Procrastination...

Why is it, I wonder, that we often put off doing things? I mean, really! If you don't do the deed, it will still be there waiting for you until you do. Once the work has been done, it's gone, at least until the next time it needs to be done. Well, maybe that's the answer to the 'why?' right there.The same job might need to be done again, and again, and yet again.

So much of our day is filled with mundane, repeat tasks. Day after day, we need to make the beds, fix meals, wash dishes, collect the mail, etc, etc, and etc. Booooooooooooooring! Well, maybe fixing meals isn't boring, but most of the rest of it is. Isn't it more fun to just do something else? Maybe we could do some gardening or some creative writing or scrapbooking? (Choose your passion!) The danged other stuff won't go away, so surely we can ignore it and take the time to have a little fun.

I have noticed, however, that the 'undone' things not only stay, waiting, they seem to grow as they wait for someone to show them some attention.

A sink full of dirty dishes is not pleasant to tackle or to look at. So, why wait? Wash them when there are few, rather than waiting for the empty cabinet to signal that unless you take on the task, you'll be eating out of the palms your hands.

Beds? Unmade beds, with all their wrinkles and lumps are not comfortable to crawl into at the end of the day. It's so much nicer to look at a smooth, well-made bed and is so much more welcoming to a weary body.

The mail would be more exciting if it was anything other than utility bills and junk mail. I hate that all that money is spent on paper,ink, postage and employees who create and distribute the ads, only to have them all end up in the dump.

Ah well, I think I've just talked myself into not waiting to do those menial small chores. If I do them when they are 'little', just think of all the time I'll have to play on the day the I'd be playing 'catch up' because I put them off.

Ok. I'm off to don my armor (my Nikes and their coordinating Tshirt emblazoned with the motto, "JUST DO IT") I'm going to collect my weapons of warfare in the battle against the dust bunnies, falling dry leaves from the house plants and the dirty mirrors. By noon I'll be able to see all those wrinkles that have been hiding behind the splashed water spots. Hmmm... maybe I'll wait on the mirrors.

Genetics

Gene pools are funny things. You never know what you'll end up with as a result of the genetics you've been born into. My brother looked a lot like my Dad, and the older Tom got, the more he looked like Dad. My other brother looks like my father's mother's side of the family. Me? I started out looking like Dad, and now, the older I get, the more I see my mother's maternal side coming through.

It's not just hair, eye and skin colors that you get when that old gene pool flows into you. It can also be ailments, body shape, personality, talents that you receive. I seem to have inherited both parents short stature, my
father's wavy hair and blue eyes and ruddy complexion. My outgoing, friendly nature comes from Dad, too, as Mom is friendly, yet more reserved. Dad's sister was prone to heaviness below the waist, as am I,
and his father, normally very even-tempered, could be quite the opposite when provoked. I've gotten that trait from him, I guess.
My mother's dark hair and smile (as we've both been told that we 'sparkle' when we smile.) were passed to me. It seems I'm (unwillingly!) inclined toward growing non-cancerous 'things' on my skin as Mom does and her mother did. Mom is extremely cautious of things, afraid to fly, not very adventurous and not a risk taker. Though my issues are different, I have my own share of fears, the list of which seems to elongate as time ticks on.

One day I was talking with Mom, and we were lamenting about such things, and she apologized for passing along all the 'bad' things. I told her not to worry...it's just genetics. Then I laughed, because her name is Jeanette....'it's just Jeanette-ics!"

I told her that she'd passed on plenty of good things! I've become more like her, in many ways, with her gentle, quiet, spirit as I've aged. I'm still adventurous and like to have fun, but I've also become more of a homebody than I used to be. (That may be, in part, that I don't have to be running hither and yon with the activities of five children these days! ) At any rate, there are many needlework and hand-work talents that have been passed on through Mom, which I am blessed to have received. She says, 'you got it ALL, from everybody on both sides, I guess." She's referring to my ability to do a multitude of creative things from art to crafts to calligraphy, from singing to writing. These are not things I find difficult, they just seem to come naturally, though sometimes they are frustrating to 'perfect'.

Mom's Dad was in the US Coast Guard and at times was the Station Master. I'm sure he must have had hours with little to do. I would imagine that the cards with the amazing script and fancy lettering were done during some of those times. My father's Mom would sit and paint and draw with me for hours, Dad too, got that ability from her, as did his sister and at least one of her daughters. Someone in the family must have done some serious writing, Dad did a little, Mom did a little, both of my brothers and I just let the words flow from the pen. My father's father was a soloist at church, and that came along to me from him. Nothing of us is our own, it seems.

I heard yesterday that scientists have figured out how to choose what your baby will look like. If I was still in that age group, I'd say 'No thanks. I'd rather have a surprise! " I'd rather let God take the old jar of genes, shake it up and pour it out as He sees fit.

Sometimes we're blessed with good things, sometimes we aren't as fortunate. Whatever we get, we just need to do the best we can with it.
I think that's the best way to go.

Mom's Art

When my mother was about 12 years old, she became fascinated with knitting. She'd seen the mother of her friend, Judy, knitting beautiful sweaters and she wanted to do it too. Never being one to be very bold, she didn't ask to be taught. However, being what she terms 'very stubborn', she was carried on the winds of determination, and she taught herself. She went to the library and borrowed books to instruct her how to do the stitches and patterns. There was one obstacle, she had no knitting needles. It was depression times, and money was scarce. With "Where there's a will, there's a way" as her life-long motto, she did not give up. Somehow, somewhere, she does not remember either, she came upon some long nails. Two of them became her first knitting needles.

That was more than 70 years ago. Since that time, she has used her skills to knit useful and lovely things. During World War II, as a teenager, she knitted socks and sweaters for soldiers. After she and Dad were married, and babies started coming, she knitted tiny sweaters and hats and booties for her own children and her nephews and a niece. While I was in my school years, I always had at least one pretty sweater of her making in my wardrobe each year. I can remember one of my favorite grade school teachers, Miss Muriel Porter, always remarking to me about my beautiful sweaters and how lucky I was to have such a talented mother. She was one of many who complimented my mother's skills.

My father always had a pair of knitted socks to keep his feet warm. I, too, had knitted socks that worked so well in my ice skates and snow boots. Along with hats and matching mittens, I was shielded against the East coast cold. I think, at various times, we all had slipper socks which she'd made, too.

Mom didn't work outside the home, but she worked at her craft. Often I'd arrive home from school to find her sitting on 'her' end of the couch with knitting needles clicking quickly against each other. This wasn't 'work' to her. She was doing what she loved to do, creating. For a number of years, she made knitted layettes which were donated to Birthright, for new babies she would never meet. She knitted lap robes for Veteran's homes or for RSVP (Retired Seniors Volunteer Program). She sold baby items she'd made at a consignment shop called Whimsey's, and gathered individual customers who came to her time after time for custom-knitted suits, sweaters and other items. I often have wondered how many babies, how many people were clothed in my mother's creativity. How many elderly veterans had their knees covered by Mom's projects?

In time, new family members came along and a new generation was begun. They, too, were blessed to wear small-size creations with lovely patterns. The boys wore cables and ribs, the girls had lace and shell stitches. There were miniature Fisherman knits sweaters and cardigans, pull-overs and jackets. Tiny hands bore mittens, wee feet wore booties, little new bald heads were dressed in Grandma's hats. Each of us was a walking gallery of Mom's art.

Babies quickly grew to school aged grandchildren, and still, they were presented with Grandma's creations. On to college, into marriage, the sweaters continued. Grandma became GrGrandma to eleven, and the knitting needles continued to click.

These days Mom's sight is sorely affected by Macular Degeneration. She was declared 'legally blind' by the eye doctor, but Mom will not be deterred. Her sight presents her with challenges which make it more difficult to complete her work as swiftly. When she adds a stitch, or drops one, it's hard for her to know, until she's well beyond the error. When she finds it, she must unravel rows and rows sometimes, in order to repair the mistake. I saw her frustration at the end of last year, as she strove to work on sweaters for my four daughters for Christmas (2008) Time and again she would measure. Over and over again she would check the pattern of her pieces. They had to be 'just so' or they wouldn't be right.

On Christmas morning in New York state, two of Mom's thirty-something granddaughters tore open their gifts. When they reached Gram's, tears were shed as they touched the softness and the multi-patterned Fisherman knit pull overs. Here, at our house, where the others had gathered on Christmas day, the scene was similar. When I opened my gift from Mom, there was a surprise! I, too, had an ornately-patterned cardigan Fisherman knit! Watching the struggle she had as she worked on my daughters' four sweaters, I had no thought that I'd have one, too. In fact, I feared that the girls would be the recipients of the last of Mom's handwork. But, she will not be defeated! She is currently in the process of making her own new Fisherman knit garment.

What a blessing it is to have these gifts, her quilts (a story for another time) and all the knitted and crocheted items including the four sweaters that I wear. I've saved many of the tiny baby sweaters. I also have several pairs of mittens, hats, a cozy, fringed afghan with cables, diamonds, lacey patterns knitted into it. There are crocheted, lacey, white placemats, table doilies, handmade table cloths with her croched lace trim, crocheted and tatted lace on sheets and pillow cases, hand-quilted placemats, tatted lace snowflakes and Christmas tree ornaments. There are tatted crosses in my Bible, to mark the places I am reading. These are treasures which I show off. I am so proud of the things my mother has done, and every one of these gifts made by her diligent hands and determined spirit is precious to me. I wish I still had so many of the other items she'd made, but as life moves on, things wear out.

All four of my daughters and two of my granddaughters will be here next week to surprise Mom and to celebrate 83rd birthday. I have requested that all of them bring their latest sweater from Mom. She will undoubtedly be wearing one of her own, as well. I'll request that Mike wear his rainbow striped Mom-knitted socks too! We'll gather for a photo, nine of us, and after processing, we'll present that photo to Mom and each keep a copy for ourselves, as a reminder of her birthday and of her love for us.

It is my hope, that no matter how long God grants life to Mom, that she is able to continue to create as she does. Her busy hands have blessed so many in so many ways, and she has enjoyed every moment of it...almost as much as we appreciate her efforts!

Raining...

Once again I hear the welcome beating of the rain on my roof. According to the weather lady, we can expect it all day today, and maybe a portion of tomorrow. It's ok...we've had drought for so long, it'll be worth it to have every drop.

Rain always brings the memories of our camping trips. One memorable time, we took our gear and headed north, from East Hampton to New Hampshire. It was our first trip to that area of the state, and we chose to go to North Woodstock. For some reason, we'd been playing a game of 'let's visit all the Woodstocks in the country" before our camping days were over. (By the way, we haven't visited a place with that name in years... then again, we haven't done much camping lately either.)

We wound our way along the back roads, which is our habit when traveling, rather than taking the non-scenic, drag strip called the Interstate. Enjoying every moment together and remarking at a waterfall or someone's flower garden, we followed the map and found N. Woodstock without incident. We discovered a place called "Waterest Campground." Stopping at the log cabin office, we asked if we could take a ride through and see the site before making a choice. Getting approval from the very nice couple behind the counter, we took a tour through the campground. It was set above and beside a roaring creek. The sites were all 'rustic' wooded spots, good sized, with a few water faucets. Both of those were great according to our list, but there was one thing that we weren't thrilled with. There was no bathroom ...just a privy...and no showers.

So...we left, and drove over the creek bridge to the next campground...a KOA. One look at the facilities, a laundry room, game room, pool, shower house, bathroom facilities, and a huge, grassy "parking lot" with camp sites made up our minds. We went back to the Waterest. Open fields camping can in no way compare to the woods.

Again entering the log cabin, we rented our space, and went to choose a spot to place our big, canvas, two-room home for the week. We chose a spot overlooking the creek, just where the water tumbled over the boulders. It was beautiful, serene, and comforting to hear the water. We set up camp...tarps under the tent, and one over the roof, and set about unpacking. I don't think we'd gotten too far before the rain started.

Ralph and Ruth, the owners at the office had no tarps in their camp store big enough for us. They told us where the nearest hardware store was, a little way up the road, and up at the top of the hill. We jumped back in the van and went in search of a large tarp that would completely cover the tent. While there, Mike refilled his ever-present bottomless coffee mug.

By the time we made it back to camp, the rain was really falling. We fixed the tarp over the tent roof, and tried to figure out what dinner would be, since cooking wasn't an option at that point. I don't remember for sure, but I believe we went to the Woodstock Inn, formerly an old train station. There was a ticket booth inside, and the decor was geared around old times. There were old-fashioned bits of clothing on the walls, as well as railroad lanterns, suitcases, etc. The tables were thick-tops set upon treadle sewing machine bottoms...pedals and all! A charming place with delicious food.

I digress. We went to sleep early that night, to the sound of pouring rain drumming on the tarp. So much for the wonderful creek sound rolling over rock and rill! Before the week was over, I believe we purchased nearly every large tarp in N.Woodstock, and as a result, received free coffee every time we entered the door of that hilltop hardware store. Our camp looked like tarp city. We'd even figured out how to stretch a tremendous one between the trees in such a way that we could drive the the van under it, so we could reach our food items in the rear without getting wet. We cooked under that tarp, ate under that tarp and lived under a number of plastic sheets for our whole vacation! It's a long-standing joke between us that, though there was no running water installed in the campground, we had running water! We have a photo of me, holding a kettle under the water pouring off the tent tarp.

As I listen to the rain on my shingled roof here, many, many miles from that time and place in New Hampshire, I smile. Rain. Life giving, memory making rain. Thank you, Lord!

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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