SOMEONE SO VERY SPECIAL....

..was born on this day. What a blessing for us all!

HE DID IT!

God did it, but the experiment is a success. For long years DH has been interested in grafting...and this spring he finally tried his hand at it. It was funny watching him, knife or pruners in one hand and the Stark how-to booklet in the other. I think he was a bit surprised to see one graft bloom (a golden delicious grafted on to a red delicious) and now hold five apples.

Almost as surprised as I was to find I could use the photo site to put the picture on here. Thanks for the hint, sis.

Several other grafts look quite healthy and may have fruit next season. Next month he'll try doing some bud grafts. One thing I love about DH - he's always interested in learning new things!

MIXED GREENS

Mom used to pick mixed greens in the spring. It was our 'spring tonic.' She knew plantain, cress, dandylion, poke and a host of other edibles. As with a lot of things, I wish I could remember; or had paid closer attention. Of the lot we now know, we prefer poke greens best when it can be found. Never understood why some folks call that 'poke salad' - when we parboil the poke sprouts thrice before serving them hot with a touch of vinegar. Maybe it's the vinegar. Whatever you call it, it's very tasty! Of course poke must be picked early, just the first tender sprigs...later and larger is poisonous.

DS sent DH 24 asparagus plants a few years back and that lovely crop along with wilted fresh garden lettuce and green onions have constituted our tonic this spring. Yum! Yum! DH opined at noon that we need to eat more lettuce, to which I replied, "Well, do you want it for breakfast...we're already serving it for lunch and supper?" He just smiled his twinkley-eye smile and kept munching like a little rabbit.

When the weeds all grow together, I know it's getting on to summer. Any mixed greens are a sight for the eye. Ivy and periwinkle co-exist on the other side of the stairs. The snow on the mountain does better here than some places as it is protected from direct sun. I may as well like it, because once established it isn't going anywhere. I don't even mind that sprig of poison ivy...since it's out of reach. This photo was taken a few weeks back and now the hosta hoop around a near dogwood tree is completing the green theme. The beautiful blooms of spring are about gone; but summer in restive shades of green is still a fine thing to behold.

Shhh!!...don't tell ...

Every quilt has a story….

This one began with a swatch of fabric pilfered (with generous permission) from twin Patsy’s quilt stash. I was quite taken with the maple leaf design and the blue shades with metallic gold outline. The blues (not as green as the look in the closeup) became the focal point for grandson Jon’s graduation quilt. Almost made a career out of this quilt! Began my search for blending fabrics two years ago; and Nina, with her good eye for color, was great help finding pieces here and there. When Nina found the dragonfly print it was a sealed deal and with graduation in sight, I finally buckled down to the job. Nina also supplied the pattern [“Magic” Itza Lulu Designs] I’m happy with the outcome, though I don’t see myself repeating this pattern. Maybe it was my mood, but it seemed almost more challenge than fun…though clearly it would be tempting to try it with more contrast in the colors.

Back to the quilt…Jon is fond of dark blue shades and mentioned once that he liked dragonflies. The ‘flies keep the quilt from being too somber, maybe. Besides, even a very serious young man needs a little whimsy in his life. Nina did her usual fine job of quilting – I love the way her freehand designs pick up the motion of the quilt and fabrics. She even quilted a big dragonfly in the upper corner…I predict it will take Jonathan about 5 seconds to spot that. There are two leftover squares and some binding with which to make a couple of potholders...Jon is a first-class oatmeal cookie baker, you see.

The quilt is titled “Woodlands Moonlight” – most of the fabrics feature leaves or branches in midnight shades. Jonathan loves rambling the woods. When he visits here he’ll tie his boots and head for the hills for a spell every day. I’m reminded of Lew Wetzel (sans vengeance) black hair, long strides off to explore the woods. Jon would scarcely credit my saying so, but he really strikes a romantic picture!

All grandchildren are special. I admire Jonathan most for being a devout Christian, a very hard worker and a deep thinker, serious student. I also enjoy tremendously his ready humor.

That is the beginning of this quilt’s story. The best of the story, as we all know, is in the use of the quilt when it is completed and how those loving stitches bind us together. I have on my dresser a heart shaped piece of one of Mom’s quilts surround by this quote:

Families are like quilts
Lives pieced together
Stitched with smiles and tears
Colored with memories
And bound with love

REMEMBERING MAY

IN FORMER DAYS....

...when Memorial Day was ON Memorial Day;
...when iris, daisies and peonies were cut, put in cans or jars to take to gravesides - on Memorial Day;
...when most family members spent their entire lives in one community and were there nearby in the family cemetery when time came for honoring their memory;
...when a trip to the cemetery usually meant hiking a hill, walking up a sweat and fighting off a few insects;
...when picnics were eaten on the ground; and old quilts kept the ants at bay;
...when most everyone fixed fried chicken, potato salad and green or baked beans for the picnic menu;
...when being out of school meant a prospect of hazy summer days - swinging and singing under the oak;
...when, the first week out of school, you slathered Crisco on your arms for lotion in hopes that the freckles would run together and make a tan;
...when ice frozen in Campbells soup cans (with a spoon for a licking stick) waited in the frosty freezer for a quick cool down;
...when June was in the wings with full promise of trailing pink roses, morning glories, blackberry vines, and strawberries.

GOOD-BYE MAY....and may JUNE BLOOM beautifully!

WHO COULD RESIST?

Yes, I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for twins.

When I first saw pictures of these twins (who are new to a cousin's daughter's family), I thought ... what else ..."those two little cherubs need play aprons!" Then this photo showed up on a family website showing the twins on the kitchen counter licking beaters with dish towel drapes and of course, as Nines would say, "It was a SIGN."

I do not know the status/details of their adoption into a sweet family, but I do know the twins appear to be having a fine time of it in their new home! I will mail the aprons off tomorrow with hopes that they'll have many joyous beater licking experiences.

DH's garden looks good, but is sighing for moisture - more than his 5-gallon buckets can deliver from the creek. We're hearing thunder all around...but seeing no rain. Maybe someday...the Lord knows how to send the early and latter rain; and I guess He ought to get to set the rain clock, since He made it.

RAG BAG MANAGERIE

When Grandma Oe had a rag bag it contained just that – clothing worn to rags. The most threadbare parts became cleaning rags and the more serviceable parts were used for piecing quilts. By true rag bag standards, my most recent acquisition might be considered up-scale. It was given to me by DH’s Aunt and contained all unused pieces of fabric.

But some things can almost wear out with time, you know? I haven’t a notion how long these pieces were hoarded and I’m afraid to ask. What to do? Too old and sheer for piecing! I’m trying to be older and wiser – at least more discerning about the quality that goes into a quilt.

SO…APRONS! Half a dozen big and little.

Most of the pieces survived laundering, but still smell a tiny bit musty to me. More fabric softener next time. The plum is so sheer it may not wear ‘til the first batch of bread gets hot; I couldn’t resist putting heart-shaped pockets on the valentine print; and at least the 30’s quilt-plate print has a nice feel to it. As for the pink nightgowns, they are from my own left-over waffle knit. Their first line summer dresses are cut out ready to sew/serge up next week. (So Nines’ girls can wear pink night and day!:) That serger surely makes quick work of things.

The shiny 70's double-knit from Aunt M's bag are cut for play pants. Seems slick knit is back in style. Or maybe the swings will close their eyes. More importantly, it will do Aunt M's heart more good than I can imagine to know her rag bag didn't go straight to the garbage bag.

And yes, like Grandma Oe, rag bag quilts are still my favorite…must be those utilitarian Brady/Miller/Minney genes.

NO HANGOVERS

My last few weeks have been spent in the throws of a little computer job – revising nutrition charts for a former WVDE boss. There were some 160 documents – a few with only one page, a few with 10-15 pages, but most between 3-5 pages that needed format revisions. You do the math. I logged in 58 hours before the job was done; but that just means I’m old and rusty – not that the job was difficult enough to hang over my head. I rather enjoyed it for the most part. Now it’s saved off my computer for later delivery and I can move along to other things.

This morning it was rather exciting to drag out my sewing machine for a change. I sewed the binding (first round) on a quilt. Nines did a super job quilting it and the way she trims the edges when she is through makes binding a breeze. The hand work can wait for break times.

Other lovely things that are waiting in the wings, but not hanging over my head came from Nines as a mother’s day remembrance. Every day is mother’s day for me! Gotta love her boxes, though! I should have included the journal that came in her last box, but forgot. Anyway, aren’t those flannels just luscious? And I love the circle quilt pieces. I’ve been fascinated with that concept for a while, but afraid to try it. The kit titled "Wheel of Mystery Quilt" should keep it from being a permanent mystery. (And that bamboo stiletto came just in time, Isobel :) The candle smells like a high Arizona meadow – clean juniper spice…mmmmmm!

The white toweling is remnants of Nines’ turbie towel making. Guess she made 8, for there are 8 each dish cloths and towels for serging - all nicely squared. When I was a girl we called dish cloths “dish rags” and tea towels “dish cloths” – we were perhaps too hillbilly or not southern enough for dish cloths and tea towels. These may return to IN when edged.

Pinto beans are soaking – to go with cornbread and green onions from the garden. Nothin’ wrong with hillbilly roots, you know. The lettuce will be ready to thin out and use this week, too. That means wilted lettuce! We’ve been eating fresh asparagus about every other day, too. Before we know it will be goods things from the garden of the jolly green gardener; no meat required.

Since the machine is up, I can finish off a postcard or two. Or maybe I’ll get out the serger and edge those rags.

PORCHSIDE

[About the snapshot: Taken in the early 50's, that's DS Karen in front of Grandpa Miller's front porch. Part of me waits at the top of the stairs.]

Distant visions of front porches are among my fondest childhood memories. Remember those swings? I talked an arm and a leg off Cousin Vance and Uncle Gale while enjoying their swings. Both men were pleasant company and if you timed it just right you could even grab a juicy grape from the vines at the back of Uncle Gale’s swing..

Grandpa Grover’s front porch was symbolic of everything I loved about Shock, WV. My eyes still see it. Just down the road is the church building and I watch as Grandma and Grandpa walk down the dirt road on their way to meeting. On around that bend is Uncle Ben’s. Sweeping back there’s the little house where two Aunt Bonnie's and Aunt Carrie live (in turn), the Uncle Sam mailbox, a perennial mud puddle somewhere by the road, the Puddle Jumper parked by the woodshop and then around the next bend on to Aunt Ruth’s and Uncle Gale’s, the store, the Tanner schoolhouse and Aunt Meda’s. This porch is my hub of all grandchild memory.

A place of rest, relaxation and congeniality - what’s not to like about a front porch? Grandpa Grover’s front porch may have had a swing at some time, but not that I can recall. I see rocking chairs and benches on either side of the door – all built by Grandpa Grover (or his sons?). I see Uncle Corley walking up the path to the porch for a weekend afternoon visit with his folks. I hear Grandpa singing hymns with sons and grandsons. Was that not where Gene taught us “How Great Thou Art”? I see and hear Grandpa lifting his hand with a hearty “Har-ree!” for everyone who traveled by. (“Har-ree”…is that a contraction for ‘how are ye’? Always wondered about that phrase and never heard it anywhere but Shock.) I see Grandma Oe rocking, apron still pinned on; and hear her laughter.

Times can be hard but that front porch was a special place in time. A place where there was always time enough for smiles and hugs, songs and laughter, dear family and neighbors.

And is that wisteria growing up the post and over the roof? Perhaps we all could use a little more front porch time and philosophy in our lives.

TWO STEPS FORWARD...ONE STEP BACK

Spring keeps springing backwards. Couldn't resist lifting this photo from DB's email note of yesterday. Up state NY hasn't seen much spring yet! DSis noted similarities between this and my own backyard. When I visited there last fall, I was impressed with DB's back woods - so like his native WV hills. The front yard view was far more open and expansive however.

We've been on the road. Caught a little snow and cool air in NC, but had a nice week with DH's brothers. I pretty much had a week of doodling. Puzzles (now hooked on Kakuro, sigh) and reading and being almost unbearingly lazy. Really like those western NC mountains, too - looking out over those porches is like being on a mountain retreat.

Good news from the cardiologist when we returned! DH's heart function has increased 15-20% since installing those five stents. We'll take that and Praise God for it! DH says he can feel those little buggers in his chest, but that should subside in another month or so.

The creeks around here usually flood once or twice in the spring. Sunday was our day for that after a full night of rain. No harm done, not even the usual debris, as it came up rather slowly, but we were hemmed in for a few hours. Couldn't get out to 'meeting' (as Grandma Oe called church services) - that left the whole Son-day off balance. So I just loafed. Yesterday was 'shut-in' day; the laundry's caught up and with a few housekeeping chores done today, I'll call it settled back in. I learned long ago CAUGHT UP is a fantasy.

SPRING'S FANCY

Seems that everyone, everything
Is leaning into the rush of Spring…

A series of thunderstorms swept through Teelside last night. We watched the lightening display from the balcony until the rain drove us in. Water was still rushing down the creeks this morning, but the banks held in the one and one-half inches of rainfall, perhaps because it came in waves.

The rainbow preceded the storms not long before dark. I get as excited about a seeing rainbow as hearing a whip-poor-will call. Nor can I turn away from the wonder until the last glimmer of color melts into the clouds.

I was thinking yesterday about a less colorful, but sure sign of spring. Have you noticed the birch trees among the bare winter trunks along wooded highways? By this time of year their leaves are papery wisps in the wind – forerunners of the dogwood that will soon hang suspended in the breeze. The birch leaves are a nearly colorless beige but beautifully fragile parchment - just rustling in place, waiting for the new rush of Spring.

A LITTLE COLOR IN MY LIFE...

DH thought I needed some brighter shades for my postcard habit. Nines to the rescue with rainbow hues. (If you're peeking over my shoulder, DSIL, the top two (bottom photo) are slated for Angie's angels.)

It's that kind of day...warm like summer; a lazy Monday. Breakfast was cheerios, lunch was PBJ with a glass of milk. DH is off doing charity work. The windows and doors are wide open, the CD player played full blast (over the sewing machine) for a couple hours, but now I'm letting the windchimes and birds entertain me while playing with postcards. The birds sing louder after you've given them a dose of Sarah Brightman or Beethoven Sonatas. I'm sure of it!

A LITTLE SPRING DITTY

It’s beginning to look a lot like Spring Time
Everywhere you go
The bright yellow daffodils
Are dancing upon the hill
And Carolina wrens sing all aglow

It’s beginning to sound a lot like Spring Time
Winds are playing chimes
The willows are wriggling toes
The tulips poke out their nose
And roses stretch before their summer climb

We’re beginning to find the joy of Spring Time
Everywhere we look
The maples are sprouting red
The bunnies will soon be wed
And rippling waters sparkle down the brook

It’s beginning to look a lot like Spring Time
Let those showers pour
For the loveliest gems are found
In the treasures that abound
Near our own front door

[Writing a ditty is fairly simple when the melody/meter of a familiar tune gets stuck in your head:)]

THE NAME GAME

Names are interesting – we labor intensely to choose just the right one for our children, and sometimes wonder 'why didn't we choose?' when they're grown. Nines, for example should have been Nina Marie.

My FIL wanted to name DH "Claude Arthur" so his initials would be CAT. MIL didn't agree, and I'm glad. Wayne David is much better! Of course we did turn around and name our youngest Craig Alan, so it was CAT after all.

I should have been Penelope. I could have been Allison. I ended up Pamela Joan. It all started when mom and Dad decided to call the Brady Twins Penny and Patsy (after discounting Allison and Avanell). Patricia Anne was fine for Patsy; Dad vetoed Penelope. So Pamela it was. Lots of folks don’t know that’s my “real” name; and many who do ask, “Where did Penny come from?” It’s this long story.

So my nickname doesn’t match my real name and most likely leads to an even larger array of nicknames. And I didn’t help matters any when, at about age 13 while confined to bed and looking for new entertainment, I decided [in typical 13-year-old fashion] to change the way I spelled Penny – after all it was a nickname, so what would it matter, right? Peni. It looked so cute when I was 13.

A rose by any other name ... after that this name thing was a widely rambling rose – Pamela on documents, Penny for immediate family, Pam at school, Pammy at piano lessons, Peni among teen-age friends. Add to that P.J. (by preacher P. J. C. for obvious reasons) and Momaly, Mom, Mama and Momma (the kids each have their own name for me, it seems.) One of my bosses solved her dilemma by calling me Peni-Pam. Is this not broad grounds for a first class identity crisis – or even multiple personalities?

Life gets complicated and names are confusing, but you can’t go back to simplify it when you have two precious namesakes - Penijean and Pamela (Pami) - either. Guess I’ll just keep answering to about anything. So call me Peni, call me Pam; spell it anyway you can…Just let me keep clinging to the Brady and Miller family trees.

Thank You, LORD

Just a short note for now about DH's big day in the cath lab.

It was a long procedure, but all went well. One of the new grafts was 99% blocked; and another crucial area was 87% blocked (in several directrions). The first was pretty straightforward, the latter more risky than usual; but Dr. S felt more by-pass urgery was not an option and medicinal therapy would be of little help. So, DH agreed to trying the stents.

DH and Dr. S and THE LORD did quite well. DH's heart now sports five new drug-coated stents and the good doctor predicts he will feel a "considerable difference." And DH may be discharged late today...or tomorrow.

To God be the glory!

IT FLOATS

Some of us remember the time when that was a prized slogan for Ivory soap. DH remembers from his boyhood that the coal miners in his community always took a bar of Ivory soap to the river – it wouldn’t sink to the bottom as they cleaned off their coal masks and gloves before going home after work. I recall Ivory from my childhood too and have to buy a bar just every so often for the comforting scent of it. (It also works well for cleaning out acrylic paint brushes as DS Isobel taught me.)

A couple of weeks ago we had overnight rain that brought the creeks over their banks. When we awoke the next morning, the ice on the creek had shifted. So, it floats. Ice, that is. Some of these slabs were 8-10 inches thick, which made DH feel not quite so reckless about walking across the creek when it was frozen. Dealing with the flotsam was no problem. It took way over a week, but once a warm day or two marched by, it melted.

My February sewing kinda waned (read Wayned) to the extent of a few postcards and one quilt top. The blocks are all together and the borders are cut for the quilt, so that’s a one-day finishing project. Having restocked a few postcard supplies, I managed to finish the stitching on a dozen yesterday…something of a record, as five a day was my max before. I’m still not totally satisfied with the quality of my postcards, but most are nice enough to mail and the more I mail, the more practice I get.

The heart patient is out with his chain saw. He’s scheduled for another heart cath next week, and this time the doctor did not include the instruction, “Take it easy until we get this done.” That instruction has always been part and parcel of pre-cath agenda, so I’m thinking it was an oversight. DH won’t buy that! Actually DH says running the chain saw isn’t all that strenuous…I’m thinking it’s denial or his way of working off anxiety. Maybe both. At least this week it has been the small chainsaw on nuisance saplings and such – much smaller than the 100+-year old white oak. I helped him a little yesterday afternoon and I’m buying “not strenuous” for about the same price he’s buying “take it easy.”

DRAW FROM THE SPRINGS...

...of salvation, give thanks to His high and holy Name...

Sometimes I think it is the simple things of earth that best remind us of heavenly majesty. The sound of rippling water, wind in the trees and bird songs; the spicy smell of moss on the rocks and the fresh scent of the woods after rain; watching the sun and moon rise and set.

Perhaps these are the pleasures I knew first, here in the WV hills. They are certainly among my dearest treasures in life as I know it at Teelside.

Look for the Lord...He is where you are today.

A LITTLE BIRDIE TOLD ME....

...my big sis loves me A LOT.

This cheery little chickadee came in my Christmas box. Can you imagine turning a piece of wood into this? Wow! DS Isobel has a way with wood and paintbrushes, does she not? And she is unfailingly generous, bless her.

There lives in her studio a fellow chickadee with pink blossoms which I understood was slated to live with me…I may plea for a trade when that one is complete. Not that I am unhappy with this little darling, not at all!!! But the sentimental side of me (about 98% at last accounting) likes the idea of DS thinking of me as she carved it. Of course, there’s always the possibility that other little chickadee has flown elsewhere with good reason and if so, my sentiment blushingly acquiesces.

We’re still cold in WV. Not inside – the oak burns nicely, almost too warmly for aerobics, but the extra “glow” is healthy. Outdoor snow is not deep, but with single digits, it will disappear only by evaporation.

It’s about time for me to start some bread and then try to evaporate an ounce or so of weight with some video exercise.

IN THE GAME...

As game players go, I usual lag behind the whole line. But I can still jump in with both feet. This is my “patchwork” series of postcards. Not as creative as others I’ve seen around here, but kinda homey in a way, don’t you think? I'm still honing my techniques, but there's a glimmer of hope now.

I’d been having a lot of trouble with my sewing machine. Enter MY HERO, dh. He worked on it a couple of hours and now it sews like a top. This morning he even adjusted the bobbin winder so that it will wind a full bobbin, not a 2/3 full one. You can imagine what a time and aggravation savings that will be! Bless him. [The single is dh's pick of my litter; he was quite taken with the vivid fabric :)]

So, now I’m on a roll. You know you’re addicted when you cast covetous eyes toward the ‘egg money’ fabric box (Nine's special vintage reproductions gift)…but so far I have only snitched a bit of the muslin. So far, so good…

NOSTALGIA

I cannot decide if NOSTALGIA is a blessing or bane of age. Most likely, it is a blessing for those of us who revel in it and a bane to those of you who have to listen to it…over and over again.

Monday, February 5, was my father’s birthday. Neither of my parents saw “old age” – Daddy died at age 57, Mom at age 61. They’ve been gone over 30 years, but I’m still very much attached to their birthdays. Nostalgic memories must needs have links, I am sure.

One of my favorite links is this old photo. No doubt it is favored because I am smiling in my Daddy’s arms! We were visiting up Tanner Creek, in Shock, West Virginia. I can’t guess the year – circa 1950, maybe? - it's almost as far back as my memory will take me. (The photo was taken in Grandpa Grover and Grandma Oe’s front yard; two siblings are missing, possibly off to Uncle Gale’s.)

I always think of dad as the quintessential West Virginia man of his era. He had an eighth grade education, was friendly, generous, very hard working and had a ready humor. Though not given to many words, there was a lot going on in his head! He worked as a welder. One of my childhood joys was watching him ply his trade off-hours in our driveway. I’d sit on the concrete steps and watch the sparks fly – to a kid it was fireworks. Though cautioned not to watch the flame, my eyes were ever drawn to the surface of his work, where Daddy made perfect concentric circles with the rod that melted into a smoothly flowing metal bond. He was an artist! Nor did he ever lack for artistic supplies, because he could never pass up salvaged metal from the plant.

Once in my life, I remember my father spanking me – I was playing on the outside steps and fell in to dirt – after I was dressed for Sunday meeting and clearly told to stay on the porch. Once in my life, I remember hearing him say, “I love you, too.” I treasure both memories.

And Melville Brooks Brady was also a quintessential proud grandpa. He once told his sister, “Peni wouldn’t care if the world turned upside-down as long as she and her kids landed on top.” In another instance, he took those kids’ photos from his billfold, spread them out on the coffee table and announced to company, “This is part of what I’ve accomplished.” I wish DS Craig could remember how much fun Grandpa Brady had with him. Craig was just a baby and would mimic every expression and sound his grandpa made. Dad laughed and laughed at their "monkey shines.”

And nostalgia almost always winds around to one of the sweetest glimpses of my folks together which came in later years. They were seated on the worn couch, holding hands, watching television – Tennessee Ernie Ford, singing, “How Great Thou Art.”

My mother’s birthday was February 18 – so I get a double blessing of nostalgic reminiscence this month.