Thank You for Planting This Tree!

When we planted a Vitex tree in our back yard, we had no idea how much the whole family would enjoy it.  It is an old fashioned tree which will soon be covered with spikes of purple blooms.  When it is in full bloom, it looks like a cloud of purple smoke is hovering over the garden.  But a few weeks ago, Skye, Maddie, and Jordann just enjoyed its low spreading limbs for climbing!  The limbs are small, but so are the girls, so all three could get up in it at one time.  I loved hearing them laughing and talking and having fun.  Just before I went to get my camera,  Skye looked up, saw me on the porch and called out, "Thank you!   Thank you for planting this tree!"  It reminded me of her Daddy, who once told us he wanted an apple tree he could climb.  We planted apple trees in the yards of more than one home but we always moved before they got big enough to climb.   I, too, am thankful for this tree, for its blooms and its shade,  with limbs low enough for little girls to clamber up and strong enough to give them a perch.

Making Music

Our six year old granddaughter, Maddie, loves music.  Her voice is clear and strong and lovely when she sings.  She rececently began piano lessons so she played for us when she visited recently. Seeing the reflection of her hands as she plays reminds me of my mother's fingers dancing along the keys to play Rustic Dance or Walking My Baby Back Home or Love Lifted Me.  This morning when I was playing this same piano, I saw my own hands in the reflection and smiled as I thought of Mother and Maddie, and me - kindred music makers.

Easter Eggs

Old habits die hard.  I know that most of the Easter baskets have wonderful plastic eggs with sweet treats inside.  But I hold fast to the tradition of dipping hardboiled eggs into color baths made with vinegar.  All these years, and it is still magic when the eggs come up out of the murky liquid that smells like pickles.  Skye, Maddie, and Jordann colored these eggs and not one is the same as another.  They are all beautiful and unique, just like the little girls who decorated them.  I was tempted to boil another dozen eggs just to get to watch.  Thanks, girls for letting me have the fun with you, and for the memories the sight and smells bring back.

Now You See Them, Now You Don't

Spring to Texans includes watching for the mounds of Bluebonnets which begin to beckon.  This year, the Bluebonnets have been both plentiful and beautiful, a result of the perfect combination of rain and temperature.  But they were 3 to 4 weeks  earlier than usual.  Before some folks  had made their way out the stretches of Texas road that are usually the best for photographing the spreading quilt of early wildflowers which include Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrush, the showiest patches of them were already beginning to seed and fade. I have heard people say these lovely blooms, the Texas state flower, were the best this year they have ever seen.  The blanket of blue in this photograph was only a few miles away from my home, and just down the street from my son's house.  The developer of this neighborhood had the forethought and insight to sow bluebonnet seeds and avoid mowing them before they had a chance to bloom.  We might never have made it an hour's drive out to see the country bluebonnets, but these town flowers got the same result - Wow!

It is traditional to take pictures when the Bluebonnets are in full bloom.  Here are a few we took while Maddie and Jordann were visiting a couple of weeks ago!  The Bluebonnets are almost gone, but the little girls are coming back for Easter! 

Roses for Your Birthday

Another family birthday comes into view while we are still basking in the glow of last week's celebration for Maddie.  One hundred twenty-five years ago on March 15, 1887, a baby girl given the name Mary Clyde Curley was born to a 34 year old  French immigrant whose husband died during the pregnancy.  This baby was the youngest of 9 living children born to Ernestine, who had buried a child in addition to two husbands, both of whom died before seeing their last child. 

Clyde, as the baby was called, was born into adversity and affliction of circumstance.  But she was also born into a close family circle as her mother moved back home to relatives.  I don't know much about her childhood, but I do know she loved her siblings dearly and spoke of them often.  In 1904 she married Hezekiah Peyton Terrell and gave birth to 3 sons and a daughter.  Opal, her daughter, was my mother.  I became Clyde and Ky's first grandchild.

Clyde Terrell mourned the death of her oldest son, Vinnon, due to a hunting accident on Christmas Day in 1922.  She never drove a car, never lived in a house with indoor plumbing until she was nearly 80.  She raised her family on a farm in Smith County, Texas, drew water from a well, washed the family laundry in an iron wash pot set over a fire in the yard, and hung the clothes on a line outside to dry after which she ironed them with a flatiron kept hot on the wood stove.  She planted morning glories and old maids,  kept a garden for vegetables,  milked a cow, hung slaughtered meat in a smokehouse, and kept chickens for eggs as well as wringing their necks for Sunday dinner for the preacher.  She put up berries and peaches along with peas and green beans in mason jars with sealed lids and baked pies and tea cakes. She lived by "use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without!"  Therefore, she sewed her own clothing, replaced buttons, turned collars and cuffs on Papa's shirts, and made patchwork quilts with what was left.  She was an adept seamstress, adding embellishments of crochet, tatting, hemstitching, and cutwork to aprons,  pillowcases and tea towels.

I remember being folded into her soft, sweet embrace and never felt more loved.  I remember drinking cold well water from a dipper, picking berries with her, and stubbing my toe on the red dirt road when we walked to the mailbox.  I remember that she welcomed folks to her door and to her table, the same one that my own family gathered around for lunch after church today.  However, she always put a clean white tablecloth on top, and when anything was blooming, a jar of flowers on the table. Whether we were eating fried chicken or cornbread, biscuits or berry cobbler, the food was always delicious and warm and her welcome even moreso.

But most of all I remember her deep faith in and love of God.  She knew God loved her and trusted him unfalteringly. She was a woman of prayer.  She didn't just go to church, it was a part of her and she was a part of the people and their worship and service.  Her pastor and his wife were her best friends.  I loved going to church with her because she loved it so much.  She had tragedies.  She did not have what most would call an easy life.  But she lived in gratitude and praise for the blessings she had. 

Grandma died one month before her 90th birthday in 1977.  I still miss her. This morning just as dawn was arriving, I went out into our garden and picked these yellow roses in her honor.  She had an old  rose bush near the front window of their house at the top of the red dirt road. She often brought bouquets of the blooms in for her table.  They were golden yellow.

Happy Birthday Maddie

Yesterday, Maddie celebrated her sixth birthday at our house with her parents, sister, uncles, aunts, a cousin, and a new doll named McKenzie.  We made Dutch Babies for breakfast, went to pick strawberries, had a Texas barbecue picnic for lunch, and made Breakfast for Dinner.  I think her smile says we made her day. I know she made mine.  Six years ago I waited with her parents and uncle to see her for the first time.  I cried and laughed at the same time because she was so beautiful.  She is growing tall and wise and wonderful.  Happy Day, Birthday Girl!

Good Medicine

Our cat, Bella, has become Joe's shadow during these past 7 months.  She seems to sense that he is in pain and wherever he is, there she is too!  Now that he has gone back to work, I think she waits to reclaim her place when he gets home to the recliner.  Angel, our other cat is more aloof, has never been a lap cat. Still, she has her spot on the foot of his bed and is never very far away, either.  I believe animals know in some way when we are ill, and seem to be saying they are "with us".  After all, if they didn't keep us going, how would the food dish get filled?!

"A meow massages the heart."  ~  Stuart McMillan

Glad to Be Here

Yesterday I returned some books to our newly opened library branch which is on the campus of the University of Houston at Sugar Land.  Since it is now the nearest public library to my home, I will be going there often.  It is a lovely, contemporary building with comfortable reading areas, access to the enitre county library catalog, as well as state of the art technology like self checkout.  I parked on the edge of the parking lot, which was adjacent to this field of wildflowers which stretches toward the horizon lined with bare trees which are on the banks of the Brazos River. 

I thought about how great it is to live where country road meets the freeway system.  Granted, I am not always exactly grateful for the freeway.  But it does give me access to this university,  art and theater,  good medical care, great places to buy healthy food, and more importantly my family, my church and my friends.  Most of the time I do have to drive at least a short distance on the freeway to go to those places.  But I am still on the edge of meadows and rivers.  I hear birdsong everyday. Most days I am just on the other side of a fence from cattle and horses.  I am a short drive away from picking strawberries this Spring, I have been seeing Red Buds on the roadside for weeks, and in my own garden I have "country" every day.  In our season of life, this is a good blend for me.  As I stood looking toward the river and photographed what many in our area call weeds, I am thankful for place. I am thankful for home.  I just wanted you to know.

Tea Time

This sweet green teapot was originally used to serve hot tea to diners at Cameron's cafeteria in Tyler, Texas where my mother and father both worked when they married in 1931.  These days it is more often used to hold a couple of cut roses from my garden, but I like it best sitting on my counter, reminding me of my parents, their willingness to work at building a marriage and life (I believe Daddy made $1.50 a week when they got married), and the fact that they kept the little teapot even though the enamel inside is chipped and rusted.  I like the grace of the handle and the spout and the way the lid tips back on a tiny hinge. My shiny red electric teakettle and our Flavia machine which can produce a cup of lemon or peppermint tea in no time with little fuss and bother are convenient and useful, but I doubt either will be around in over 80 years for someone to photograph and write about.  Somehow, I think this one will. 

Puzzling

Joe has been working on this jigsaw puzzle during the time following a recent surgery. We like lighthouses, and this one is lovely. But the landscape in which it sits is a challenge and took hours to work on. We kept looking for pieces only to find the missing piece on the floor. One day as I entered the kitchen, I saw the reason.

Angel the cat liked the puzzle, too.  She patted a piece to the table's edge until it fell, then looked for another one to repeat her trick. Two weeks ago, Joe went back into the hospital for another surgery.  I was spending most of the time at the hospital with him.  On the third day we were away, I returned home late at night, turned on the lights and discovered the lighthouse puzzle in chaos, mostly on the floor.  I think Angel and her cohort, Bella, were trying to express their displeasure at being left alone all day without someone to top off the food dish.  Why do they need feathers on a stick when they have us?

Completely Present

In dwelling, live close to the ground. In thinking, keep to the simple. In conflict, be fair and generous. In governing, don’t try to control. In work, do what you enjoy. In family life, be completely present. -Eleanor Roosevelt.

I found these words while reading a blog I enjoy  - http://www.throwbackroad.com/

I want to echo "in family life, be completely present."  In today's busy schedules, the actual waking hours families spend with each other can be reduced to few.  By the time work, school, sports, music and/or dance classes get their share of a calendar day, there may not be much left.  Meals grabbed to be eaten in the car on the way to another activity and family members each on their own cell phone or electronic device are common sights.

  Is it possible to make choices that claim actually being present in family life?   I think so.

 Preparing food together and then sitting down around a table at home is an important, and certainly a great boost for the budget.  If we turn off the television, give the same attention to each other that we seem to give to phone calls and texts, I believe family time can not only be something to look forward to, but a time we can learn to enjoy being together, completely present.

When our children and grandchildren gather here, we make an effort to have sit-down meals together.  Many times, this is around the old oak dining table which belonged to my grandmother.  I believe her smile joins ours as we have our table blessing and pass the potatoes, present to each other.

At Home

Yesterday I brought my husband home from his most recent surgery and hospital stay.  He said when he walked in (bandaged knee and walker assisted), his pain level just dropped.  I love that.  I feel that way, too. In all our years of growing our family, I have always wanted home to be a haven, a place we want to come back to.  The most wonderful compliment anyone gives me is not about furniture or decorations, it is that they feel at peace and find comfort here.  Welcome home, Joe!

"Home - that blessed word, which opens to the human heart the most perfect glimpse of Heaven..."
                                                                                                 ~ Lydia M. Child

First On the To Do List

Enough said...

I Love You

It is a quiet Saturday morning.   I have had my coffee, settled with my morning readings and quiet time and prayers, and added my daily five things to my gratitude journal.  Frequently, one or all three of these little girls appear in that journal - their laughter, their singing, their joy and generosity.  I don't have to write Skye or Maddie or Jordann for them to be on my mind and in my heart because they are always there.  But there is something about writing the thought down that pins it down in a collection of beautiful memories. I love them deeply, and I know they love me.  They also love each other. Maddie and Jordann live 5 hours away, and here are leaving to go home with their parents. What an expression of "parting is such sweet sorrow!" 

 I have a dozen items on the to do list, getting ready for another surgery for Joe next week, but starting them can wait.  I am going to make a couple of phone calls!

Joy

Today is our oldest son's birthday.  Sean Paul Parker, born on January 13, 1968, was not only our first son, but my parents'  first grandchild.  In this photo, my Daddy, Howard Teal, and Sean are enjoying reading The Night Before Christmas, with Sean illustrating "up the chimney he rose!"  I love the pride which gleams in my father's face.  I love the unbridled joy showing in my son's smile.  Happy Day, Sean!  We wish you this much joy today! 

                                                                           

Beginnings

I guess the beginning of a new year is a time for thinking about beginnings of all kinds. This little box is a recipe box. Joe painted and decorated it for me for our first Christmas after we were married. It was pretty empty for a long time because I didn't have many recipes. The only thing in the box was a small note pad on which I had written menus and my grocery lists for the first six weeks we were married – our beginning meals! I even kept tabs on how much I spent for groceries – part of our beginning budget!

I enjoyed cooking and learning to make new dishes, but I was definitely a beginner. The little white box was, too. As I collected recipes from friends and family, the box filled until it needed tabs and labels for indexing – the beginning of a large cookbook and recipe collection. I think all these beginnings led to the start of a lifelong love of cooking and joy of hospitality. I am grateful for the beginnings.

I am sure I do not have to tell you - not all beginnings have happy endings. That same Christmas I knitted Joe a green mohair sweater. He was proud of it but the sleeves were twice too long and the yarn (purchased on sale for such a good price!) was so itchy he could not bear to wear it. I still love to knit, and have produced lovely baby shawls, warm capes, and colorful scarves... but I have never tackled another sweater.

I Choose You!

I have so many reasons for loving Christmastide!  Faith and family are intertwined during these days in powerful ways.  As we gather at Christmas and live the days (all twelve!) to Epiphany, today, January 6 - we make choices, year after year.  Clyde Reid's book You Can Choose Christmas is one of a number of books I enjoy reading each year; it lies on a table beside my chair right now. It is true, we can choose Christmas...that choice lies within us. We also make choices in relationships, the most important ones in our marriage and family.  When Joe and I were married on December 28, 1963, the vows we made to each other used some important phrases beginning -" I will" and " I take"  and " I do" that are really saying "I choose.  I choose you."  Since our anniversary always falls in the middle of the week between Christmas and New Year's,  it is always a special time for remembering that choice.  So, last week marked 48 years of saying "I choose you!"

Christmas 1963

I remember a blur of travel, anticipation, last minute preparation.

The memories rush by like scenery from a train window.

family and friends gathering, arms open

happy voices

bells

church

prayers

the color cranberry

boughs of green

candlelight

gifts in fat boxes with shiny paper

white ribbons

a muff where I hid my hands

a dress I sewed with lace and tiny buttons

Mother's sweet smile

Daddy's shaking hands

chocolate covered cherries under the Christmas tree,

his gift to me each year.

In 1963, he gave me

To a man who said he would love and honor me.

My love gave me my new initials.

1963, the year of my Christmas wedding.

Come Into My Christmas House

As this year comes to an end, I am thinking of joys we have shared in our journey as a family, just as the blog subtitle suggests. This year has included many changes as Joe had surgery after surgery and has bravely met challenges of severe pain and limited mobility.  Our outings have been mostly to medical appointments, and gatherings have been different. The joys of this journey are nonetheless vividly apparent.  The love and caring concern of our sons, daughters in law, and granddaughters is lavish and intense.  They have helped with household chores from changing lightbulbs to moving furniture.  Meals have been joint ventures.  Phone calls "just checking on us" are frequent.  Little hands have helped set the table and take trays to Papa. Michala gave Joe his medicine.  Teion worked on the broken dishwasher.   Skye read The Best Christmas Pageant Ever to Maddie and Jordann.  Kristen played dominoes with Maddie.  Jeremy played the Indonesian shell game with Lauren.  Ben gave Jordann rides on his shoulders. Sean started a fire outside to roast marshmallows.  It is not that these things never happened before, it is that they are intensified now, and deeply appreciated.  We decorated together, cooked together, prayed together, and even if our meals were not always around Grandma Terrell's table, they were family celebrations and joyful occasions.  So, come into my Christmas House, and share the joy of our journey as a family. Winter is upon us, but Spring is on the way.  I am grateful.    "With" is a powerful and joyful thing.

December 24

December 24

 

December 24, 1959

Daddy bought roman candles

to celebrate Christmas Eve.

My little sister and I knelt on the ground watching.

Each pop and whoosh threw red and green trails

into starlit sky.

We thought it was how he liked to spend Christmas eve.

Mother never joined us, staying inside,

then coming to the screen door

“Come fast, guess who has just been here?”

Santa came and we always missed him

but gathered our presents and drank hot chocolate -

No visions of sugar plums when we dreamed because we already had them.

December 24, 1963

I gave Joe a tiny red book

with poems about love.

He fastened three pins on my jacket

three letters: M, A, and P

my new initials.

We were married three days later.

.

December 24, 1964

In Oregon, our tree was a tiny Grant pine

cut from a friend's farm.

hung with snowflake cutouts and lacy string balls

I knitted a green sweater,

sleeves twice as long as his arms.

He painted a recipe box

“Good Things You Can Fix”

December 24, 1965

Planning a time full of surprises.

driving four hours on Christmas eve.

Our gift would be an announcement,

a grandchild!

Good news faded, pain exploded,

no tree in the operating room, no joy in the telling.

December 24 1968 and 1970 and 1973...

Lights shining in the eyes of a new baby.

Is there anything more beautiful?

What better time to celebrate birth and babies?

Christmas carols make wonderful lullabies.

December 24, now.

We go to church on Christmas eve

Once it was snowing when we came back outside,

something that never happens in South Texas.

We danced in the snowflakes.

Then we came in for mulled cider and tamales.

Licking the Spoon

Licking the Spoon

Sliced red apples sweet and crisp

to dip in hot caramel

Pumpkin Bread and Gingerbread

Candy Cane Cookies, Thumbprints, red jam in the middle

Toffee with almonds spread quickly to cool

German Butter Balls rolled in powdered sugar

Peppermint Bark

Fudge cooked in an iron skillet, the old fashioned way

poured onto a buttered platter

Cranberry Crisp

Turkish Delight

Pecan pralines tasting of brown sugar

Haystacks – butterscotch and chow mein noodles!

Sweetest of all -

Licking the Spoon.



Stirring Moments

Among all the wonderful together times at Christmas, some of my most favorite are those I spend in the kitchen with my family.  In this picture, Skye was only four years old.  She just celebrated her 9th  birthday.  We enjoy cooking together.  I am happy to make cookies, candy, and a gingerbread house just like I did when her Daddy and my other sons were growing up.  I love remembering happy times past, and love even more making new memories.  This afternoon, no one is in the kitchen with me, but as I turn up Andrea Bocelli's Christmas CD, turn on the oven, and pull out the baking pans, my heart is singing.  And remembering.

                                                 

The Little Golden Book Story of Christmas With Its Own Advent Calendar

                                                The Little Golden Book Advent Calendar




One window at a time, our sons opened the view to Bethlehem,

from the Little Golden Book Story of Christmas with its own Advent calendar

I found the book on sale in Cokesbury, downtown Dallas

displayed with all the wonderful children's Christmas books.

never knowing it would become a treasured vehicle

for keeping Christmas as three boys grew strong and tall



In the beginning a story was read from the book and they took turns (reluctantly)

opening windows, naming what could then be seen

Years passed, they read their own story.

How did those little cardboard windows last?

They were not always opened slowly or gently!



First page, first image –sad swirls of darkness, clouds

As windows and story opened more -

angel, donkey, closed door, open stable,

cow, shepherds, sheep, one star

kings, camels, presents

Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus



Tiny windows in Bethlehem, opening one by one

counting down the days to Christmas.

telling hope and mystery and miracle

singing He is coming, He has come.

Story not finished but beginning! Jesus, born once more

entering our world bringing light and life.



Christmas does not come all at once.

One window at a time, we open our eyes to Bethlehem.

One step more and we are home.

Thanksgiving

I am thankful. The most important things are not things...God's great faithfulness and provision, His gifts to me of Joe, our beloved sons, and, now, their dear wives and children. My granddaughters are a joy.  It feels like an unbroken circle when I consider how my own grandmother and I enjoyed each other, picking blackberries, giving the ferns a drink with a watering can, making teacakes.

 Among my reminders of her is a yellowed sheet of tablet paper on which she wrote the following poem.  No credit is given, and although I was unaware that she liked to write, several things tend to make me think she wrote the poem herself. She was a woman of deep faith and a reader, especially of her Bible.  There is an occasional misspelled word and strike through which would be unlikely if she copied it.  The phrase "sweet simple things" is used by  Laura Ingalls Wilder, who was Grandma's contemporary.  Whether she herself authored the poem, the fact that I have it written by her sweet wrinkled hand that served and loved her family so well makes it precious to me. Where possible, I have left the spellings and irregularities.

                                          Thanksgiving, as recorded by Mary Clyde Terrell

For simple things I thank thee most of all;
Such things as daily bread and homely talks;
A small green dooryard and a popular tall,
The Joy of lending aid to one who asks;
For wholesome love of kindly common friends
Who stay my faith in all humanity;
For Home lights beconing when days work ends -
For the ones who wait to welcome me.
for simple childlike faith that yet believes -
Our God is real, and heaven waits us still
And that in spike of darkness that deceives
men still may find a Saviour if they will
The majesty of Storm clouds lighting rent;
The surging seas and star bejeweled Sky
Have always stired men's hearts to wonderment,
They stir me - yet a simple Soul am I.
And while thy wondrous works since ancient days
Thrill me profoundly Lord; my heart still sings
a song of gratitude and humble pride -
more than all else - for life's sweet Simple Things.

Content

Today is my 71st birthday.  I am content.  Just like Angel and Bella, I choose my spot in the sunlight and find peace.  My circumstances are not all that peaceful, to be sure.  We spent the morning going to medical appointments for both of us.  Joe has three doctor's appointments this week, and will very soon have another surgery, totaling 14 for both knees.  I have made to do lists for this week which will undoubtedly be unfinished by the next.  Thanksgiving is next week!  The first Sunday in Advent is 3 days later, with Christmas on the way!  And although I love all the special ways we celebrate and decorate and participate, these are busy days.  My contentment comes from choosing to be in the light of God's love and being given the peace that only comes from Him.  November 11, 2011:  a very happy birthday. 

Remembering Indonesia

I was recently asked to talk about the country of Indonesia to some groups of children at my granddaughter's school.  I guess a picture really is worth a thousand words, because it would take me more than a thousand to tell the stories behind the objects shown here.  After almost 20 years, I am surprised that the time we spent in Jakarta, Indonesia came to mind so vividly as I showed them dolls and puppets, played gamelan music, passed around rupiah, shared photos and books and spread out batik.  To finish, we shared a snack of pisang, nanas, and krupuk (bananas, pineapple, and shrimp crackers).  Since we had family birthdays to celebrate the next weekend, our youngest son, Ben, grilled sate and and made nasi goreng for us to eat while we watched old videos of Jakarta and Bali.  It was a time long ago and far away, but we remember.

Angel

Maddie wanted to be an angel for Halloween.  I don't know what she wore to trick or treat.  But when she was here last weekend, she put on an angel robe I wore when I was her age, some feather wings from the dressup box, and of course, a halo!  Here, she makes heavenly music!

Apron Strings

As I browse catalogs from my favorite kitchen stores (Sur le Tables and Williams Sonoma) I am noticing the appearance of items that would make my mother proud.  Aprons!  Ruffled, pocketed, colorful aprons .  Some have bibs and tie at the top as well as the waist.  Some are cute little hostess aprons like the one above.  These are way different from the chef style aprons that never went completely away, especially for barbecueing.  In fact, they are replicas of the vintage aprons collected by some which were always worn by women in the kitchen in generations before mine.  I have aprons that were sewn by and worn by my mother and grandmother.  Both women would be shocked at buying one, particularly at the prices at which they are advertised.  After all, they made theirs out of leftover fabric from other sewing. 

I like looking at all those pretty aprons.  But I don't want one of them.  I am happy to pull on the soft bits of history on the hook in my pantry.   I am after all, tied to my mother's apron strings.

                                                  

Well Dressed Gardeners

The cousins stayed still only long enough for last week's post photos, then they were off to continue helping me get the garden in shape.  Here, they are planting flowering kale and cabbage.  Everytime I water the plants, I close my eyes and thank God for my granddaughters.  I love gardening, and they do too.

Hats

It wasn't Easter, but the little girls paraded in new hats last week.  The pictures make me happy.  I hope they work that way for you!

Jordann's saucy cloche had us humming Charleston.

Skye's crocheted beret suited her smile.

                                                             And Maddie charmed us all with her jaunty plaid cap.


                                                                                                            

Cousin Tea Party

Instead of two for tea, there were three this weekend as Maddie, Skye, and Jordann asked to have a tea party.  No pretend tea this time.  We took down the tea pot, heated the electric kettle, and brewed afternoon tea.  What fun the cousins had together.  I love the sights and sounds of little girls! 

It's Good to Be Back

We broke alot of records recently in Texas. June, July, August and right into September found us with the most days without rain, the most days of temperatures over 100, the most damaging wildfires, the highest water and electricity bills, and the least happy roses, among other plants and grasses. In an effort to be a better steward of the water we are blessed with, I started saving water that I had used to wash vegetables and collected the bits of leftover water from drinking and cooking to take out to the plants. I even took the iced tea pitcher out to water the ferns with leftover tea, something I remember my grandmother doing.

 Cooler mornings and more reasonable, if still hot days in the past week are bringing some old friends fresh growth and a few tentative blooms.  Our pink  Peggy Martin, the antique rose with the reputation of being a survivor of Katrina has a few small clusters of buds.  This less hardy climbing rose is named Crepescule, an old French old rose.  Its name is not so pretty, but the blooms that are beginning are lovely and fragrant, reminding me once more why all the work and watering is worth it, and that we all need a little more nurturing in drought, whether it is of the weather or the heart.

Headed for Fall, Remembering Summer

At the beginning of the summer, when the herb and vegetable garden was producing plenty to pick every day, Maddie and Skye loved helping with the harvest.  One day they asked if they could have a farm stand in the front yard.  They had the sign all ready to go:  Tomatoes were 50 cents each, bunches of Basil were advertised at 10 cents, and mint for 2 cents per handful.  Peppers were 30 cents, and underneath the large "OPEN and SALE!"   lettering was the enticing "1 Free Water with each purchase!"

A couple of neighbors helpfully shopped from their market, and they happily counted their proceeds as they chattered about how much more fun that was than a lemonade stand.

Now, at summer's end, I think about our long hot Texas summer with record breaking drought and am thankful we had those weeks of bounty before the garden said "no more."  I pick up the sun hats they wore that afternoon, and move the little round table to a spot until they are ready to use it for another project.  And as grandmothers do, I carefully put the sign in a good place for keeping. 

Rescued

In 1982, our family lived for a time in a three story Victorian house with halls and nooks and crannies as well as rooms that swallowed the furniture we brought with us when we moved from a suburban home back to the small town where both Joe and I grew up.  Living there and working on the home's restoration was both fascinating and flabbergasting.  Part of the hard work and happy times we had there was giving myself an occasional afternoon for prowling in second hand and junk shops for pieces to restore and use in the house.  One day I found this rocker stuck in the middle of a pile of discarded tables and chairs.  The fanciful curlicues and swirls drew me to look closer at the wicker weaving on the back of the chair but when I looked down I saw straight through.  There was no seat, only some tattered strips of rotting burlap hanging to the frame by the tenacity of dozens of tiny rusted nails.  A few pieces of trim curls were missing, the color was best described as dirty, and mud dauber nests clung to the underside of the arms. I believe the shop owner laughed as he watched me load the chair into my truck as he stuffed the $20 bill he had required as payment into his pocket!

My youngest son, Ben, was game to help me pry out over 200 nails from the seat of the chair and scrub it down to get rid of the insect homes and cobwebs. I had never done caning, but   I ordered a piece of cane webbing, spline, chisels and glue which cost more than the chair had.  We soaked the webbing,  pounded the spline into the groove of the shaped seat and watched in amazement as it all dried and began to tighten to make a new seat.  We got more white paint on us than on the chair, but began to feel a sense of pride as this beautiful Victorian rocker emerged to take its place in our new old home.  When I rock a grandchild in it or tuck a pillow in its seat, I still have a sense of all the stories it could tell me.  One story would be that of a rescue.

                                                        

Squash Baby

Sometimes a vegetable hides under its foliage until it is beyond edible.  Jordann found this yellow squash  and obviously loves it, warts and all!  Seeing her cradle it reminds me of a zucchini I displayed in the same fashion a few years ago.  I come from a long line of farmers. When I was Jordann's age, we often used surplus cucumbers and squash from the garden to make a menagerie of animals with toothpick legs and button eyes.  I still create with these fresh treats, but now it is in the kitchen. Today's produce prices at the supermarket are making me expand my list of vegetables to grow in the coming season.  Tomatoes are in and finally beginning to grow as temperatures come down from triple digits.  Soon we will plant collards, swiss chard, and bok choy which winter well here. When possible I find heirloom seeds and plants to use.  I am thankful for my garden, and I delight in seeing my children and grandchildren becoming gardeners, too.

Feeling Real

Summer 2011 may be the time I remember as the hottest and driest on record in South Texas, but it will also be one more time in my life when I am reminded that I am real. Joe has had his 12th knee surgery . It is hard to see him in so much pain and for so long. Two hospitalizations, surgery, medical appointments and all the in betweens has been exhausting for him, and challenging as I care for him. His faith and courage and spirit persist and inspire me, but I know he is worn out. Today, Skye has been here with her quick smile, tight hugs and good company. She was looking at a picture of herself that is on my kitchen desk that shows her at three, thanking God for her bowl of chicken soup. As we talked, I thought to myself that of all the things I enjoy doing and being with her, one of the best is conversation. Listening to each other. She helps me know I am real. She helps Joe remember that he is, too.

“Real isn't how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real. It doesn't happen all at once...it takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily or have sharp edges or have to be carefully kept. Generally by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to the people who don't understand.”

~ from The Velveteen Rabbit, by Marjorie Williams (one of our all time favorite children's books)

For Love of a Sunday

The Terrell home place rested at the top of a hill, accessible only by forked red dirt roads lined with wild blackberries and purple phlox. On Sunday afternoons after church we took a ride out to the country to visit. On the way, we watched for flashes of color in the woods, and sang “Red Bird, Red Bird, in my sight! Hope we get to Grandma's before it gets night!”



As we drove up one side of the entrance to where the iron rich clay ended in sand under an ancient oak tree, I felt I could not get there fast enough, loving the first sight of the white house with its sagging swing on the front porch and sprawling, fragrant yellow rose at the front window. But we always went on to the back, leaving the car to walk past the well and beds of Old Maids and Marigolds. I adored my Grandma's bosomy, talcum-scented embrace and Papa's toothless laugh. As he threw open the screen door, we went straight to the kitchen, sniffing baking cookies. These were pillowy tea cakes, redolent of vanilla and cinnamon. We ate them warm, often with a red watermelon, cut in half so we could dig with our spoons for bites, never minding the juice running down our chins.



In the wide front hall, my sister and I sat cross-legged to play jacks on blue linoleum with white stars. Sometimes, we were allowed to go into musty darkened rooms where my great grandmother had lived before she died. This area held shelves with jars of fruit and vegetables my grandmother put up, a trunk full of quilts, stacks of books, a tiny wicker rocking chair, an oval frame holding a portrait of an uncle who died when he was 13, a spinning wheel. Treasures.



I wanted to keep it all.



But Sunday afternoons changed.



I left for school, then marriage. Papa died. Grandma broke up house and moved to a tiny apartment in town. The house burned to the ground. I found a melted door knob to save.



The only smell was smoke.