What I Miss...

Most days, I'm extremely content to live here and be surrounded by all that I have been blessed with. There are days, though, when things creep into my thoughts...things that I miss seeing...or doing.

Back home, the ocean continues to roll in, stealing the sand from the shore, spraying salty mist into the air, luring souls to the beach with its song. I miss the sea...and this year, whether I get back to my old hometown or not, we will visit the coast of SC. Being a 'land-lubber' has it's drawbacks, and not seeing that enormous  wet vista is one of them.

This morning, though, I'm missing Lilacs.  We had five or six tall, wide bushes of them when we lived in East Hampton.  They were fragrant and lovely, and never disappointed us.  I miss walking out of the kitchen to the deck and seeing their welcome and smelling their fragrance.  Those variety of Lilacs won't survive the heat of the south, and in order to grow any, we'd have to be very careful in our choosing of the right ones.  It's time. I'll investigate, and then scour the nurseries ....I'm missing Lilacs, so I'll take whatever will grow here, and be grateful for them.

Hydrangea too. There are various ones that will grow heartily here, but I don't yet know which ones. I belive that I can find them...I've seen them in people's yards....large and bright blue, due to such acid soil as we have.  I will have to add those to my 'find' list. 

But, at this moment...I'm going to join my husband with our coffee on the patio, and decide just how we'll spend this 84 degree day.  See you soon!

Honey Do List

Being in the house most of the winter made me lazy.  I couldn't get motivated to do anything that satisfied me.  Now that Spring has come, earlier than the calendar states, my head is full of motivation. Now, we just need to get it to the parts of the body that can do what needs to be done.

I look at the yard and see all that needs to be done, and my mind races to create new areas of  beauty or comfort.  The weeding needs to be done, and the soil needs to be amended and there should be layers of mulch added to the surface.  The Sweet Gum tree stumps that lie on the earth, where we removed offensive growers, need to be killed, or they will return in all their hideous glory, ready to seed the soil with even more of them.  The root of the Mimosa tree, which volunteered to plant itself to near to the septic tank, needs to be dug out, or the fingers of the roots will make their way into the septic drainage piping. The patio needs the fencing surrounding it, and the gardens put in there. The Rose of Sharon bushes and the Mock Orange need to be planted, and the lilies need to be divided. 

The vegetable garden needs to be turned under and the plants need to be chosen and plans placed on paper, so that we'll be ready when it's time to plant them in a few weeks.  I want a stony path from the patio to the shed, and I'd like to have the fire pit built. It's time to plant the Hollyhock plants, which can be placed in the gardens in a few more weeks.

The patio dining set has taken to pitting on the metal arms in a few spots. They need to be ground off and repainted. And oh, we won't even mention the garage clean out!

So much to do...so little strength of body to take it on. We'll never keep up with the speed of my thinking!  Sometimes I feel as if we should just take all of the gardens out and have only the lawn to mow and the hollies in front of the porch to prune. But then I know that I'd miss my blooms.  Maybe I ought to take out everything else, and plant just those wonderful Knock Out roses that take care of themself, for the most part. They are lovely, and bloom for months and months with very little attention.

The Honey-Do list grows rapidly...but the motivation hasn't left the mind...YET.  I'd be willing to do what I can and to hire our strong teen-aged neighbor  to help, but Mike is of the mind that it's more work to 'train' someone than it is to do it himself.  In light of that, I may have to cut back the list by 3/4. I kind of like having him around, and don't want all these chores to work him to death!  Siiiiigh....

Fighting For Your Life

A friend of mine says, "Trouble comes in bunches sometimes, like bananas."  Yes...sometimes it seems that way. Right here, right now I'm going to say that I'm blessed and what trouble has come to me has often been of my own creation. Our choices make a lot of difference in what happens in life.....but sometimes things happen without any 'help' or 'hindrance' from us.

One of those things is cancer. It seems to make its own choices about who is hit with it. It's one of those awful circumstances that a person has no control over, except to decide to deal with it the best way possible  and fight every step of the way. It isn't fair that it's come along and chosen that person. Right now,  I know of a mother with a preschooler, an early grade school student, a high school student and a college aged daughter. This is her second fight for her life.  What's fair about that?

There's another who is older than I am...she has recently been diagnosed with third stage pancreatic cancer. This is a tough pill to swallow for her, having dealt with many surgeries and serious illnesses in the past. Her daughter is attempting to meet her needs and still work to keep the bills paid. What's fair about that?

Now, today I've seen that a friend's granddaughter, aged 14 yrs...just starting her life, really, has been diagnosed with a cancer.  While there's certainly nothing fair about this, there is hope, according to the doctors, that treatments will be successful in taking care of this one.

Sometimes life brings things that aren't fair, and THAT is the one certainty in life. I don't think I can think of a single family I know who has not had to deal with cancer in some way. It may have been themselves, or a relative or a close friend, but it's been someone.  We pray for those who are fighting; we suffer with them, but on a level far removed from their own suffering.  It's the best we can do...to ask for God to be merciful and heal as these fight for their lives.

This day I want to shout, "I HATE CANCER!!!!"

Running from the Law...

Yesterday at a little after 5PM, I turned on the local news. I say 'local', but it's actually coming out of an area an hour away from us, and basically focuses on that area, but it does report on things in surrounding counties. What was on the screen was a high speed chase, which started in the city closest to us (where we shop) which is about 12 miles away from us. 

Picture this... a guy, reported to be armed and dangerous, steals a car..(.mistake #1) and heads north. It wasn't just 'a car'....it was a Circuit Court JUDGE's car! (Mistake #2)  He is soon being tailed by a bright yellow highway patrol car, so he speeds up, often reaching speeds above 100 mph on a busy interstate. (Mistake #3)  It is rush hour, and the road is full of cars, so he takes an exit and drives up a less congested major highway.  The yellow patrol car is now joined by three black and white police cars from various counties.  Entrance ramps are being blocked by other patrol cars, in order to keep the drivers from possible danger from this 'armed and dangerous' car thief with little concern about his speed.

We sat glued to the tv, watching this chase, wondering how this will all end.  The news helicopter filmed the entire thing. The police chopper never lost sight of the car. The black and whites kept following the yellow highway patrol vehicle. At a few times the offending car was hit in the rear corner of the bumper by one of the police cars, in an effort to stop him, but the efforts were unsuccessful.  On two occasions, some big rigs attempted to trap him on the two lane highway, but although it did allow the chasers to safely catch up, the criminal got away. At one point two 18 wheelers slowed him down, by staying side by side at a very slow speed, nearly a stop. The SUV driver decided to pass on the left, between the guard rail and the truck, and the semi driver saw it coming, and swerved his cab slightly, nearly causing a crash. Unfortunately, the SUV maneuvered itself  around the semi, and again, he was speeding off. 

This chase spanned a little over an hour of time and five counties.  As soon as the road was clear enough of drivers, police ordered stop strips to be used.  That's how the speeder was stopped...he saw them ahead of him, and stopped the SUV. He still wasn't ready to give himself up voluntarily. As the news helicopter filmed the whole thing, the police men circled the SUV with guns drawn, some of them entering the car from the back seat. They must have been able to unlock the door on the driver's side, because before we knew it, there were a few officers dragging the driver out of the car. He was laid on the ground without incident, handcuffed, and taken to the patrol car.  He was a muscular looking guy who looked like he could have caused some serious damage to one or two men, but he must have known that it would have been a waste of energy, with several weapons pointed on him.

Thankfully, this scene ended with no one being hurt.  We don't know why he chose to steal a car, but I suspect that he wasn't thinking clearly. He now has a string of crimes to be charged with.  I'm not sure he has much of a defense, but I think the courts may have to find an out of state judge to hear the case, because I'm sure all of SC has heard this story!  Forgive me, but somehow, I'm not feeling too sorry for the criminal about that.

Covered in Love

In my stash of family things, I have several afghans.  My favorite one is cream-colored, a knitted one, with patterns much like and Irish knit sweater. There are cables and lacy shells and a lattice pattern. This afghan covers me nicely, being more than five feet long. It is my favorite because of it's color and size and pattern, but mostly because it was made for me years ago by my Mother.

In the closet upstairs, there is a colorful, wool, crocheted Granny Square afghan, which looks much like this one in the picture above. My mother says that it was made by her mother, but it was my aunt who had it in her home for as long as I could remember, and it was she who gave it to me.  It's very warm and it's bright yarns are cheerful on a dull,gray, wintery day.  When I was pregnant with my fourth baby, I made a lighter weight version of this pattern... multi-colored squares of acrylic, sports weight yarn, each square bordered in black.

There's another heavy coverlet that is in my possession. It, too, is handiwork partly my grandmother's.
It was probably one of her last works, and it is nothing special about it, other than the most important... that she'd knitted some of the plain squares.  By the time she'd knitted these pieces, she couldn't see well enough anymore to crochet patterns, and this gave her something to do as she sat during the afternoon.  I believe that my aunt knitted the other squares, and sewed them together to finish the blanket.  It's not fancy, no, but it is warm, and large and cozy.

There's a zig-zag pattern of scrap yarns crocheted together to make a throw. My daughter made that one and her daughter, my first grandchild, made a fleece throw for me.  The collection of covers is completed by several handmade quilts made by great grandmothers on both sides, by my mother, and by myself.  These heirlooms will one day be handed down to my children. I hope they will treasure them the way I do.

I can definitely say that we are covered in love.

Writing Therapy?

The other day, a blogger buddy mentioned many reasons for writing. One of them was for therapeutic reasons, and today I want to address that reason here.

When I was a young teenager, full of strange and new emotions, I began to write.  Sometimes things were flowery and about nature, sometimes silly crushes on some guy or another, other times they were rather philosophical.  Rarely did I allow anyone to read my words. I was shy about it then, and unsure of myself, my thoughts and my emotions.

As life carried me along through its ups and downs, I found that writing was a very therapeutic thing for me.  I could 'unload' on paper when I was frustrated. I could express fears and worries to this impersonal 'listener'.  I could share my joys and whatever other emotion I felt, and not look wildly insane!  Best of all, I could write all of my anger and annoyance in letters to the one who was irritating me, then burn it in my fireplace, without anyone ever knowing how very hurt or angry I'd been! Once things were out on paper, I could see what I needed to deal with, and figure out just how it should best be dealt with.

Therapeutic?  Yes, I definitely think writing is good for me and my well-being....even i.f  not one other human eye ever reads it.  I suggest that everyone give it a try.

Nostalgic Moments...

This morning I had a flash-back. It was a good one, unlike some that grab me. I thought of my Grandpa and his 'griddle cakes'. 

When I had overnight visits with my grandparents, usually it was Grandma who fixed my breakfast, but if Grampa was home, I was treated to his version of a proper morning meal.  Grandpa liked to fix 'griddle cakes'.  The first thing he'd do is get his big black iron skillet out of the pantry. He'd put it on the burner, add a little butter (not margerine or oil) and he'd slowly heat the frying pan until it spit.  While he waited for the temperature to be just right, he'd mix the pancake batter from scratch. Sometimes there would be hot and crispy brown bacon sizzling in that frying pan before the batter took its turn.

Whatever the grease used to keep it from sticking, once the pan was hot, the batter was poured slowly on to the bottom. It was always the right amount... and Grampa would stand watch over his pan until it was time to slide the spatula beneath the 'cake', and turn it over. The timing was everything. The key was to watch the edges for golden and check the 'bubble's on top. If the bubbles weren't popped, it was too early to turn. If the edges weren't golden, it would not have been firm enough.  When everything lined up, Grampa would flip his 'cake' and let it lie against the hot skillet for a few minutes. Then he'd slide it onto a plate. 

This was no 'stack' of pancakes! It was a plate-sized, single pan cake, on which creamy butter would be spread. Usually I'd have a choice of syrup, white sugar or brown sugar as a topping.  Being a youngster, I prefered white sugar.  There was nothing like Grampa's 'griddlecakes'....and boy! were they filling, albeit not terribly good for calorie counting!

So, this morning, I flashed back on those pancakes.  I normally don't eat them, because I always feel so sluggish after I do, but this morning I pulled out my large, cast iron skillet, mixed up some buttermilk batter and I made some for my breakfast.  I opted for Aunt Jemima syrup today, and I must say, as good as it was, it wasn't my Grandpa's griddle cakes.