Me, Myself and Memories

Updates from February, 2015 Toggle Comment Threads | Keyboard Shortcuts

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  Noreen 4:25 am on February 7, 2015 Permalink  

  It Is All About the Heart 

  I am here to tell you, ole cowboys, especially Dennis Curry, have a whole lot of heart.  A heart a large as it is, is also very fair.  Dennis is not one to judge until someone has really been unfair and dealt out a large amount of hurt.  Hmm, kind of like an old softie.

  Dennis’ heart really came into play on this last Monday night.  Dennis is always right on target to get the Waste Management bin out to Stauffer Ave. for the early morning Tuesday pick up.  It was a bitter cold night with zero or less forecast for the early Tuesday morning.  I had long settled into some crocheting until I heard Dennis call to me.  Yeah, the cowboy is 78 and I don’t take much for granted when I am summoned.  I got to the back entry and there stood Dennis with a cardboard box, much like a carton of car oil comes in.  As I looked closer, there was a little face peering out.  I could not believe it.  There had been a little kitten left in the cardboard box by our garbage bin, tipped upside down so the wee one could not get out.

  

  Heart strings have been tugged
  between Dennis and Snuggles.

  The look in Dennis’ eyes tugged at my heart.  Oh yes, my kids, I do have one.  There was no hesitation. The cat in the box was going into the garage porch.  I went out just a few minutes later and there was the scene to behold: Dennis in his rocking chair watching the kitten as it checked out the digs.  Year-old Butter Ball had no idea what had just infringed upon his domain.  Five-year-old Honey Bunny had not as yet come home from her jaunt to the back yard and that would be a shocker for her.

  After seeing how Dennis took to the kitten, it’s no wonder that this would very well be the third cat in the garage porch.  Honey Bunny was brought to our patio by the stray alley cat, Sarah.  By the way, granddaughter Megan named the stray cat Sarah as it would jump up on her lap.  Who could turn away a beautiful gray kitten that the mom had no interest in to the point that it would hiss at it until it knew there was no love lost?  Soon after, Sarah came no longer and might have become a fatality of some event.

  Fast forward to last summer when alley cat named Sweetie Pie, again by Megan, brought four kittens to our patio.  You might wonder what the draw was to our patio?  Dennis had began putting out Meow Mix and fresh water for those that might need it.  If the cats were down and out and had to survive on their own, they could at least have a full tummy and stay hydrated.  Of the four kittens of Sweetie Pie, one yellow kitten survived and seemed to like the patio.  One day the side door was left open and when we noted the kitten was not on the patio, it was found in the adjacent car garage sleeping on a rug.  Butter Ball had found a home.

  So, here we are with three cats that really, really like the garage porch.  The newest addition had been someone’s pet as it was in no way afraid to be loved.  Next week is Honey Bunny’s vet appointment and new addition, Snuggles, will also be going for a once over.  We have no idea if it has had shots and as this little boy will not be propagating any kittens, there will be some snip, snip.

  Dennis can be found spending a lot of time in his heated garage porch, complete with television and his favorite Teak rocking chair.  At any given time there might be one of the three cats batting around ping pong balls, tennis balls or pieces of nylon rope that has been conveniently left to be tugged about.  The cowboy with the heart as big as all outdoors is happy, content and enjoying the antics of Honey Bunny, Butter Ball and Snuggles.

  Dennis is the best.  His heart has encompassed my family to the inth degree.  There is no division between the love of his children and grandchildren or mine.  It makes life here on Stauffer Avenue just priceless.

  An after thought of mine: please, please no more kittens left on the patio this coming year.

   
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  Noreen 1:43 am on February 2, 2015 Permalink  

  They Are Ours 

  Fifty one years ago today, Orlin and I were heading to Texas after a short, but sweet, wedding ceremony. In an earlier story called “Ahh Memories,” I recounted our trip and days shortly thereafter.

  Today, I am remembering that long gone event by celebrating the very best of Orlin and me: our children, Carrie and Kevin.  It’s not going to be a long story or a long posting as there are not enough words for me to tell of how much I admire them, appreciate them, and how proud of them I am.

  

  The best of Orlin and Noreen

  As my children have spent more years away from me than the few years I had with them under my wing . . . I thought I had them that close, it is much like me tuning into my very favorite sitcom on television.  I don’t want to miss a single episode.  Silly ole me.  My children are busy as their days are so much more demanding than the simple life they were born into.  It is easy for me to hang on to some of those self-same frames of mind as I am no longer defining the perimeters of what my life is yet to be, I have that.  Carrie and Kevin are no longer mine to worry over – yeah right, like that is ever going to happen.  It is a parent’s right to want only the best, the most painless for their days just as my parents wanted for their children.

  So, I can say, “Yes, Orlin, they are ours and they are the best of each of us.

   
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  Noreen 5:06 am on January 30, 2015 Permalink  

  Real Questions – But Not Concerns 

  Last week I got together with friend, Lorraine.  Lorraine worked for me in the late 1980s.  She decided to be a stay at home mom when that is what her teenage daughter needed her to be.  We had lost touch, though we live in the same town.  I caught a Facebook post where Lorraine’s daughter, who is now a grandmother, was wishing her mom a birthday greeting.  I messaged the daughter and asked if she would share her mom’s phone number with me.  Since that time Lorraine and I have gotten together several times over coffee to get caught up with what has happened during the last years.

  As we visited back and forth to each of our homes, our interests with quilting and fabric crafts were on paralleled paths.  Lorraine’s husband passed five years ago and her home is now a two bedroom apartment, very similar in size to what Dennis and I enjoy in our home.  Lorraine enjoys using the antique furniture that was her mother’s and those that she and her husband collected.

  Last week I took Lorraine along to the Old Alley Quilt shop as the last of my pieced quilt tops had now been transformed into a finish quilt, ready to be hemmed.  As Lorraine and I checked out all the goodies in the store, in passing she ask me who would be receiving the quilt to be used in their home. Without hesitation I remarked that I had no idea who might want it or need it.  The quilting is much like physical and occupational therapy for me, and I know that the time and resources I put into the pieced top would be worthless if it were lying in a box, still just a pieced top.  The ready-to-use quilt stands a better chance of being wanted or used.  Thus goes the results of all my therapy.

  After Lorraine and I got back from Sherburn and the quilt shop, Lorraine asked me in for coffee.  As we were visiting, I admired all the beautiful sets of china and pieces of glassware that the antique china cabinets held.  They held memories of Lorraine’s grandmother, her mother, and her husband’s family. Lorraine being the only one left of that generation in either family has a treasure trove of various china cups to choose from when having coffee guests.  I asked her, if her daughter and her two daughters were looking forward to serving coffee to guests from this assortment in their homes.  Lorraine shared that her daughter and granddaughters had never cared for the china and glassware as it was not able to be washed in a dishwasher and it was too fussy to handle.

  Here we were.  Both of us having more than we need for our day-to day-lives, each with a different type of excess.  Neither one of us concerned to the point that we will do anything about it going forward.  We don’t need to know what the morrow brings.  We don’t need to know what that next chapter of our lives will contain.  That may very well be the last chapter of the mystery that my life has been.  I am too busy working on many more chapters, more memories and most likely a few more items that may be cranked out as I continue doing my physical and occupational therapy to maintain my quality of life.

  I absolutely know that my new and added knee and shoulder titanium parts need to have me continue using the rest of the “total me” to stay mobile, or it has all been done for naught.

  Yesterdays are gone, tomorrows are not yet mine.  Today is all that my good Lord has given me and that is quite the gift.  When my day is over and I lay my head down, I know I did the best I could . . . but I also ask Him each night that if given a tomorrow I might try to do just a bit better.

   
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  Noreen 1:27 am on January 26, 2015 Permalink  

  It’s time 

  When Orlin and I farmed in Boon Lake Township, we pretty much took the lead of my parents as to what to do and when.  We raised Mallard ducks for butchering in the dead of winter.  We butchered them in cold weather as all new feathers were pretty well filled out to the max for their warmth.  Prior to that, the itty bitty feathers just breaking through the skin were called pin feathers and each and every one would have to be plucked out by hand.  The larger feathers were able to be pulled out by grabbing multiple ones and giving them a yank after the duck had been scalded in hot water.  One drake and several hens were left to run so we could collect the eggs for hatching out the next years batch for the freezer.

  Being the farm kid that I am, this springtime is the time of the year I would be getting on thick canvas gloves and deciding which of the laying hens had developed chucking tendencies over the winter months.  The egg laying was no longer their mantra.  These hens just wanted to sit on eggs and become clucks, thus keeping eggs hot enough to eventually hatch.  There was no denying which hens were the target.  I would get anywhere near the nest they were sitting in and they puffed up to three times their normal size and peck with becks that you swore they had sharpened.

  The held over ducks had a separate area in the hen house during the winter so collecting the eggs would be easy to do.  Early eggs were discarded as the timing of the hatched ducking did not want to happen during the worst of the winter.  Orlin made a spot in the dairy barn for several wooden crates that were just large enough for a straw nest to be rounded out when filled with a dozen eggs plus a fluffed out cluck.  Thereby, was our incubation area.  Three of the clucks were captured and taken to the wooden boxes where each box had 8 to 10 hen eggs in it for the clucks to begin getting cozy with, and this would be their home for the next while before we put the intended target of duck eggs into the nests.  Each of the three crates were far apart from each other as to not entice a cluck to visit any crate but their own.  To achieve that, each cluck had a twine sting tied to an ankle that was long enough for them to get out of the crate and reach the ample water and feed that each of them had for themselves.  Orlin put up several heat lamps to make sure the clucks were warm.  Sound cruel?  That is how it was done.

  When my Mom gave the word, I started saving the duck eggs.  I had a window of 10 days to save up enough duck eggs for each of the three clucks to begin sitting on.  After the ten days, the eggs would no longer be deemed fertile.  On the tenth day the hen eggs the clucks had learned to nurture were removed and swapped out with the duck eggs.  Putting fresh water and plenty of feed was done during the time Orlin and I were in the barn for milking the dairy heard.  There never was a fear that Carrie or Kevin would bother the incubation area as the kids were not fond of the laying hens, let alone the clucks that were pecking monsters.

  Long about the 26th day, we would begin checking the nests as the earliest eggs could show signs of hatching.  Again, the canvas gloves worn with heavy jackets that covered our arms were used to gently lift the cluck off to see if any of the eggs were showing signs that the baby ducks were pecking their way out into the real world.  Amazingly, the percentage of ducks that would hatch was quite high.  As the baby ducks got themselves clear of the cast off egg shell, we transported them into a small pen complete with heat lamps to keep them warm.  It didn’t take long for them to get the hang of the water and feed as we would take them, one by one, and dip their little beaks into the offerings.  At this point Carrie and Kevin were all about checking the ducklings out when they were in the barn with us.  They loved holding the little fur balls of yellow and black in their hands.

  It was a routine that was repeated several times to have each of the cluck hatch out at least two batches of ducklings.  In the spring of the year, the pen for the quickly-developing ducks was surrounded by a fence to keep them safe.  There was a high demand in the early winter seasons of people who would purchase dressed and frozen ducks that were ready for the oven.  It was a good little side income right before Christmas.

  

  Just at arms length . . . I never lack for busy work to keep my fingers nimble and keep my family guessing.

  What prompted me to think of this today: January 25th, 2015?  I have been making use of these colder icy winter days to try out some of my crafting items.  With a lower back problem that prompts me to move from area to area within the home, I can be found either in the basement sewing room, in the west porch sitting in Great Grandma Laura’s rocking chair reading, or moving from the sofa to a side chair with threads and yarns.  The very busy area around the spool cabinet reminded me of an incubation area of what is yet to be turned out as I hatch out finished projects.  Oh yes, for the love of all things that involve puzzling through patterns, checking out correct gauges of crochet stitches and counting out squares for counted cross stitch patterns to make sense, you never know what I will hatch out, less the twine string tied to one of my ankles.

  In life, please remember to give and have no memory of it, or take and remember it always.

   
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  Noreen 7:32 am on January 11, 2015 Permalink  

  It Has Been a Year – 

  A year ago today I came home from the Mankato Mayo Hospital with my new shoulder . . . second new shoulder.  The year surely has not gone slow.

  I can tell you that pain from shoulders that were encased in arthritis is no more.  I had spent the gardening season of 2014 doing pretty much what I have always done, enjoying it to no end.  The quilting has been progressing quite nicely.  There were several wall hangings that I hated to see come to an end as beading is very relaxing for me as well as keeping the sewing machine needle 1/8 inch from the edge of any given image.  There are so many things in my day-to-day life that I do without thinking about it.

  A few items in the kitchen are accomplished in unique ways.  I can no longer hold a mixing bowl up high enough in my left arm to use a rubber scrapper to get the contents into a pan or dish with my right arm.  Neither arm has the ease of the arc that it takes.  I can open the towel drawer that is just below waist level and make sure the towels are stacked to the very top of the drawer, the pan or dish setting on the towels is the perfect height for me to empty that mixing bowl.  I no longer lift multiple items up into the cupboards.  The items that I use often are no higher than the second shelf in the cabinets.

  Our bathroom has less clutter as the curling iron and blow dryer can no longer be manipulated.  The motion of my arms can reach the top of my head, but the additional extension of a handle of the curling iron or blow dryer takes my arm out and away from my head that is beyond me having any control of the arm and hands.  That is not an unusual end result of the reverse shoulder surgeries.   With muscles and tendons and nerves being reassigned motion, there is a surgical limit.  I had worn my hair very short for most of my adult life.  The change of growing it out to a length that will be maintained by simply brushing it is taking a bit, but I know that will be doable.

  There is one more thing that still has me working on it a year after the fact.  It is holding a fork for eating.  The right arm and elbow tend to not want to tuck close to the side of my body to allow for the forearm and wrist to make that nice smooth movement to the mouth.  I know it is less than a smooth movement.  The fork hits the target every time if the elbow is out a bit from the side of my body.  I don’t make anything out of it, and for the most part, I don’t think anyone notices.  While eating alone there is not a problem, but I could take someone out that would be sitting rather close to the right of me at a full dining situation.

  So a year has passed and life is oh so good.  My main objective is to get through the winter months staying upright on the snow and ice.  The tuck and role method of a fall most likely would take out one of the shoulders.  I know myself well enough that if I fell forward, I would put out my hands to break the fall to protect the two titanium knees, and that would jar the shoulders to the extreme.  Like I said, staying upright is the objective for the 2015 year and thereafter.  Life as I know it, is pretty darn good.

   
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  Noreen 6:44 am on January 2, 2015 Permalink  

  It Was Time 

  I was sad taking down the Christmas finery.  Megan decorated the home when she was here the day after Thanksgiving.  There was never a day since, that we were home that the tree lights were not lit.  It had a profound relaxing effect on me.

  I have a large tote with a red cover that holds 98% of the goodies.  The contents are put in much like a puzzle with each item wrapped in tissue paper.  All the ornaments are precious to me as I know the pain of having to replace what is near and dear.

  In  1992 we had a huge 10 inch rain in the month of June and the storm sewers could not handle the amount that needed to funnel down to our street intersection.  The water coming up from the floor drain and sewage coming back up from the toilet amounted to four feet deep in our basement.  Many items stored on shelves were floating in the mess, including the Christmas decoration boxes.  Many of the wonderful ornaments that Carrie and Kevin had made in grade school were gone.   The next Christmas, we had a tree with lights on it and multiple candy canes.  It was hard starting over.

  

  A simple crocheted cross does tell us that Jesus is the reason.

  We did start over and as Megan put each one on the tree, I could remember what it was that had spurred me on to purchase each one.   There are also ornaments that have special meaning. Carrie and her family gave us an ornament of blown glass that has a grandma and grandpa huddled together. Kevin and Kersten gave us an ornament that has their wedding photo on it.  Dennis’ granddaughter Sadie sent an ornament from Iraq when she was stationed there.  I did enjoy wrapping those and every other one to be safe until next year.

  The tote with the red cover is back up in the attic where it has been stored since the basement incident.  The tote does gets a bit heavy, but I know that other than a tornado, it  is safe.

  Christmas of 2014 is officially over, but I must admit, the Christmas I hold inside of me year round gets me through some very difficult times.  Because Jesus is the reason, I understand the wear and tear of my body that He has given me to be a steward of.  Because Jesus is the reason, I can openly weep when family members are going through stressful times, knowing that though I cannot physically help them, He will hear my prayers.  Because Jesus is the reason, my wants are so small, as I find comfort in Him. Because Jesus is the reason, I know I can feel giddy and hum a tune for no reason at all, as He has kept the child within me to live and laugh, allowing for a good balance in my day to day life.  Because Jesus is the reason, I do love my life.

  In life, please remember to give and have no memory of it, or take and remember it always.

   
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  Noreen 4:31 am on December 25, 2014 Permalink  

  It’s Christmas Eve – – 

  – – It’s Tuesday, Christmas Eve in 1974.  Our 80′ long mobile home has Christmas showing everywhere, and the clock is ticking.

  The Christmas Eve church service in Buffalo Lake begins at 7:00 sharp.  Carrie and Kevin are prancing up and down the long hall way reciting the pieces that they will deliver with their Sunday School classes in front of the entire congregation.  Kevin is so sure of his delivery that he takes time out to straddle the hall walls and climb them high enough for Carrie to walk under him, with her shrieking the entire time that he is sure to fall and mess up her hair.

  Christmas Day will be at Grandpa and Grandma Wendlandt’s for the day and there are food dishes that I am preparing to take along.  Grandma’s house will be festive as their four kids (me being one of them) and their children will be there.  No one will be enjoying the day more than my Dad.  I know he has been busy in his wood shop in the basement. The time he puts in for making unique gifts can very well hold a candle to what my Mom has been tackling on her sewing machine.  It’s amazing how fast doors have closed in various parts of their home when I have popped in unexpectedly.  Fun times and no one goes hungry.

  As luck would have it, Orlin has been on the day shift at 3M in Hutchinson this week.   Some of Orlin’s brothers and their wives are coming later this week for an evening of fun and the kids have been encouraged to keep the house tidy.  Art and Julie will be coming from Hector, Arvel and Gloria are  here for the holidays from Colorado, and Elroy and Marlys will be joining us from Willmer.  Carrie and Kevin will have fun staying over at Grandma’s for the night.  Grandma will most likely have them playing cards with lots of holiday treats.

  On my list of things to do before the in-law company comes, I still do have to fix the kitchen floor.  The vinyl floor that has a small tile pattern in autumn colors seems to have picked up a circular pattern of no pattern. At a time when the kids have been home alone, pop corn was fixed.  Where else would you put a pan that had been picked up with a hot handle and no pot holder close by?  I know I can pretty much match the colors and the random look of the tiles with my Tri-Chem oil paints and then use a poly spray to secure the colors.  I am sure it may not matter if I do a great job, as I can hear Kevin declare, “Uncle Arvel, see where Mom fixed the floor?”

  It has been a very cold spell and we hate to be too far from home as several times the wind would catch the pilot light on the furnace just right and  . . . it could get really cold before it was noticed.  I think a service call is going to have to be made.

  I know that getting the kids to settle down tonight will be useless.  We’ll let them stay up and take in the offerings on TV with Christmas shows after we get home from church, with the hope that they will sleep in before racing into the living room to raid the Christmas tree and their gifts that have been left.

  This Christmas Eve and its hubbub is much like many before, but it is important for me to cherish them all and remember as many special events as possible.  They can never be physically repeated, but the memories can be played in my mind over and over and become sweeter with time.

   
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  Noreen 2:58 am on December 22, 2014 Permalink  

  How Did It All Get Done? 

  This noon I was getting the last finishing touches done on a Christmas card.  It was slow going and it gave me a chance to reminisce, my favorite thing to do.

  When Carrie and Kevin were toddlers, the Christmas season put jumping beans in their pants, as they literally bounced off the walls.  My agenda was all about covering the bases from baking to sewing new Christmas clothes while keeping the daily routine of the farm life in tact.

  The tradition had always been to bake goodies, that in today’s high end grocery stores would have been off the charts.  Dough was rolled, it was pushed out of a pastry gun, it was cut out, drizzled, frosted and then hidden.  Candies were boiled to the soft ball stage, candies were dipped, candies were decorated and then hidden.  Forty years ago, no housewife thought these timely treasures could be foregone.  Coffee guests during the Christmas season were always treated to the sweets, and at the end of the table, Carrie and Kevin would be seated with their eyes already enjoying the sweets before they were able to choose some.

  Ironically when we lived on the farm, the hiding spot for the treats was never discovered by Carrie and Kevin.  We lived there during the time that Carrie was a year old through the time of her being in third grade.  Kevin being three years younger had cut his baby teeth on all the window sills of this home.  We had a two story farm home and the stairs to the second floor included a landing before the last five steps would be taken. That entire knee wall square footage was a storage area accessed with a hinged door right off of the landing.  Even Orlin and I had to give a strong leg up to gain access.  The air inside this added area was cool and kept the goodies safe and sound.  In the later years I have no doubt that this area, just like every area on the 160 acre farm, would be subject to exploration by the kids, Carrie more so than Kevin.

  As I was growing up, all four of us Wendlandt kids sported a new Christmas outfit to be worn for the Christmas program at church as well as the gatherings during the Christmas season.  Carrie and Kevin grew up with that same mind frame of mind.  I enjoyed sewing for the kids any time of the year, but Christmas was special.  McCalls Pattern Company put out an amazing spread of patterns for little girls.  Carrie’s clothing was from the latest and greatest that McCall’s had to offer.  It was a bit harder to sew for Kevin after he was age three and thereon.  Three years old is about the time I heard “No more elastic pants.  I want belt loops like Dad.” Skinny little butt with hips to match, but that was the fare from then on.  Being the creative mom that I was and still am, I have some of Kevin’s clothing that has remained in the cedar chest in our walk up attic.  The crowning glory was the three pieced suit he wore when he was in grade school.  All the beautiful ruffles and pina-four outfits that Carrie had, were an equal match to Kevin’s suit.  At a later Christmas, I did crochet a sweater vest for Kevin and a short sleeve sweater for Carrie.  Both were trimmed out with buttons that looked like copper pennies.  White turtle neck sweaters completed that ensemble.

  Oh yes, those busy Christmas seasons went on without a hitch and I don’t think I knew it should be or could be any other way.  One year, Orlin and the kids got matching brushed nylon pajamas that were a surprise under the Christmas tree, complete with fancy stitching from the Model 1820 Sears Sewing Machine.  My sewing at that time was done at the dining room table and it was hard to work it in without been caught.  I don’t think that at that time, they had put “flame resistant” fabric on the market.  Orlin’s pajamas top was more of a crest on the pocket than the fancy designs that equated to kids.

  

  I ran across this photo of Megan as a wee toddler. One of her visits to our home, taking time out from playing as a nap is about to happen. It did bring to my mind that I may have been this weary decades ago as I prepared Christmas for my family.

  Those traditions took place the entire time that the farming chores and farm life went on.  Eggs needed to be gathered, cows needed to be milked, and the farm home needed to be kept tidy.  It was a lot on the plate, but never once was it even considered to give up the special Christmas traditions.  My Mom and my sister, Elvera, were right in there with me, doing the same for their families.  The three of us would compare notes and encourage each other when one of us was trying a new recipe or sewing technique.

  Decades have gone by and I do very little baking.  Now it’s all about the high cholesterol and keeping tabs on the blood pressure.  There is hardly a piece of clothing that can be bought that does not have a stretch woven into it, or it is knit clothing in its entirety.  My Model 1820 bucks at knits.  Truth to be told, clothing can be bought cheaper today than starting with a pattern and purchasing the fabrics and trimmings.  Even at the time that granddaughter Megan came along, eleven years ago, I tried sewing for her, but the boughten clothing had a higher utility value than I could do.  Times do change.

  Today, Carrie and Kevin are all about making their own traditions for their wonderful families.  Fun times for them to make and fun memories for them to recall at a time that will be much quieter than it is right now.  I so love that for them at a time that their homes totally become theirs.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would have a blog to share my dreams, my memories, and my day-to-day life.  It was very important to me that Carrie and Kevin have their own photo books that contained pages and years as my children.  I passed those memories on to them, lest something would happen that the memories of those days would be lost to them.  The actual photos are no longer mine, and all I need to bring those memories to me as if it were yesterday is to have a quiet moment with a cup of coffee or tea.  Priceless.

  In life, please take and remember it always, or give and have no memory of it.

   
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  Noreen 4:41 am on December 20, 2014 Permalink  

  How Random Can Things Be? 

  Webster’s defines random as: unsystematic, unplanned, haphazard or erratic.

  I cannot think of a single person who can survive in this world living in the state of “random.”  From the time we draw our first breath, there are medical personnel standing  beside our parents and the plan is laid out for our care until we can care for ourselves.

  I know that at times my life may have felt random, but currently Dennis and I are driving our own bus and that gives us the best of feeling comfortable.  Our life has a good plan, though to some it may seem somewhat overly systematic.  That’s okay.

  

  A wonderful quilt top emerged from the depths of soft colors being placed where the heart lead it.

  Thinking back there was a time when I was totally overwhelmed by a request of daughter Carrie.  Carrie was ready to make her first quilt.  She knew the color pallet when she came to St. James to shop at Grandma’s Quilt Emporium.  The pattern request was: no specific pattern, just all random.

  My Mom quilted.  My Grandma Riebe quilted.  My Grandma Wendlandt quilted.  My Great Grandma Christine Wendlandt quilted.  I was privy to all of these seasoned quilters during my childhood and also as a quilter in my own right.  For this project there was a wonderful selection of squares, but they were not to be in a nine patch configuration or any other process I could relate to.  Somewhere along the visits to St. James the quilt top was deemed finished.  I am quite sure it was a give and take on both Carrie’s part as well as mine.  It turned out to be a wonderfully cozy, inviting quilt that we tied with a soft blue yarn.  Random had been given a run for its money.  Looking at the precious photos of the event, I do see a bit of a pattern that emerged.

  

  Rocky, the smart cat that he was, was very
  warm and cozy in the depths of the quilt.

  Of that sweet project, one thing was not unplanned or erratic.  The cat Rocky, that Carrie had left with us a few years earlier, knew just exactly what this project meant for him.  It meant for him security, warmth and cuddle time.  As the quilt was being tied, Rocky would very quietly be a spectator and soon be as inconspicuous as possible as he buried himself into the depths of Carrie’s quilt.  Rocky did not live randomly.  See? No one gets by in this life without exercising the innate, instinctual power of taking control for their own survival.

   
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  Noreen 7:04 am on December 18, 2014 Permalink  

  Here Comes the Mailman! 

  This time of the year, I do get excited about the mail delivery.  Not every day, but several times a week, there comes the annual news of distant family members.

  Aunt Dorothy in Gaylord is 93 and still in her own home.  Of her eight children, seven are thriving and keeping close tabs on her. Her eighth child, Dewight, died at a very young age when he was gored by a bull.  It was the first funeral I attended of a young person. Dorothy was married to my Dad’s brother, Leonard.  Leonard worked as a medic in World War II.  What was his medical skill?  He had none, but he could speak fluid German and help those that did have medical expertise to exchange dialog for medical attention to be given.

  Aunt Janet lives in Brownton and is 83, living in her own home.  Janet is my Dad’s youngest sibling.  Her husband had a small grocery store in New Auburn with an egg pickup service to farmers.  Marvin was a severe diabetic and has been gone for 35 years.  Not having had any children of her own, she does numerous things to help her nephew who has never married, whose father was Janet’s twin.

  Aunt Lorraine at the age of 83 lives in Arizona with her youngest child.  Lorraine was married to my Dad’s brother, Maynard, who has been gone for nine years.  Lorraine is a kindred sole, as she enjoys fabrics and quilts as much as I do.

  

  My grandparents and their nine children. Those yearly Christmas parties meant many items to be thought of for the gift exchange. Oh, for the simplistic fun with a house overflowing with humanity, aka: family

  I do enjoy these gals and spend more time visiting with them now that I am retired and can give freely of my time to listen to them share their lives and their memories.  What they all love to recount is when the entire family would get together for a Christmas gathering.  The gatherings would take turns each year as to who’s farmhouse would host it.  It was a potluck evening lunch after everyone had their dairy herds milked and bedded down. The men would sit and visit and the rest of us would shake dice.  The gifts of those who were fortunate to shake a winner may very will have been a package of Jello or tuna.  Even the kids were thrilled to have won a grocery item  Every family member had a drawn name of another for a gift exchange.  Men and women alike participated.  Many handmade items were exchanged with little or no investment of money.  There were links of homemade sausages as well as jars of jam.  Very little financial investment, but an entire night of family fun. Lunch would be the last item of the night and everyone headed for their homes.  Ironically, the distance from one family to another was not that great.

  I do have to add that when my Mom was in a health care facility, my sister and I hosted Mom’s family, and for entertainment, we decided to shake dice.  Elvera and I had hit sales for some time prior to, to find gifts for the lucky dice winners.  Let me tell you that many young people were highly disappointed in what their winnings were.  I think we should have stuck with Jello and tuna and let the sad faces really pucker up.

  As you all know, with me . . . it’s all about the memories.