beeconcise

Lucky me.  Each morning, year round, I can glance up at my kitchen wall and see the colors of five amazing fall leaves in this pottery leaf mobile, a gift some years ago from my son, Phil, and his wife, Diane.  I don’t even have to wait for summer colors to fade out in the yard, or the winter snows to disappear.   I only have to look up to see these fall leaf colors right in my very own kitchen, 24-7, year round. It gives me tremendous joy every single day.

People talk frequently about how lives pass before them at warp speed at times.  The same thing happens to me when I look up at this much-loved leaf mobile, but it’s the life of my son that I see passing before me at warp speed.  I look up at these beautiful leaves and see the seasons flashing before my eyes, remembering my son as a little boy, sitting on top of packing boxes at age 2 1/2, during our first big family move to a new town, then as a WSU college student at graduation,  (how does that time go so quickly?), then on his wedding day with his beautiful bride, Diane, and then suddenly as a father to my two darling granddaughters, Jamie and Tate.

Sometimes I wonder where I’ve been during all this time. Life is going by too quickly for me these days. I tell myself I’m putting together a memoir for my children, but I think I might actually be putting it together for myself. I don’t want to ever forget anything like this treasured leaf mobile that gives me such joy ever single day.

This time of year always makes me pause, and so differently from the way my husband pauses. He’s busy checking the snow tires with the Oct. 31st. date looming – when we usually change out the tires. He’s checking the snow blower, and finishing up with the lawn mower, planning when to blow out the sprinklers and all those things that make our lives run smoother.

But me? I’m thinking about the last of the summer flowers, like good friends to me all summer long, keeping me company out on the patio while I had a nice glass of wine and read a book so many afternoons. I’m reflecting on this vase I love, given to me long ago by an employer, and the sunflower plate underneath this vase, from my long-time friend, Gail, in CA. And of course I am enthralled by the beauty of the flowers.

I don’t understand people who don’t love flowers.  Once at a church pot-luck dinner we had a program where a couple presented a slide show of the flowers they’d seen on a trip to Europe. All over the world they’d taken photos of beautiful flowers that were just like the flowers they had back home in their own yards ~ petunias, tulips, roses, geraniuims, and huge pots of ivy. They said it was comforting for them to know that our flowers connect us to so many people and so many lands. I’ve never forgotten this.

It’s comforting for me to know that every flower in this vase, except for the cosmos, will bloom again next summer without my doing a thing, except to expect them to arrive.

How exciting to be six years old and find a birthday fish waiting for you on the morning of your birthday.  This photo of my six-year old grandson, Asher, with his new birthday fish (officialloy named Fishy Friend Workman) fills me with joy every time I see it. He went downstairs to find that Mom had even baked him a blue ‘Lego’ cake.

Looking back with my own children, I remember a special Barbie Doll birthday cake for Allison when she was ten ~ where we cut into the back of the cake so as not to spoil Barbie’s beautiful pink and white poofy dress, only to discover that Barbie had forgotten her underwear.  Oh, my goodness! It just seemed … shocking. Funny, but shocking. I don’t know what I expected, but somehow I didn’t expect to see a nude little body inside of the cake. Allison tells me that now Barbie comes with painted on underwear.

I also remember a School Bus birthday cake for Phil when he was ten, complete with his picture in the bus driver’s window of the bus. Now I ask you, do you know anyone who has ever tried to bake a cake in the shape of a school bus? That one kept me up a few nights!

Looking back even more, I think of all of the cakes I did bake when the kids were small. We had Easter bunny cakes and heart-shaped Valentine’s cakes and others simply because it was Spring or Summer or Winter of Fall .. and speaking of Fall … the birch and the aspen tree saplings in our yard are turning yellow, the maple is turning red. Fall is upon us here in Spokane. If you ask me it’s time for another cake. And lucky me, I can just pencil this onto the bottom of the grocery list I made out earlier. Looks like I’ll be busy baking up a storm this afternoon.  I think it will be chocolate.

It really is all about friends, and I’ve learned this lesson in spades over the past year. With winter fast approaching, I realize how lucky we’ve been to have such wonderful and kind neighbors living close. We’ve so enjoyed sharing a bottle of wine or a pitcher of lemonade with our next door neighbors during the almost-six years we’ve lived in this house. There is a ledge where we can place wine glasses and snacks, or the pitcher of lemonade.  We decided after one gusty windy day we didn’t want to use wine glasses with stems for these visits. Such nice people, easy conversations, delightful breaks in busy work schedules. We are blessed to live here.

This past winter, our neighbor across the street kept our snow blower for both his driveway and ours, which I appreciated more than I could ever tell you.  This winter I believe the snow blower will be able to live in our own garage, with my resident show remover handling the snow removal. I’m already looking forward to snowy winter days.

A day to pause, reflect, hope, pray and honor those who died. A day to also celebrate the people who have kept the faith with memorials, celebrating the lives of those who died. Hearing their names read evokes a tremendous emotional response for me, and causes me to reflect on how fortunate we are to be here, as Americans, and to know we will be remembered by our names, and not only as a number as many were so long ago.

I don’t believe a day has gone by in the last 15 years that I haven’t stopped to smile while looking at this adorable picture of my granddaughters, Jamie and Tate.  I believe they were 6 and 3 at this time, but maybe only 5 and 2?  Really, I don’t remember.  But I do remember picking out the fabric for the dresses, wanting to coordinate it all, and deciding to sew on several appliques with feather stitching, the way my grandmother had shown me many years earlier. These appliques went onto the fronts of both dresses, and the pockets.

I remember working on this sewing project over one Thanksgiving holiday, with my daughter-in-law, Diane, sitting with me at the dining room table after a bit Thanksgiving dinner, patiently sewing on the appliques. Even though I enjoy sewing, it’s nothing I’m really good at, even though I enjoyed sewing when my own kids were little – Allison’s Halloween costumes, or Phil’s GI Joe Army shirt & pants, and the t-shirts I made with stretchy fabrics for everyone in the family.  I remember the kids’ dad remarking that we looked like a bolt of fabric walking downthe street when we all matched.  Still makes me laugh. Why on earth would I’d tackle projects like that I’ll never know, but I did.

My favorite story about these Christmas dresses, however, concernes the zipper for Jamie’s dress.  Without any idea that I could sew in a perfect zipper, I did just that.  Really, it was a marvel.  I clipped off the threads and stared in amazement at the most perfect zipper I’d ever sewn into anything. Not a wrinkle. No pinched fabric, no pins broken in the process, no fingers pricked with sharp pins holding the zipper into place, and the tops of the zipper actually matched. You couldn’t even tell a zipper had been sewn into the fabric. In my excitement I jumped up from the machine and took the still-unfinished dress to show to my husband, who was watching a football game. “Look,” I exclaimed.  “It’s perfect. It’s the best zipper I’ve ever sewn in.  I’m so proud of myself. Can you believe how perfect this is?”

You know what they say about pride before the fall. It’s true. He looked at the zipper, then looked up at me with this quizical look on his face. He wasn’t nearly as excited as I was. He shook his head a bit, as if to say, ‘No,’  and finally said me, with his steady voice full of compassion, “Ruthie, it’s on the wrong side of the fabric.”  And it was.

If you’ve ever seen a balloon deflate quickly, that’s how I felt. The wind just left me. But being the trooper that I am, I picked up the seam ripper and removed my perfect zipper, although there were some muttered words and a few tears. After all, going from a perfect zipper to a ripped-out zipper, in a matter of minutes, would undo any woman trying to make two Christmas dresses for her granddaughters.

When I finally turned the fabric over and sewed in that zipper, it came out about the way my zippers usually did ~ OK but not perfect. It didnt quite match at the top. “That’s OK,” I told my husband, showing him my redone zipper. “She has long hair. It will cover up the top of the zipper.”  All I had to do was to remind Diane to let Jamie wear her hair down if she was going to wear this dress.

Tate actually came out the winner here. She wore her dress and even Jamie’s when she’d outgrown her own little dress. And it’s Tate who gives me the even biggest laugh about these dresses. The first year the girls had the dresses to wear ~ and I must brag that they were both perfect fits, their family had been invited to light one of the Advent candles at church, and lucky for me, I was there with them.  Jamie was all dressed in her dress, with the red turtle neck shirt and red leggings.  But Tate didn’t want to wear her dress that day.

Her mom, Diane, just casually folded the dress and took it with her to church, letting our little Tate run around in her red turtle neck shirt and leggings. I think they both actually had on red long pants, not really leggings. Whatever they were, they were so perfect with their dresses.

When the pastor called their names to go to the front of the church to light the candle, my savvy daughter-in-law smiled, reached down to where Tate was standing in front of her, slipped Tate’s dress over her head, zipped it up, stood up with Tate in her arms, and walked to the front of the church. I’m not sure Tate even realized that she was suddeny wearing the dress she hadn’t wanted to wear, but there she was ~ cute as could be, in her pretty Christmas dress just like her big sister, Jamie.

As I look back I see there was a lot of perfection going into these little dresses. In my mind they were going to be perfect, and as it turned out, they were.  The colors were perfect, the design was great, and of course the feather stitches around the appliques were totally perfect, and we almost had a perfect zipper, too.  But the  most perfect thing of all about these dresses, we all know, is the sweet, adorable granddaughters who wore them.

If I ever move from this house, I know for a fact that this picture of Jamie and Tate in their Christmas dresses will be one of the first things in my suitcase, and I am so grateful for my daughter-in-law who enjoyed having the girls wear these dresses, and absolutely love this picture that she had taken.  It gives me joy every single day!

For the month of September I decided I’d post a picture each day of things I love, and it’s been fun deciding which ones to use first, then next, and today it was an especially easy choice. I chose this happy, fun, exciting photo of my six year old grandson, Ash, at his first college football game.  Living near Athens, Ga, he went with his mom and dad to see UGA and UB, with the stadium packed as you can see.

Never mind the score, never mind the traffic, when I see this photo I see a young boy who wanted to go see a UGA football game and parents who were willing to brave the traffic to go, and if any of you have ever been in Athens, GA or even Atlanta on a game day, then you know what I mean when I speak of traffic. It’s insane. But they went and a wonderful time was had by all.

I see in this picture the smiling face of my little grandson whom I love so dearly, knowing his mom and dad are there with him. and there’s nothing to ruin the day except maybe the heat. It was a blazing hot Georgia day!  When you’re six years old and you have a great day like this, it’s an experience you’ll look back on when you’re 40 or 50 or … good grief, even longer, I imagine!

It brings to mind the memories and events of this summer that Ash will look back on when he’s older.  He’s an awesome bike rider, artist,  hockey player, first grader, and a member of the high school graduating class of 2024. Just ask him and he’ll proudly show you his ‘Class of 24’ bracelet!

His smiling face in his photo speaks to me of the future, of achievement and ambition, of future goals, of joy and love of life and excitement of every single day.  It’s amazing to me when one photo can show so much. Or maybe it’s just that I happen to be a Grandma.

Once when I was in Georgia staying with him for a few weeks, when he was only three years old, he’d be up early in the morning. Every day. At 5:30 a.m. I’d find him standing by the front door in his pajamas, holding his shoes in his hands, saying, “Grandma. Come on. It’s outside time!”  Of course nobody went anywhere until Grandma had her coffee. But I knew that he’d never change ~ he’d always be ready for the next big adventure, ready to take on  a new challenge -ready to read, interact with friends at school, volunteer for school plays and so much more.

He’s getting taller and I’m getting older.  It’s the natural order of things. I hope he’ll always know that just saying his name puts a big smile on my face, just like the smile on his face in this picture of him at his first UGA football game.

When I look closely at this picture, I also see reflections of my daughter in that smile. It’s no wonder this picture also puts tears of joy in my eyes.  It’s a Grandma thing!

Today I posted this on my Facebook page, saying I used to take pictures of the kids, but now I take pictures of their pictures.  It’s all true but it gives me just as much joy, only in a different way.  This way I get to smile everytime I walk through the kitchen, and usually keep more current photos on the front, but these .. well, I love them so much.  I suppose they will always be posted on one bulletin board or another in my life.

In my office I have a small collage frame with eight photos in it of my own two children, all taken during the year their AF father was overseas – our son, Phil,was four and our daughter, Allison,  just a baby at the beginning of this long, long year in our lives.  This collage speeds up to where Phil was five and a half and Allison was eighteen months.  I’ve always said that when I go to the nursing home this photo frame will be the one I take.

One of the first photos was taken the day Allison came home from the hospital, with Phil standing beside me and our new little pink bundle resting in my arms.  The rest of the photos were of our year alone, including the Christmas Eve picture I took the night Allison took her first steps.  In the picture big brother, Phil, had his arm around her shoulders.

What the pictures never show, of course, is what leads up to the pictures or what happened afterwards.  I can tell you with the Christmas Eve photo that shortly after the picture was taken, the kids had baths and went to bed, and the dog, Heidi, managed to pull over the Christmas tree I’d lugged home the week before and somehow wrestled it into the tree stand just so the kids would have a Christmas tree with their dad gone.  But with the huge, noisy crash, ornaments breaking all over the living room carpet, I’d had enough of the being-alone-at-Christmas experience. I yanked off the ornaments, took down the tree, which was even more trouble that setting it up, and hauled it outside to the vacant lot next to our house.  Then spent a long time vacuuming up the mess on the living room carpet.

But Christmas morning, nobody seemd to notice. We’d survived our Christmas alone, the kids were thrilled with their toys, we had Christmas dinner with my family at my Grandmother’s house, and Allison toddled around under her own speed. As for me, I was glad that Christmas had come and gone, although it had gone at our house with a crash.

Each of these photos tells me a story, and I love to remember them all ~the Easter photo, the first time Allison slept in a big girl’s bed, with Phil and Mom letting her snuggle n Phil’s bed so she’d understand that her brother slept in a big boy’s bed and now she could sleep in a big girl’s bed, and she did, with no problems at all. This, of course, meant taking down the crib in the nursery far earlier than I’d ever anticipated, because our future aerial trapeze artise daughter loved to hook her foot over the top of the crib railing and climb out, all on her own. Who could imagine that?

Other pictures are of that Halloween, with Phil a skeleton in a black hat and Allison as a little blue bunny, with Phil holding his little sister’s hand and each child holding their plastic pumpkin baskets.  I once saw a movie with Burt Reynolds, and wish I could remember the name of it, but it was years after I took all these pictures.  He took his girl friend to meet his parents, and just after he rang the doorbell he said to the young woman with him, “Get ready.  Smile.”  The door opens and his mom is there with her camera, complete with an old-fashioned flash bulb which goes off in their faces as she snaps their picture. Made me laugh, but then I realized either one of my children could have written that movie script. I’ve tried to be a little less obvious with my picture taking since I saw that movie.

When I see stories on TV of women who have lost their homes to flood, fires or hurricane and tornado devastation, they always cry at the loss of their family photos.  It breaks my heart because I understand.  For me, though, it’s comforting to understand that a mother’s cherished photos are always engraved on her heart.  It’s certainy true for me.

Really, it is.  It’s the simple things. Today I have been reflecting on our lives over the past four years, as asked of course at both the Republican and Democratic conventions recently. Are we better off now than we were four years ago?

Well, financially, probably not, with me having a mild stroke and hubby suffering job loss , but we’re not upside-down in the house, we do have medical insurance, although not the same, we’re closer today than ever before, we value the things we have to look forward to and treasure more deeply the relationships we have with family and friends.

We still have the same house, with a much improved downstairs, so all of my children and their children, and sometimes their friends, can come and stay in comfy beds.  And we’re grateful for the simple things that give us such joy.

One of my happy-dance moments recently was reading on-line that putting baking soda (about a tablespoon) into the water when cooking hard-boiled eggs makes the easy to peel. I tried it and was elated at how easily those eggs peeled. Many people would laugh at this, but if you’ve ever slaved over trying to pick off tiny pieces of cooked egg shell, ending up with some of your deviled eggs pock-marked, you know what I mean.

I was totally thrilled, and decided on the spot to fix tuna salad for lunch with our lovely hard-boiled eggs, even though they were sliced and diced, and added with the sweet pickle relish.  Yep.  The simple things.

I’m in the same same kitchen as I was four years ago, my husband has gone to work, as he did four years ago, although to a much different job and with a much different schedule, but we still love the same things to eat ~ like delicous tuna salad.

I’m sure it gives me even more pleasure than it does my husband, because I know the eggs in that tuna salad were absolutely the most beautiful and perfect hard-boiled eggs I’ve ever cooked. In fact, I couldn’t chop them up until I had a picture to remind me of how much pleasure I’d gotten this particular summer morning, delighting in peeling my eggs so easily, with the screen door open to the yard, and a hummngbird busy sucking nector out of the pink geraniums on the patio.

Yep.  It really is the simple things.

Here’s a picture of the small garden cart I bought this summer at a neighborhood garage sale. I painted it with Asher’s bird house paints, filled it with dirt and planted a couple of straggley Sweet William plants. Finally the plants have taken root and they fill me with delight each morning as I water this small garden planter. I am so happy that I rescued this little garden cart from languishing at the neighbor’s garage sale, feeling like an orphan, I’m sure.  Now it’s loved.  There’s no doubt about that.