it in the songs of the returning birds. And yes, I hear my heart scolding...'Get organized....get organized...get organized." I HATE that 'O' word!

DREAMS

Dreams are funny things...they come out of who-knows-where, and control themselves with little rhyme or reason.

Sometime in the dark hours of last night/this morning, I found myself in the LVIS thrift shop in East Hampton. I had found a suit...a red suit with a designer tag. I tried it on and it fit, but I needed a purse to match, so I went to the section where the pocketbooks were in search of the perfect bag. There on the shelf was a just-the-right color, just-the-perfect-sized clutch bag. It was rather heavy, so I found myself slinging the strap over my shoulder. (note that clutch type purses don't HAVE straps!) I next found myself, outside the store, with the purse, but not the suit.

Before I could figure out what was happening, I was at the home of a friend who lives in Florida. I've never visited this place, her new home, but I understand it's quite a show piece. In the dream, Marie's house was an estate, a huge and preposterous place. I was there, working as a babysitter! There was a sporty,red car in the driveway that was supposedly mine and in it was the red purse. Apparently I'd discovered, at some point, the reason for it being so heavy. It was full with personal items, wallet, money, and the usual stuff women deem necessary to carry everywhere.

Throughout the dream I was plagued with the idea that I must get this purse back to its rightful owner. And then the thought came to me that my own bag was among the missing. Oh no! I'd have to go through replacing all of the identification papers, I might lose my checkbook and money to whomever had it now. I was being tortured in my sleep! Finally I spoke to Marie's husband and told him that I must get that red clutch purse back to it's owner. He made arrangements, and as luck would have it, when I returned the red purse, I automatically received my own, with no problems.

That's when I awoke. I am not one who believes much in 'dream interpretations', but this time I knew the feeling that 'when you do the right thing, you will be rewarded.'

New Dawn...

It's a new day. To quote the line from a song an old, dear friend wrote, "Light of a new morning shines on my face...I feel I've been gifted, been granted a new kind of grace." Yes...every new morning is a gift holding within itself unseen possibilities and surprises you'd never dream were to come.
It always amazes me at the end of a day what has occured during the span between waking and sleeping. Sometimes its 'mundane' and 'routine' things that are most obvious, but often there will be something so out-of-the ordinary that just 'makes' the day. This winter, on a number of cold days, there were icey 'growths' of about 2-3" coming up from the loose areas in the ground. We've yet to figure out why these oblong bits grew, or how they did, but the little ice gardens were fun to observe and to wonder about.
One morning I was in Watermill, and I needed to go to the post office. Since the one in my hometown was usually difficult to get to, and I was already parked there in Watermill, I decided it was the perfect time to 'get in and get out' quickly. There was a line of three or four in front of me, and as I stood, I took note of the desk clerk. She was patient, she was friendly, and she was talkative. I also noted that she was somewhat 'decorated'. All over the front of her blue uniform shirt, she had rhinestone brooches pinned. There were flowers and bugs, butterflies and dragonflies, among others. In here pierced ears were dangling earrings that reached nearly to her shoulders...and the one on the left didn't match the one on the right. Her large eyes were made up with purple eye shadow, and her cheeks were bright with a creamy blush. She was a light-skinned African-American woman, and she'd clipped her hair tight to her head, nearly a 'crew cut'. She'd bleached it a platinum blonde, and decorated it with a small hair clip which held a butterfly on a spring, so that everytime she moved her head, the colorful butterfly would sway.
When it was my turn to be serviced, the woman gave me a big, toothy smile and a cheery 'good morning'. I returned the gesture, and offered that she shone like a Christmas tree. I meant her personality, but she looked down at her shirt and said, "I do, don't I? I LOVE pins!"
Following that lead, I told her that I admired her ability to step out of the ordinary mode and just be herself. She thanked me and said she'd always been that way. Somehow we got into a conversation about writing, and she asked me if I could wait a moment while she took care of the last person in line. She wanted to show me something. I waited.
The clerk came around from the counter and led me to a bench on the sidewalk near the street. She told me the story of a homosexual man who had lost his partner. She'd written a beautiful poem for the survivor and she gave it to him. Months later, he had it put onto a bronze plaque. It was installed in the sidewalk, beneath the bench which was donated in memory of the deceased man.
Ruby Dee showed me in less than half an hour how you can make a big difference in someone's day. Treat everyone with kindness and with a big smile. You never know but you might be the person they remember, the way I remember that brief time with Ruby Dee.

Rain...

It's raining. I've always liked the rain. I love to listen to the sound it makes on the windows, or the roof, or the street. I like to hear it drip from the tree leaves or pour down the gutter pipes from the corner of the house. There's a personality about rain that nothing else in Nature has to offer. I can't describe it, it's just...there.

I like to walk in a warm rain and slosh through the puddles. Alone, I feel the solitude of it. When with my husband, it feels romantic. (He, being born and bred in the Northwest is used to the rain, and likes it too. He even claims to have webbed feet!)

Rain can cause a multitude of moods, I think. I don't know whether you can call them 'melancholy', but when I was an ultra-sensitive teenager, rain was the prompter of many written words...mostly sad words. I wonder if rain moves artists to paint or composers to write music? These days I don't feel sadness when the clouds send moisture, I feel a coziness, as if I'm shrouded in a soft comforter.

We certainly need this rain. The red clay of earth is thirsty, and hopefully this steady, light rainfall will continue until the deep crevices in the ground can heal. The new plants that are signaling the coming of Spring are looking parched. This watering will quench their immediate desire for moisture without having to drag out the garden hoses.

More times than not in this area, we get heavy downpours which may add to the reservoirs, but do very little for the gardens. Those rains just roll off the surface of the ground and into the drainage ditches or storm drains. At times like that, Mike and I like to go outside and watch the water rushing over the big stones we placed between the high and low areas in the ditch. It's like watching a rushing stream with little waterfalls. It makes it's own songs as the water flows.

We've much to do in the outside, and though the rain doesn't dampen my spirits, today will be used for inside things. The tax preparation awaits. (That does wreak havoc with my thoughts!)