Little

Yesterday as I was taking my son to school, I passed another mother who was riding her bike with a cart with a little flag on it behind her carrying her little ones. Ahead of her were two older children on bikes with helmets and backpacks. It was a parade of little people and bikes. They ride like this every morning when it's nice out. They live on the cul-de-sac across the street from us, but we've never met. I was suddenly flooded with memories of my little people and my sister's kids as they grew up together. Then remembered being little myself. All the little treasured memories that we have of growing up, your first puppy, first bike, first bus ride to school.
The creepy little guy with the hat and mustache on my bulletin board is Smedly. My grandma used to put pieces of candy in a little tin toy refrigerator with Smedly sitting beside it when we would come to visit. She would say "I wonder what Smedly's got?" the minute we would walk in the door. Jen and I would scamper down the hall to the playroom to see what was in the little fridge.


In all of those memories, my sister is right there with me. My parents or grandparents always watching, participating, encouraging, teaching.
As I was returning from dropping of my son, I pulled along side the young mom on her bike and drove beside her slowly, explaining I lived just down the street. I could see the two little faces in the cart smiling up at me, they looked so much like my sister and I.. I was shocked. As I pulled in my drive, they stopped riding so we could introduce ourselves without blocking the street. Tucked just between the two little girls was an infant. Three in a row back there! I was so impressed this woman had the energy to get all these little people up, ready, on bikes, strapped in and still had the patience to pedal down the street to watch over the older kids on their way to school. She was, momentarily, my hero. Never did I have that much motivation or was I organized enough to pull of something so difficult at 8:30 in the morning. I got to talk to the little girls and they were so sweet! Just like my sister and I, little peas in a pod. I remembered what a huge part of our growing up was spent outdoors on bikes, trikes, anything with wheels out in our driveway. Being little is so important, I am grateful I had so many wonderful experiences I can still savor. I didn't know then how hard it was to do for us the many things that my parents and grandparents made sure to give us. I doubt this mom thinks much past the immediate right now, but when her kids are grown, what a nice gift to have been given.

The thrill of the hunt

This is my back porch. This photo was taken about two years ago.. Since then many things have come and gone, the most unusual thing being the near life-size mechanical pony "Smokey" that came to live with us when Mom and Dad moved last year.
Whatever lands out there, whatever cast-off from other parts of the house.. somehow they just work and it gets "assembled into the BORG" as my husband would say.
Well I don't do as much hunting and gathering or random thrift shopping as I did in past years. And I have learned to start "editing" what I keep and live with. Part of that is just maturing, I think. If you dropped by right now, the porch would not be this organized.. It is recovering from my last decorating endeavor - being a catch-all for the things I moved out of the kitchen during the cabinet repaint. But this picture makes me happy. It reminds me never to question life's little surprises. Part of being a woman is finding a way to live creatively.
On Monday, I spent the day with my Mom. We finally had time to have a real conversation now that the kids have returned to school. We bolted out to the nearest anitique mall to shop for things for the "hoffice". We were on a tight schedule, had a huge wish list and wanted to hit as many of our old haunts as we could fit into one day. It was like going on vacation, I tell you. We enjoyed ourselves, each other's company and all the treasures along the way. She found lampshades for a chandelier, a copper pot for her kitchen, two chairs for Dad's office, a buffet and I found a metal rack to display our scarves on at our next craft fair and a few magazines. But mostly we just enjoyed the hunt.

Things of Comfort

I love this cow creamer. It belongs to my mother and sits on her what-not shelf (one of many).
This is a collage piece with pictures of Mom's grand kids, their hand prints and keepsakes. I gave it to her for Christmas a few years ago.
This stash of children's books has been on Mom's bookshelves since I was 5 or 6. I remember loving how small they were, how clever, how perfectly they fit inside a box that kept the collection together. The stories were silly, but the illustrations were memorable.
I love how sentimental my mother is. I never thought much about it growing up, but now I see how many things she has held onto over the years that hold such strong memories and meaning to her. She was never one to take photos or make photo albums or even consider scrapbooking, but she kept track of special times and noted special memories in her own way. Sometimes I want some comfort, and then walking by a shelf or opening a drawer, something kept with love suddenly jumps out at me and practically gives me a hug.. much more so than a photo album ever could.

Solid Gold

These are the folks. Fred and Ginger. You can tell where I get my sass.

Fridays are open dance night at the seniors lounge at the Mouse Lodge. That's where Fred and Ginger have been going for the past three weeks to practice what they have learned in their ballroom dancing lesson on Tuesday. Yesterday she was complaining that they hadn't yet made it across the entire dance floor doing the Fox Trott, Dad keeps stopping when he forgets one of the turns and the whole class is at the other end of the dance floor and they are stuck there waiting for the instructor. She says no one wants to dance with them. They're the ICKY couple who can't do it right.

Today Mom was getting ready for her day and had just seen on the home shopping network some gal had layered tons of dangly bracelets in various styles.. Mom had just purchased some of the same, she knew she was en Vogue. She stopped what she was doing to go layer her bangles on. Hair poofed, heels on, skirt swaying at her ankles, dangles on her wrists, jewels a-glittering and she was admiring her bedazzled wrist when she tripped over a cord on the living room floor and was catapulted through the doorway and onto the hardwood floors of the kitchen, head first on her belly into the kitchen barstools. She said she skinned both knees, hit her head on the stools, rolled over and crushed her shoulder and her arm against the kitchen island. She crawled for the phone to call Dad, she was certain she had broken her arm. Dad called Debbie.. her office is just off the kitchen, he hoped she could go help Mom up off the ground and see what damage was done.

I called in between the call to Dad and Debbie's paramedic arrival. It sounded pretty bad, but I have known my mother to take some colossal falls, so I was waiting for the shock to wear off before I went racing over to help. I got a call about twenty minutes later and Mom had her wits about her and could relate the story to me in all it's glory. Every time she said something, I laughed a little harder. I couldn't help it. She said she was covered in vegetables.. I wondered if she knocked over a vegetable cart? No, frozen veggies in bags, (for the swelling) she corrected me, then added she couldn't let them get too warm, the sweet potatoes were on the menu for dinner. She said her glasses were crooked, they got shoved into her nose on impact. She said her bracelets got bent. It was such a mixture of whining, laughing and absolute irritation at the whole upset of falling down. Her biggest worry.. she was afraid it might affect her dance performance this evening!
I told her not to worry, she was Solid.











If you are a huge Solid Gold Dance fan.. you can find all kinds of trivia, pictures and fan-stuff at http://sgdanceconnection.com That is where this photo was obtained.

The beholder

My mother's birthday is on Thursday. Yesterday we had coffee at the Hoffice on the newly decorated porch and complemented ourselves on how much we have improved the place. This picture is a "before" of what is now Mom & Dad's new bedroom. She will be miffed that I am not showing the "after", which is quite lovely and completely new. I post this picture because it reminds me of every home improvement project I have witnessed or taken part of with my parents. My mother can make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.. there will be no disputing that. I have watched her do it my whole life. She sees things no one else can see, in a way no one else can see them. She sees potential, she sees beyond, beneath and in spite of.. she sees beauty. Right now she is trying to convince me to undertake a renovation in my home that she sees as completed and has visions of my family already living in and benefiting from. I see it, I know it's there, but I'm not ready for the work just yet. In Katy's eyes, it is already done. She has taught me through the years so many things, but most importantly to imagine, to create, to renovate and rejuvenate what life is and how I live it. I love that she still can wear me out, that I am her cohort in her adventurous life, that we have so much to share and build and decorate and dream about. I love not knowing what comes next, but knowing it will be fabulous and fun and unique and that in our pursuit of it we will be together and enjoying the ride. For her birthday I am doing as I'm told, getting her a gift that she has pre-selected. But I am also writing about her spirit and how important of a person she is to me, to my kids, to everyone who is her friend. I love that she sees beautiful things, even in an ugly world.

Lucy and Ethel

On a trip to Hancock Fabrics before Christmas last year, Mom and I saw this fabric and fell instantly in love. She was then remodeling Dad's office which was once a house, then office, now HOFFICE. House + Office. He and his secretary have two rooms, a hall and a large restroom, for working. French doors separate what they have remodeled back into a house again. This cutsie porch with another set of French doors is just off the kitchen. A few days ago the perfect shade of green paint marked $5.00 and placed in the mistake bin was waiting when she went to buy paint for this room. It was the perfect shade for this room, for this fabric.
The paint was barely dry and the sheers went up, the plan was being formulated in her mind.. was there enough fabric? When we bought it we didn't really know where it would go.
I set about cleaning the kitchen, clearing work surfaces this morning. We were on a mission. My mother and I will do about anything to avoid math, to avoid planning, to think concretely. As fiercely as we fought it, all of those elements were required.
Where's the tape measure? I need paper, find a pen, do you have straight pins? Can't we just... No. We HAVE to plan it out, we have to agree on our terminology. It was like the episode when Lucy and Ethel decorated Ethel's apartment. We always work this way, the first hour we fight against the rules, we moan and groan, we can't decide who's boss. Mostly we laugh and snort and slap our knees at how ridiculous we are. At one point the 103" rod had to come off the wall and be laid out on the floor in another room. I almost took out a window, poked Mom's eye out and knocked a hole in the wall.
Fits of fury, hands flying, sewing machine raging, mother gasping, jacket's flying off hot-flashing and laughing and panties in a wad over these curtains. Because it seems so simple. Straight line stitching, clip rings, a rod and presto. Every time we make curtains we swear we will hire someone next time. I'm pretty sure though that it isn't about saving money - we just really live in that fantasy world where it should be as easy as it looks. Today was another for the book of things I do with my mom. She knows when to be Ethel and I know when to be Lucy. The curtains need to learn when to be curtains.

New again.

Yesterday I tore through magazines searching for pictures to use in a project for work. I love to look at magazines. I have stacks. My hubby is a recycler, he takes things every week and sorts them at the recycling center. He knows that there is a bin that holds magazines and that a fat stack pilfered from the bin thrills me to no end. I now have personal dumpster divers doing my bidding. He loves to pick through the top 40 and scan to see if they might be my style.. it's a crap shoot, he can never remember what titles I like.
But he knows what pictures I like. He knows a girlie shot when he sees it. This stack he brought back was full of Victoria magazines from a '98 to '05. Perfect for plucking out pages. I called my mom and begged her to come over and help me set up a few shots on my porch. Now it wasn't enough to find great photos, I wanted my VERY own, with MY STUFF. I promised coffee and any magazines she wanted to take home.
We cleaned and dusted and polished and arranged and stacked and fluffed and talked and drank coffee. At some point she went out to buy flowers for the "shoot". I hadn't spent ten minutes on that porch in two years. Two years ago I quit smoking and that was my major hang out. It was furnished and decorated like any room in the house.. right here in Kansas winds and cold and heat. I was determined I would use this screened in haven for my vises, smoking and looking at magazines. When I quit smoking I quit looking at magazines too. I quit going outside. I quit so many things because they were so strongly linked to that habit. Then I had a painful injury that prevented me from doing most everything I loved. My habit is safely a distant memory, the hold it had is gone. The pain that took over my life for so long also is fading. I am living. I am being, I am back on the porch, and this time I have new rules. No smoking. You can curse and laugh all you want, magazines on the house.

Daily

Some of the 138 pictures I took today. Beauty was always in our home growing up. My mother decided she would teach her children to live among pretty things, delicate things, priceless things. She did some child-proofing. She didn't expect unrealistic things. She just wasn't going to live without joy, comfort and beauty simply because children were in her home.
Every day something was fluffed or moved or added or subtracted, angled just so. Very rarely were our furnishings or linens or accessories from the current decade, never trendy, never modern.
They were each unique, sought with love, set about with fervor and delight.
Even coffee was an event. I remember the "Aha!, the OOH, the Oh, Look at that" when a new decorator magazine would appear in the mail. The world would stop for a few minutes and we would all look at what had mom so excited. I was born and bred and raised and trained like a musical prodigy to love, to look, to buy, to decorate, to live in beauty every day. There really is no substitute. And in blog land, I have found sisters to my soul. I have found people living not just with aesthetic beauty each day, but people discovering the joy learning what is beautiful to them.

Fred and Ginger live here

She's quirky, she's small, she has a sweet letter and a tiny rose, she's dusty and squattie, she has her little hat just so. She is an inch and a half tall and almost the same around. She's stout, this little bell hop. I walk by her at my mom's house every time I make coffee and this little bit of ceramic what not practically blows me kisses and whispers how sweet life is. I love her. I love that my mom loves her. Today I took pictures all over my mom's house while we gossiped and talked. Mostly we cackled like big fat geese. We laugh long, deep and hard as often as possible, mostly at ourselves and the craziness that is living. Today's morning topic was spectacular. Apparently my dad went and took a dancing lesson yesterday evening at the Moose Lodge. Ballroom dancing. His partner was a tiny wrinkly lady who wore tap shoes. He wore sneakers. My mother was furious! They have been married for forty-eight years (I'll have to check for sure) and for the first ten fought over going dancing on Friday nights. Every year mom dresses up for the company party and they attend, but never dance. Dad is a great dancer, mom fantastic. But he's quiet and shy and reserved and busy and it's not all that fun to dance in front of other people. So he took a lesson to see if he might like to learn and attend classes with her. He was previewing it alone and didn't tell her, he didn't want her to know, because then she would WANT to go and he would be stuck if he didn't like it. There were words. There was language, but mostly there was laughter and surprise. I nearly spit my coffee into the next room as I was getting the play by play. I love it that my dad wants to try something new, that he's testing new waters, that he thought of dancing, that he went alone, Mr. Shy-pants. I think it is grand and romantic and bold and youthful and I love that he did it his way. They are going next week, mom said she won't wear tap shoes, though.

Grandma's House

I love this photo. It is my Great Grandmother and my Mom sitting in her living room. Mom fell asleep on her Grandma's lap. This picture sits on my dresser and I see it when I get ready every day. Looking at it you see two sweet, gentle souls comfy and cozy. But these are two of the feistiest women ever put on the earth, sharing a seat, quietly resting. Maybe that was what the photographer was trying to capture, "Look at the wild beasts, resting so quietly! Normally you can never get this close..". A rare moment caught on film.
My mom returned from her vacation this week. She had trinkets for her daughters, trinkets for her grand kids, even a few friends. My daughter and I had coffee with her on her first morning back and listened to her stories from her trip. We laughed long, hard and loud. Laughter is so precious, so vital. My mom and I laugh and joke as often as possible, she has a fantastic sense of humor, a sharp wit. There is no subject we won't try to laugh our way through discussing. When she is gone on vacation or I haven't seen her in a few days, the laughter is what I miss most. It's the knee-slapping, head-tossing, snorting and bent-over-at-the-waist kind of laughter that you only really share with people you really trust, really know and who truly understand you. Her father was a brilliant story teller, quick with a joke for any situation, marvelous delivery. His laughter alone with it's volume, it's depth, it's ferocity could make you start to laugh, even if you weren't sure what was so funny. When we would spend the night at his house and Mom would come to pick us up, Papa would walk Mom outside so he could tell her a joke, they would be out in the yard yucking it up and my sister and I would watch and wonder and wish we could hear what they said. I am just grateful that laughter was so important to them, that it was so much a part of growing up for me.
Last night my daughter had her boyfriend over and my husband and I watched a movie with them. When the movie was over, I got up to leave the room, and made a comment about the movie. We have hardwood floors and I was wearing socks and when I stood up from my chair to turn and make my clever comment, I planned to "twirl", (don't ask) and the momentum from the swinging of my leg was too much. My twirl was too forceful and I began to lose my balance. I was hopping and stumbling all around the living room, dodging furniture the whole way. Then I got the giggles. It's moments like these that I am glad I have a sense of humor, that I can laugh at myself. I was the comic relief last night. It brought back fond memories of growing up in my parent's house and how often my Mom was the comedy show. I was still giggling in bed later that night.
The women in our family are strong, loud, funny, sometimes the butt of the joke. It's OK, I can carry on the line, I have proven myself worthy.

Mama always knows

My mom is on vacation. She has been gone all but about five days this month. First Hawaii, now Padre Island. Woman of liesure. Retired. She called this morning to check in on all her chicks. Mother hen. She was hesitant to ask how things were going, last time she left there was a melt down and she decided to remain unavailable for the duration of her cruise, I was ruining her relaxing vibe. Much to her joy, this check-in, I had followed the advice she had given me before she left. Guess what, she was right. Having done what she asked, I had successful results. You were right Mom. Yes, she's on vacation, yes, she's retired, but she is always, always my mother, and she is always, always right. I am proof that you can raise your children to listen to their mother. While she may be away, this morning's call is also proof that being a mother never ends. Not ever. I had more news, news that would spoil the Padre-vibe just as the cruise had been tainted, but I'm saving it for her return. I see no reason to spoil her fun at having been right.

Lovely Piles

Everything in the pile is so loved. My mother painted the little watercolor duckie when she was in grade school, the patterns were a nickle at a garage sale, I've since scanned them into my computer and passed them along. I knew when I bought them I would never sew one of them. I just liked the vintage pictures of the boy running. How could I not buy them for a nickle? Who charges a nickle anymore? Tonight my son and I made a "stop motion" video using his legos, we even set it to music. When I went to edit the photos, I found this one waiting. The little boy's sweet face reminded me of my sweet boy. It's been a long time since he looked at me with pure joy on his face, but tonight when he saw his Indiana Jones guy running on his stop motion movie, it was pure joy. "Now that's cool, Mom". My geekdom has perks.