In Gratitude

March 25, 2011: The redbuds are blooming, and I am remembering a grandmother's birthday. She has been physically gone from me for 34 years, but she is part of me and will always live in my heart and in the way I live my life. Mary Clyde Curley Terrell was born on this date in 1887 and lived until just weeks short of her 90th birthday. She loved me lavishly, taught me much of what I know about taking care of home and family, the gifts of hospitality and gardening. Her faith in God never waivered, throughout years of growing sons and a daughter (my mother), during which she endured the tragic death of her first son at age 13, loosing home and household to a fire, working ceaselessly as a farmer's wife to "make do". She never drove a car, did not have indoor plumbing until she had to move from her home to a small apartment when she was in her 80's. But she knew how to spread her table with a white cloth and gather flowers in a jar and make fried chicken Sunday dinners for her preacher and our family. She made patchwork and crazy quilts from clothing scraps that are still kept and passed on. She knew how to give a skinny litle girl good night kisses and tuck her into a feather bed. She made tea cakes and cornbread and chow chow. Near the end of her life on earth, sharing a room in a small nursing home, she saved her morning snack cookies and wrapped them in a napkin so she would have something to offer me when I came to see her. I saw the face of God in her face and felt His hands in hers. Thank you, Grandma. I am your namesake. You do live on, not just in me and in my sons, but in their children. I see the Redbud trees and greet another Spring, a precious reminder of ongoing life.

Grace Upon Grace

When family and friends gather in our home for a meal, we hold hands and say grace. My earliest memories include my Daddy’s quickly murmured prayer of thanks. My grandfather could hardly be understood the words ran together so fast. I cannot remember the exact words used, but I remember their bowed heads and their humility, and their gratitude for simple food. I do remember the words were the same every time, spoken with a cadence I did not hear in their voices at other times. Through all the years of my own marriage and family, in many different places and situations, that early example and teaching prompted gratitude and recognition of God’s presence at our table. I am grateful for those early influences. When I have cooked a meal for two or twenty, I love that moment when the work stops, hands reach out, blessing is asked on people and the food we share. It feels right to express our connections to God and each other in this way.
G.K.Chesterton reminds me that all the things on my list for today may be marked for significance in the same way.

"You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink."
- G. K. Chesterton

So, thank you,God... for these plants and the earth in which I place them. Thank you for the book I read and the person who wrote it. Bless the person who will use these towels I am folding. Bless these words as I write them. For these and all your bounty, I give thanks. Be present at our table, Lord. Be here and everywhere adored.

Fragrance

“One should garden for the nose, for the eyes will take care of themselves.”
Robert Lewis Stevenson

So soon after pruning, some of our antique roses are loaded with buds and blooms. The first blooms surprised me, almost as if saying "Fooled you!" Commonly called Butterfly Roses, Mutabulis rose bushes leap high and wide and announce that they are back. These single petal roses change in hue as the bud opens, so that at any time there are usually pink, yellow, dusky rose, and apricot blooming at the same time like a swarm of butterflies covering the bush. Like all old roses (antique, or "found") they have a distinctive but unique fragrance that I can identify with my eyes closed. Breathe!

Maddie's Redbird

After we saw a cardinal in the tree in our back yard last week, Maddie drew a picture for me. Thanks to the technology of scanning, email, and blogging, here is her gift for you to enjoy, too.

"Grandparenting is a gift between two people at opposite ends of their journey."
~Judy Ford

Mother's Music

The title may suggest lullabies, but these photos tell a different story. This music is from a collection of sheet music my mother, Opal Terrell, used when she was sweet sixteen and a very sassy seventeen! The young men who vied for her attention brought her music instead of candy or flowers. On several pieces she has written their names. Eventually there was only one who brought her music: Howard Teal, my Daddy. He asked her father if he could marry her and was given permission only if they would wait until she was 18. Opal celebrated that birthday on October 20, 1931, so on December 28, 1931 they drove over to a neighbor's house. The preacher from their little Baptist church was having Sunday dinner there, but he came out to the car before they could get out and go in, so the ceremony took place in the front seat of a Model T!

When I turn the yellowed pages and play the lilting melodies, I remember Mother's hands at the piano, Daddy's grip at the wheel of his pickup truck, and the way they held hands for over 50 years of marriage.

The music plays on.

French Knots and Daisy Chains

My mother and grandmother taught me to embroider by the time I knew how to read and write. I have some of the iron on patterns, colorful skeins of thread, and needles that they used when they embellished clothing, table linens, and pillowcases, like this one that I still use for my favorite bed pillow. It has been washed so many times it no longer needs the ironing they once would have done before carefully folding it and its mate (pillowcases were always done in pairs). The thin cotton is so soft and worn it is in danger of becoming kept instead of used. I love running my fingers over the blue flowers with their bumpy french knot centers and remembering how swift and deft their fingers were as they threaded kneedles, loaded embroidery hoops and began piercing with the needle, pulling it up at just the right spot, drawing out the thread, knowing which special stitch would achieve the right effect. There were feather stitches, blanket stitches, and feather stitches for borders and trims, but those used to bring the pattern lines to bloom were the ones that fascinated me. Running stitches, chain stitches, daisy chains and french knots brought the designs alive. I have enjoyed similar needle work: crewel, cross-stitching, and have loved crocheting and knitting. All of which I owe to those two women who were patient enough to teach me.

Valentine Trees and Treats

You are right.  I did not pack away all my Christmas stuff.  This tree was a lovely woodland bird tree with strips of music from the Carol of the birds tucked into the branches, along with birds of every feather,  acorns, and tiny red glass berries.  I removed the music strips and tucked in red tissue paper hearts for this Valentine tree.  Appropriately, a photo of me and my Valentine (married for over 47 years now) is in the background.

  This transition from December to February has grown from simply keeping out a few red candles to multipurposing several holiday decorations.  Another tree with heart has stayed in my dining room.  This tiny tree,  a teacup tree with smaller hearts added to miniature teacups and my late mother-in-law's collection of tiny spoons, sits on- what else - a tea tray.
                                                                      Today, I am decorating Valentine cookies to add to the heart shaped basket.   Happy Valentine's Day!