ONE MORE SKIRT...

...there is always room for one more skirt. I'm on my way out with spring sewing - you believe that, you'll believe about anything - truly I am. All of this season's odds and ends were left-over notions.

The last one (larger pc) used some of the last quilt remnant from batiks and that scrap happy border. I was thinking dgd Hannah might like her own version of a pieced skirt. Problem is, unlike the smaller pieced varieties that were serged together, this was made of presewn strips. That meant lining it all with a nice tea dyed muslin. I'm not certain dgd will have the strenghth to hold up the weight of it.

We're getting ready for some spring company; so that means the sewing stuff must get out of the way for meals on the table. But the serger for soup ladle will only be a break ... hard to tell what I'll conjure up while I'm stirring that soup.

April Showers

What could be more fun than napping through an afternoon of April showers? Maybe seeing the apple blossoms that pop out after a good rain. Gets greener every day around here. DH is out mowing a bit...his plan is to let the meadow grow and let a neighbor cut it for hay. Maybe he's "trimming." (And he gets the credit for today's photos).

Soon it will be too warm and sunny to stay indoors, so I'm trying to do up a bit of sewing. Just fun stuff. Who am I kidding...any sewing is fun stuff for me. And the more I sew, the more ideas I get for the next project. And surely there will be room for one more quilt top before the machine retires for the summer.

The lettuce is growing and a few things planted in the garden - garlic is up, onions set out and potatoes underground. DH does all the planting, I try to help a bit with weeding and harvesting. But mostly, my gardening season involves canning. DD Nines thinks it's time to give that up. Perhaps if DH has to do all the lifting this year he'll see the prospect of cutting back some. :) But he's not to blame...it's what we've always known, and hard to give up entirely. Before we know it the asparagus will be sprouting...so far we eat that as fast as it pops out of the ground.

DH took me on a bird nest tour earlier today. We saw four of the sweetest little chickadee eggs way down in the hole of a fence post - they look like little jelly-bellies; and six aqua bluebird eggs in a house. DH always knocks and calls, "anybody home" before he opens the front of the birdhouse to count eggs, and apologizes sweetly to the guarding papa on the walnut branch nearby. He has very good fowl manners, you see.

And it's warm enough now to open the rafter windows - the birds like Beethoven and I like birdsong, so we work it out to take turns entertaining.

A-a-a-ah, April. . . and it's almost over.

SPRING IN WV

I know, I know...I'm late, I'm late.

It's been a very busy beginning of spring around Teelside. Besides, it never seems like spring to me - daffodils and forsythia notwithstanding - until the redbud is out. And the redbud is just this week coming out in full. DH says they should be called purplebud...he has a point.

But it must be spring. We've had molly moochers this week (morel mushrooms); a neighbor with a tractor that works is coming to plow the garden tomorrow; DH has set out 18 new apple trees, some of the meadow has become an orchard and the daffodils are on their way out.

On the other hand, there's fire in the wood stove tonight and it feels mighty good.

Do certain seasons remind you of certain people? DH's favorite season is autumn. Spring belongs to loved ones that were April born, summer is for heat lovers, winter for snow lovers. Me, I like them all -still at my stage of life, I do suppose I'd best be getting fonder of fall and winter.

Seasons so well represent security, knowing the Creator is yet in control. The earth's changes speak to His power and reflect His glory. God Almighty is brought near in the dogwood blossom, the smell of freshly turned soil, the ripple of the stream and warmth of spring sun rays after an April shower. Such great promise in the tiny senses of spring. Sometimes by looking down (and around) we are lifted up.

Mat 5:3 Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

SCRAP HAPPY

THERE'S SOMEHTING ABOUT AN OLD-FASHIONED SCRAPPY QUILT. Maybe it's a reflection of what I knew first. Maybe it's the fun of NOT knowing exactly what it's going to look like until it is all done. I worked on this one, just a little at a time and it was a happy little adventure. Not so large. No stress. Just fun. Well except for one part, maybe.....



FOUNDATION PIECING...
Every time I see that topic, I think 'making underthings out of scraps.' Go ahead and chuckle. I know it really tells my age, too.

So, did Grandma Oe sew her strings on paper before she cut them into stars? I'm working on a sort of string pattern. I say 'sorta' because my strips are close to 2-inches, not down to 1/4-inch scraps like Grandma was paitient enough to save/use. Anyway, the internet instructions said to keep the pieces flat they could be sewn onto paper, i.e., telephone book pages cut to size. True, they came out very flat. But it took all day to get the paper off the back of those squares. (I needed my cheerful grandson John and his sisters for the task...they'd have loved it.). Now I can see paper piecing a wall hanging or even a square or two at a time. But shredding paper from 48 squares took some patience I must have been short on yesterday. The next time, I'm going to take the alternative route and use an old sheet that can just live there.

I did figure out what makes scrap piecing so addictive. You can't really tell what it's going to look like until it is all assembled ...and you can't quit working on it until you see what it's going to look like.
I don't think Grandma Oe had this problem. She was far more patient and sane than I am. Even so, we've had more snow -- perfect piecing weather, so I was making pieces while the snow flew. Well it's raining now and the sewing machine is put away.

If you want particulars on this piecing process go to: http://www.quiltville.com/stringx.shtml In the final stages, mine went together very smoothly....so maybe foundations make a difference. Which, of course, reminds me of one Grandpa Grover's favorite hymns...


How firm a foundation ye saints of the Lord
Is laid for your faith in His excellent word...


Nice reminder.

GRADUATION DAY

The dastardly deed is done...one hideous, hopeless, polyester double-knit quilt top out of the hopper. Shew!!

Now on to greener pastures. Case in point - blissfully beautiful batiks. Sigh. What a joy. Thank you Nines for sharing your remnants.

Those 'remnants' made a queensize top with plenty to spare. Sewing with batiks is enough to make you solemnly promise you will NEVER use cheap fabrics again. They cut smooth and stay in place, gliding under the pressor foot almost effortlessly. Nothing fancy. Just a simple nine-patch, cut and turned to make shadow boxes.I've titled the piece "Shades of Perfection" - I love the watery colors so! No, it's not perfect - it's still an improvised top. But I'm thinking it's about perfect enough for one of my angels. [And, I do like Nines' little framing trick, too.]

Also pictured is my last batch of postcards. Not nearly as ornate as my teacher's, but usable and fun. Several feature some fabrics painted with oil sticks; a process I did enjoy. Now I get to make application of all those luscious slips of batik colors. I've got the groundhog's shadow to back me up while I hibernate with my sewing machine another month or so.

OH, SO PRECIOUS

TOO SOON PASSING

Parents and Grandparents fill file drawers and scrapbooks full of such treasures. Nothing quite as captivating as those drawings that are offered as gifts from 2-8 year olds. Although I've been known to keep artwork well beyond that range, it is the 'Sweet part of Me to You' that makes the gift so special.

These were sketches from DGD Rebekah (age 6). I love the skater's rubber legs, the boots (just like my new ones - I guess she liked them too) and the happy eyes, don't you?

WITH THESE HANDS

Hands of gentleness and balm
Swaddling baby soft and warm
Lightly stroking baby’s skin
Feather hair and dimpled chin

Hands of comfort; hands of calm
Cleaning scrapes, erasing harm
Lifting knees to plant a kiss
Every tear and pain dismiss

Hands to clap in praise and glee
With each step of progress seen
Hands to warn of fearful ways
When her lovelies disobey

Hands to strengthen wobbly stride
Tending patiently the tide
Ebb and flow of daily change
Peace and order to arrange

Hands of duty, joyful work
Naught too small or large to shirk
Sparkling dishes, wash and floor
Done to do again once more

Hands to open up the Word
Keenly probe the Shield and Sword
Hands to fold in solemn prayer
Trusting God with toil and care

Hands to mark the days that fly
Catch the sunbeams passing by
Grasping stars and counting time
Blessed by Oversight divine

Hands to look for beauty clear
In the simple things held dear
Scraps of fabric, thread and yarn
Joined to keep her family warm

Hands to clasp all hands around
There by love and honor bound
Hands to rest contendedly
Upon the grandchild on her knee…

Hands of gentleness and balm
Swaddling baby soft and warm
Lightly stroking baby’s skin
Feather hair and dimpled chin

NINES' WAY

I actually finished the binding on TWO quilts today; and I must say the only way that could have been accomplished was to do it Nines' way.

It took Nines' a while to convince me it was kosher to do all the binding by machine, instead of sewing it on the right side, flipping and hand sewing the back. I still think that way is comforting for the quilt maker...but, once you've sewn it on the back, flipped, turned and sewn down the front with a close-edge seam....well, it's just so much quicker!!

I was having a good bit of trouble getting mine to look as neat as Nines' does, but I stumbled over a trick or two today. Besides using my machine quilting presser foot, I pressed the back side forward (not folded) after it was sewn down. That made the final turn so much easier. I also reminded myself to take it slowly on top and always stop with the needle down. That's real simple, you say. Yes it is - I guess I'm a slow learner; but still not too old to learn a thing or two.

The green quilt is for our DGS Josiah. I really like what Nines' did with the quilting. And I pieced this top from fabric that DS Isobel donated to my stash. The light greens remind me of shells and seaweed, so I'm naming it: "Irish Seashells by the Seashore." Josiah's ONLY criteria for a quilt was to make it green.

The whole cloth muslin quilt was Nines' practice piece...when she wanted to master a new quilting design with her longarm quilter she'd pin it on and go to town. The "blocks" have some great designs, but I think my favorite is her first quilted cursive that reads, "Jeremiah was a bullfrog; and he was a friend of mine.' As if the quilt needed more whimsy!

Nina has a way with quilts!!! Her grandmas would also be proud of her for planning to make her practice piece both beautiful and useful.

MAGIC APRONS

Nines gave a friend one of my aprons. The friend soon declared it was MAGIC – it hangs near her kitchen and she says every time she puts it on she gets LOTS of work done. I’m all for making work magic, for big girls and little girls alike.

I had a few pieces of fabric stashed for aprons. (Nina has probably shared her newer ones and hers are looking a bit weathered). While at Nines’ last week I garnered some more of her odds and ends that had no particular destination. This became my week’s task. They didn’t exactly appear like magic, but what fun! Ended up with 23 - half of them are pint-sized as you can see. Nine’s girls wear them like pinafores. My favorite is on the top left – red with ducks. The drakes in the mix are wearing overalls, so naturally that smaller remnant was well suited to Nines’ youngest kitchen helper, Abe.

Least you think four too young to be helpful, I was amazed to see how much he can do in the kitchen – including cutting potatoes for broiling. True, Jacob stood right beside him to make sure he was doing it safely; and he was. It’s quite a treat to watch the Koen kids function together!

Now, if this row of aprons is not magical, it is at least useful…and rather sweet. I like them well enough to keep a couple for myself…But Nines can have the ten pretty tea napkins.

My favorite apron memory is Grandma Oe’s, of course. Her bibs were pinned to her dress sans straps (maybe they hurt her neck, too) and had a generous skirt tied with sashes in the back. Likely the only time I saw her without one was when she went to meeting. If she ever forgot to take it off then, she wouldn’t be the first one, would she?

CLEAN SWEEPS - NEW BEGINNINGS

ALL THE BROKEN PIECES...I keep going back to that quote, "God can do wonders with a broken heart - if we give Him all the pieces."

One has to wonder...

How many problems go unsolved, how many burdens weigh on bending shoulders, how many sins remain unforgiven; simply because we do not give them up to the Lord? How often do we deprive ourselves of the freedom of whole healing and joy of full forgiveness because we want to hold on?

We want to hold on to:
- that little grudge; bitter memory
- that bit of 'pleasurable' sin
- that reliance on SELF
- that simmering anger
- that gulf of self-pity
- that selfish pride
- that love of money; crippling covetousness
- that block of self-will
- that sin of omission; excuse for neglect
- that ignorance study would cure
- that time better spent with God
- that disappointment, disturst, disagreement, disillusionment in/with others
- that weighty burden of guilt
- that sense of slight or injury
- that paralyzing fear
- that ugly envy
- that lazy apathy
- that grief and pain, or secret sorrow

Well, you get the drift of my besetting roadblocks :) Such impediments to peace are harbored in the hidden corners of the heart. Not hidden from God, but held back from His healing. Let's sweep those corners clean (imagine they host huge spiders that build sticky webs and draw flies) and put the trash in God's dustbin. He will sort it with caring Hands; and we will have complete freedom and joy.

Long for His wisdom
Live in His light
Love as He loves
Let go...and LET GOD.

TIMELESS TREASURES

My Grandpa Grover had gifted hands. He could play the fiddle, carve a wooden chain from single block of wood, make furniture, including weaving cane chair bottoms and hew cemetery stones. That’s likely just the few of his talents. Remarkable genes and my DB, Andy, helped himself to a share of them, I’d guess. Just look at this table top!!! I cannot imagine thinking this design through, much less executing it in wood. What a piece of art.

Don’t think Andy hogged all those genes, though. There are several other gifts among us to carry on Grandpa Grover’s legacy. But when I remember Grandpa, I don’t think first of fiddles or chains or chair bottoms. I think of hymns and smiles and prayers. And I’m glad – for these are eternal … a timeless legacy that has blessed so many through generations.

WHERE DID I GO WRONG?

It's amazing how much Miss Molly looks like my dad and

Miss Oe looks like my mom. Grandmothers leave their mark!

So, laying aside a sewing task for today, I turn to the computer corner. Five pair of pirate pants in a row, and the first of the front plackets sewn in is a puckerdy mess. I don’t know what I did wrong…it looked so smooth when I was sewing it together. But I figure tomorrow is soon enough to figure it out. Some days you get the bear and some days the bear gets you. And I’ve reached the stage of life where I figure it’s better to leave some things alone to fix later if it’s not working out. It’s surprising how well DD Laurie’s “step back” admonition works…and how many stops for later fixing crop up these days.

We’re easing into holiday times with our usual not much fluff and frill. There are reasons a-plenty for being content -though I miss the charm that children add to such times. The Barn is dry and warm; the icicle lights hanging from the cross beams make me feel like a little girl again; we’ve had many sweet greetings from family and friends; and are blessed with warm memories of loving times with so many from the year now passing and those gone before.

The year is winding down and we’re getting reflective. What’s a year without a few bumps in the road? And thankfully things are evening out quite nicely, bumps and all – thank you, Lord. And what’s the prospect of a new year without great anticipation? I think New Years is my favorite holiday. We all need a fresh start from time to time and there’s just something invigorating about God’s gift of a clean slate and new time in which to do a little better!

Enjoy your holidays!

DONE DEALS

DH and I finished separate November projects yesterday...just in the nick of time, for November is surely almost over.

November means deer hunting in WV. I think I'm thankful that DH's ardor has waned in that arena. We still like to can/freeze/smoke the meat; but the whole process is a lot of work for two old folks. Now instead of trying for the 5-6 he would be allowed to harvest between bow, rifle and muzzleloader seasons, DH is content to have gotten a nice big doe with the rifle and anticipate another try with the muzzleloader. The die was cast when he had to lug that big doe up the bank - which in this case was a near 90-degree slope. He was about as tired as I've ever seen him that day, the next day when heskinned and cut the meat and several days later when he smoked and ground what wasn't frozen. We do like those smoked venison hams/roasts, though.

A while back I gave a wonderwallet as a courtesy gift and the recipient was so tickled with it she asked if I could make some for her to give her church friends next month. I don't think she'll need more than half of these, but it was just as easy to cut two from each fabric as one. I can always use such things in my ditty stash. If you're looking at the buttons, you might want to know I've decided the flat ones are much better. The shank buttons, thought showy, add bulk and the whole purpose of the wonder wallet is to be able to tuck it in a small pocket. But I do suppose that if your jeans are too tight to acccomodate a shank button, they're likely too tight anyway.

Today DH will pick up our next to oldest DGS Jonathan for a visit. Life is good.

TALES OF THANKSGIVING...

Fron the Family Album 1990

(Cousin Vernon Miller would ask, "Was It 20 Years Ago, Or Yesterday...")

. . .are so new they are nearly obscured by proximity. As I type, the Moyers are driving back to Louisville. Craig is working his Saturday After shift at Radio Shack and Lisa's out grocery shopping. David is likely replacing the washer pump that left puddles of water on the floor this week, while Beccie tends their pretty ones. Bill extends his friendly hand at 84, while Nina and Joseph snuggle up for a nap on the couch ( I haven’t phoned to verify that news, but I am fairly certain it is accurate.) Papa has had his lunch and is scratching his head over the next procedure. With washer and dryer wheezing and thl~ping in the background, I am enjoying a fresh pot of coffee and the next to the last piece of pumpkin pie. Life after holidays returns to normal.

At this particular point in time, I am beginning to feel a certain affinity with the Hebrews whose nostrils tired of quail. Turkey, turkey everywhere – more than we all could eat. I thought I'd get a jump on the plan and cook one bird two days ahead of schedule. That way, I'd have broth for dressing and leftover meat for the day after. It worked. Laurie also brought a smoked turkey (which matched my first in size) for next day sandwiches. The "real thing" was a 20 lb. baby – and would no doubt have been sufficient in its own right. Of course the good intentions of the cooks were complicated by several factors – the first of which was a nasty virus which sent David and Beccie as far away from food in general, and turkey in particular, as they could get (and home a day early, sob...sob...sob), and the last of which was the "Chili's Fever" that often attacks the Moyers and Koens simultaneously. (They left a note saying they would have waited and taken us with them, but were afraid if they stayed another minute they would succumb and become desperate enough to eat turkey instead. . . and were obviously unwilling to risk that calamity.) Laurie could not be persuaded to take a single slice back with her, either, but that complication (and accompanying morning distress) should disappear come early April and a new little Moyer. But a mother never gives up. I packed one bag off to Lisa and Craig (newlyweds always welcome an extra package in the fridge, I think) and will divide the rest between tomorrow's company and frozen trays for Papa to nuke while I'm exercising. No little gobbler ... or two or three ... is gonna get the best of me!

Lest you think the Thanksgiving Table a failure, lets reverse this tape to mid-Thursday. Get your drinks and Chex snacks, settle in, REWIND: whir-r-r-r, static, snow, STOP – here we go.

For all its preparation (or because of all the helpful pre-preparation) the day has a casual, unhurried feeling about it. Breakfast at ten, with sourdough pancakes and sausage, leaves room for plenty of time between meals. Mama even slips off to rest her back, read a letter, take a short nap beside baby Hannah and dream pleasantly of home. There is no need to rush the clock – just take time as it passes and enjoy it.

It’s raining lightly outside. Papa and "the boys" are laboring (or so they would have us believe) in concert at the barn. The kitchen is at last beginning to fill with warm, sage-tinted shades of baking. Ten pounds of potatoes (yes, the whole bag of Idahos) are peeled and chill in water 'til a later hour. Alabama biscuits are set out for rising on the table. A sweet potato casserole and onion pie have taken their early turn in the oven. Two side pans of dressing wait for the turkey to finish its shift -- one is ordinary, the other boasts of sausage, apples and almonds, just for variety. A cranberry mold will soon be turned out and garnished with Mandarin oranges. [Since only one can of oranges will be required, Laurie and Nina and Beccie nibbled on the other as they shaved the spuds. . .and any cook knows it doesn't take nearly as long (or as much help) to eat a can of Mandarin oranges as it does to pare 10 pounds of potatoes.] A spicy brew of cranberry/apple/orange juice simmers in the crockpot, ready to be sipped at will, but we're too busy stirring around, talking, knitting, tending babies to remember it is there. All that remains to be done is make a bowl of cole slaw, put the green beans in the pot, boil and whip the potatoes, set the table, wait for the guys and put this show on the road. . .or, more precisely, the table.

My memories drift off to my first baked bird : Thanksgiving 1964, in Pennsylvania. We were "boarding" with the Hetzers the week before we moved to Oxford. Our hosts were visiting West Virginia, so Papa and I and 3-month old David were on our own. We couldn't afford a turkey, so we bought a chicken and baked it with dressing. I was so afraid the meal would be a flop, but it was delicious and the day a special memory. There we were...no immediate job or money or place to live; and all kinds of hope and faith and love for the family we were beginning. And here we are. . .that family extended many-fold, our faith rewarded abundantly, our love expanded timelessly, our hopes renewed continually. And, as I travel back to the present, I see children, where we were then. . . and wonder at the circle of our lives. GOD IS GRACIOUS.

The door rattles and in come the carpenters. One by one they whisk quickly off to shower while all hands man the deck at stove-side. That corner is crowded as Papa carves the turkey, Mama stirs the gravy (and almost burns the biscuits) and Nina whips the potatoes (in two rounds). All done, we clasp our hands and listen to the patriarch of Teel-dom speak of love and happiness well wrapped up in the moments that we share as family. Thank you, Lord, for such as he. And in the words of one now round the feast in Florida, "Amen, Go."

But wait. . . . .I didn't tell you about dessert. What? There's more? There is for sure! Nina prepared it all with her own little hands while Joseph rode 'long side to keep her going. If I didn't know better (or didn't want to brag) I'd say she shipped straight from the Greenbrier. For the eyes....what a gorgeous array! There's pumpkin pie (one standard), cranberry-mincemeat pie (with pretty peek-a-boo circles cut in the top crust), chocolate mousse cake (600 calories per 1/2 inch slice, should have been called "death by chocolate"), pumpkin cheese cake with sour cream glaze (embellished with pecans and slivers of orange peel – beautiful!) and grasshopper delight graham cracker pie (a marbled, minty cream cheese/whipped cream filling atop a chocolate mint base). If I've missed anything, I could clearly plead omission on grounds of being overwhelmed.....or over dosed, maybe. Incredible... just incredible!

And that, my dears, is about all the Thanksgiving that any of us can stand – for most of us (with the possible exception of sweet William) are probably due to repent today and diet tomorrow.

WAR AND PEACE

Shifting echoes fill the hallway,
Shadows move within the light
Weaving fear and grief and courage
Through the tapestry of night.
Here reflection comes to surface
In the images of dreams
Once a distant recollection
Suddenly a clear-cut scene
Of remembrance, ever haunting,
Etched in fire upon the soul
And no length of time or space
Can move beyond its seared control.

Though the heart would draw its curtains
Round this memory and abide
In the gentle breeze of autumn,
Still the ever-rolling tide
Can so quickly recollect
The vision seen so long before
In the far-off realm of youth
Held in the deathly grip of war.

Who can know the pain they suffer
Hidden ‘neath the cloak of life?
Who can touch the wounds they carry
Deeper than the surgeon’s knife?
Who can count their sacrifices,
Or extol the gift of those
Who, with courage far from human
Face the terror of such foes?

God alone can see the battle,
Know the hearts by duty stirred;
Understand the need and anguish
Found upon that foreign sod.

God alone provides the comfort,
Strength and hope to light the way
From those paths of bleak destruction
To that bright, eternal day
Where all pain will be forgotten,
Every tear counted and dried
Swallowed up in joy and glory
By the grace of One who died
That the souls of every race may know
The power of His blood
To bring peace and reconcile
Our souls within the Love of God.

*****

There are stories yet unwritten
In the wrinkles on their face
Heads of snow bow down in mem’ry
Of that distant time and place -
Of another world, soon slipping
From our chance to truly see
Through their eyes the untold sequence
Changing now in history.



PJT 11/10/07

AUTUMN'S INVITATION

November shades are dampened

By the coming autumn storm,

Even so the rain cannot decry

Its colors soft and warm.

A blanket of gold leaves is

Spreading comfort on the turf,

And all around the scents of

Changing seasons fill the earth.

How precious are the moments

Passing through the Love of God -

Found in beauty of the hillside,

Drifting leaves and dew-drenched sod.

Will I one day wake in Heaven

And behold with spirit eyes

Glory passing through my vision

Shadowed by these gentle skies?

Well we know that there, God is the

Light, no dimness will abide

Yet within November wakefulness,

Its view of shifting tides,

There is a cycle - woven 'mong

The morning's dawning Grace -

That softly beckons us to come

And bow before His face.

OCTOBER AIR....

There is something in October

Air that makes the soul feel

Restless - the cool crisp tints

Of gentle summer leaving - the

Space that slips so quickly

Through your hands. Blue skies

Sing out and beckon to incurable

Romantics held in the spun illusion

Of the breeze. Somewhere within

The passage soft and transient, the

Longing comes to seal the scene

Indelibly in memory - to cast

In stone the magic of the hour.

October comes and slips away without

Saying goodbye - so take the cup

And deeply drink the warm sweet

Dew of autumn while you may.

SEPTEMBER MOON

A big orange moon hangs in the sky
And whistles a soft lullaby
She chuckles gently o'er the spell
She casts across our wishing wells

On such a night dreams dare come true
Magic is found on evening dew
The moonlit path will lead the way
For fairy tunes and elves that play
Along the edges of the wood
Beneath the fringe of autumn's hood

Come out, come out! Come sing and dance
Come join the moonlight's breathless trance
Let laughter sprinkle on the breeze
And music whisper through the trees

A summer lays aside her cloak
The golden hickory, russet oak
Will soon be glist'ning, bare of limb
And lunar light will sing a hymn
Of shifting seasons; changing scenes
Between the layers of our dreams

The big orange moon turns almost white
Bathing the field in shimm'ry light
A vision that cannot remain
When winds blow in a welcome rain

But e'er she slips behind a cloud
The moom and meadow laugh out loud

(pjt 9/27 - perhaps I should title this one "lunar lunacy" :)

TEELSIDE MEMORIES - 20 YEARS AGO TODAY

A DAY REMEMBERED

For the absolute joy of it. And the beauty. And the myriad of reasons to be grateful,--children together for a time, helping each other in so many ways, enjoying just being in one another's company. That alone would have been enough to fill my heart to bursting! Nina thought well, to be married in the fall. The air is very special then. Crisp, clear skies over the Kanawha. A wind that could only whisper with happiness. Sunshine that was as gentle as the dreams of a new bride.

The weekend schedule was filled with endless details that turn now into a kaleidoscope of memories -- blessings, everyone. So many here to help smooth the busy way. Laurie, in her usual capacity, working tirelessly to entertain visitors, prepare food, do dishes, polish Nina's nails (I recall that DS Patsy polished mine on my wedding day, so her presence was felt, even in absence) etc., etc., etc. DS Isobel saved the morn (cramped by a late baking turkey) by whisking away the groom's cake and promising two more pies, eliminating one more detail and an undertow of anxiety. Kathy Jane washed the candlesticks and put her Uncle Wayne in a good humor (some services are valuable beyond measuring). Sweet Nicholas, his eyes alight over a new truck, charmed us with his smiles. Could any smile be as precious as his? The thanks due for food is beyond accounting,--Mother Ruth's and Miss Anita's apple pies, casseroles galore, courtesy of friends and family. Donna Brown kept the tally, Karen and Isobel and Kathy were on hand to pull it all together (and make the decisions beyond the last minute capacity of the mother of the bride--like how to get ice and tea into glasses when it came time to serve).

Meanwhile, on the floor, a group of newlyweds themselves (Becky and David, Laurie and Doy, Kelli and Bruce) tended to decorating tables, folding napkins, placing candles, checking music. . .until there was no more time for details, only the time for new beginnings. And such a beautiful beginning. The clarity of George Winston's piano filled the room and the procession was begun with an air of tranquility. The groom’s mother was seated by her son -- surely she will treasure the memory of his kiss as he seated her beside his grandmother. (Surely his father, so recently lost and sorely missed, would have approved.) Wes, so well chosen as best man, presided over the party with patient precision, perfect timing. We each sat listening in the interludes to the loves that blended in our hearts, joined in waiting for a bride most beautiful. Her father was the only one who felt her trembling -- she looked so serene.

Yet, there of was evidence among the bridal party of the full emotions felt by each. So precious was the sequence. Maid of Honor Lisa's tender tears; the tremor in Bill's voice as he repeated vows; Nina's words--a breath of sweet intensity; Wayne's fervent prayer (deeply felt, truly shared -to bear them safely on). No selection could have been more appropriate than the chords of "Joy" that broke as a recessional, for it was total joy to be a part of this beginning.

Other scenes fall like confetti across the memories of this special occasion: Nina with all the children gathered around; Bill clowning in the high backed chair; Nicholas eating spaghetti; Rebecca collecting flowers, Karen, Kathy and Laurie serving among the tables; the friends and neighbors there to share in the celebration; Nina (who for years has said she wanted pumpkin pie on her wedding table) picking up a piece of peach pie with her dinner; and later in the evening (when tension had subsided) Nina stooping to share a special kiss with Nicholas and Bill whisking Nina up into his arms as if to carry her away.

And so the memories roll in sweet succession.The grand events continued with friends and family close at hand through the next few days. Those of us who were together, thinking of those who had come and gone again, or who were close in mind and heart. I was thankful so many times for the simplicity of Nina's wishes which lent so well to pleasant visitation. Other days can be envisioned, like unto these with their sense of warm communion -- the ties that bind us all together.

PJT: The Family Album, 27 September 1987 – first edition, first article.

EARLY HARVEST

So the Koen's came a-helping and the little ones went a-playing in the woods. Didn't they have fun building a house in the woods, furbishing it with sticks, stones, moss and hickory nuts!!

Imagination and freedom can take a long journey. On a trek down by the creek, Abe looked up at the big pines and said, 'We could build a fort here - the trees are all in a line." Pretty astute.Every unhinged rock and sapling, along with a few loosely hinged ones, are fair game when children get into the spirit of the woods.

Grandfather was wondering which little Indian relieved the pawpaw tree of it's supporting stake (put there to keep the deer from finding the pawpaws on the lower branches). I'd be guessing, but Abe did bring a sweet boquet of pawpaw leaves to his mother that day.When Grandfather went out this morning to investigate the pawpaw patch, he discovered an early harvest. There they were, all but one of the pawpaw 'eggs' from that tree neatly nested in a soft bed of moss. [He brought them in and put them in the frig, but thinks the picking may be a week or two too previous to allow them to ripen off the tree.]

Me? Well I'm not as fond of pawpaws as is Grandfather, so no doubt I find this considerably more amusing...but I did manage to control my giggles when he brought in 8-9 pawpaws and first relayed the story of their premature harvest.

Babes in the woods -- You gotta love it!