How I Learned To Forgive

When my son Ken got married, we were all very excited.  It seemed, at the time, like a perfect match.  As time progressed, we learned more about Amy and saw more of her true character.

She turned out to be a very hurtful person and we saw odd changes in our son.  Amy was also physically abusive to Ken and he showed many signs of an abused spouse.  He started to become less than his best self.

When the breakup finally came, our son was a broken man and Amy was blaming me for everything.  Ken cried harder than I had ever seen a grown man cry.

He grieved so hard for all his losses, including the two stepsons he had come to love so dearly.  He became almost non-functional for a time.

To say I came to hate Amy would be an understatement.  Truly I had never had such feelings for any human being in my life.  She had damaged my loving son, intentionally with no regrets.   I couldn’t believe my negative feelings towards her.

I was going to hurt her with my negative thoughts. Get revenge with my hateful mind. Maybe damage her the way she had damaged my sweet son.

But the person I was hurting the most was me.  I couldn’t sleep.  I had headaches.   My blood pressure was up and I thought about Amy all day.  My life was now being taken by her and I was allowing it to happen.

I had to learn to forgive Amy or become a cripple.   First step was wishing her no harm. That came with a lot of prayer and the counsel of others.  After months of work, I could honestly say I wished her no harm and did not fantasize about her death any longer.  (Yes, I had real issues with her!).

Next step was being able to wish her well.  That also was very hard.  I had to keep visualizing her two boys and wanting the best mother for them.  To do that, I had to think of her being her best self.

I don’t know that any of this has changed Amy but I am now able to sleep, have no more headaches and my blood pressure has returned to normal.  I don’t think about her anymore, except very rarely.  And when I do, I wish her all the best.

I am certainly the better for it.

How The Barter System Works In Coronavirus Land

Gramps and I did not do any stock-up shopping at the beginning of the virus outbreak.  We had what we needed at the time and the thought of the world running out of toilet paper never occurred to us.

So last week we were running low on paper products, including tp.  But by that time the stores were completely empty of anything paper.  Even Amazon was sold out.

As it happened, I made chocolate chip cookies one day and thought I should share them with our daughter and grandson Mac.  Mac says I make the “best” chocolate chip cookies ever.  Music to my heart!

They assured us they would love some cookies.  So over to their house we went with cookies in hand.

We had a lovely visit.  We talked and shared and laughed.  Until the subject of toilet paper came up.  How many stores did you go to?  How many rolls did the store have?  How many rolls do you have?

Finally we confessed we were down to three rolls.  (Can you believe this is what we’re talking about?!).  Our daughter offered to give us some from her supply, as she had just found a large package the day before.

We were saved!  Chocolate chip coolies for tp.  The going rate appears to be one dozen cookies for four rolls of toilet paper.  Not bad really.  They stay fed and we stay dry.

My Favorite Possessions

I think about the things I would try to save if there were a fire in my house.  Those objects that are precious, have memories attached to them and can’t be replaced.   Those possessions that can give you a hug and a good feeling just by being there, being seen and being touched.

I have several of these irreplaceable items Some are out to be seen.  Some are safely tucked away.  And some are used daily.

My quilts are very important to me, but one is especially precious.  It’s hanging on the wall in our guest bedroom.  It’s so valuable to me because it is made from linens stitched by my grandmother and mother.  There are tablecloths, towels, napkins, dresser scarves and doilies in the quilt.  Then it is bordered in colorful handkerchiefs.

I can just feel those women around me when I am in the presence of that quilt.  It’s like a great big hug.  It speaks to me through its stitches and linens.  I would definitely grab it first, if there was a fire or a flood.

My great-grandmother’s bedroom set is in our bedroom.  Gramps and I have used it since we were married.   My grandmother was born in that bed.  It is made of cherry wood and is very ornate – very Victorian.  It has a tall headboard and footboard.

I can’t even tell you how cuddled and comforted I feel in Gram’s big bed.  I can just imagine the generations of women dusting those wooden boards and changing the linens and fluffing the pillows.  It’s an honor to keep up the tradition of loving my bed.  My dilemma?  I’m not sure I could carry it out in a disaster.

Now my mother’s silver tea set is very portable in case of a calamity.  It’s tucked away in a cupboard because we never use it anymore.  That’s not to say I don’t get it out and pet it periodically.  My mother had it sitting on the buffet, always polished and always shiny.  It reminds me of her in many ways.  She too was always polished and shiny.

I have some of my Daddy’s tools, which also are not very useful but are a treasure to me. He was a carpenter in the CB’s during WW II and was a general all-around fix-it kind of guy.  To have those tools that were used and touched by him so many times is a gift for me.  When I see them, I can almost hear him working and banging away on some project. Thinking of it now almost brings tears to my eyes.

Then there’s the diamond ring that Gramps gave me many years ago as a birthday present.  I wear it all the time.  It’s a daily reminder of his love and devotion to me. Coincidentally, the large diamond in the center is surrounded by six smaller diamonds, exactly the number of grandchildren we have.

The whole ring is a little remembrance of my entire family – all three generations.  I don’t go anywhere without it.

So obviously, all these possessions could not be gotten out of the house very rapidly.  But they could in a slow evacuation.  And you know what?  It doesn’t matter if I have any of these items really.

Because I carry all the people and memories in my heart, where they are safe from every disaster and can never be lost.

Childhood Christmases

When I was a child, Christmases were a lot less commercialized and a lot more innocent. Gifts were often homemade and so were ornaments and decorations. More children believed in Santa Claus and wrote letters to him.

It was just a more innocent time. There was no TV or very little TV for most of my childhood. So we weren’t overloaded with all the Christmas stories and animated movies that we have now. We had to make our own entertainment.

The season started in about September when Mother began baking cookies and breads and making candy. She gave some to everybody she knew in little Christmas tins she collected all year. Everybody looked forward to their little tin of goodies every year. Some people returned the tins to get them refilled the next year.

Then the decorating started. Every room had its own theme. It took days to get the whole house done, but did it look spectacular. My Mother had some decorating favorites in those days. Lots of candles and lots of angel hair.

I remember the year the angel hair on the dining room buffet caught fire. My Mother was always in charge of noticing problems and sending out the alarm. My Dad was in charge of fixing said problems. And so it was with the fire. Mother saw the fire on the buffet and began screaming. Daddy, knowing his job, immediately jumped up and threw his drink on the fire. It worked and the fire was instantly out. To which my Mother responded, “Well, that’s going to leave a stain!”. Ah yes. That was a good year.

But most years were not so “firy”. Usually we just decorated and put up our tree like normal folk. Well, maybe not so normal. We never had a green Christmas tree my whole life. In those days, tinsel trees were very popular, so that’s what we had. A tall sparkly heartwarming silver Christmas tree. Every year. My entire childhood.

Oh it looked great when it was decorated. It really did! And we all decorated it – the whole family. Then we had our Christmas tree picnic.

We would turn all the lights off except the tree lights. Put a picnic blanket down by the tree, where we would all sit. Then we would eat cookies, drink cocoa, talk and sing Christmas carols. It was wonderful fun and sometimes would last for hours. It’s a tradition I carried on with my family too.

No one ever peeked at their presents before hand in our family. I’m not sure why. I guess it would have spoiled the fun of Christmas morning.

Mother would carefully wrap each present. She was gifted at that. She could tie beautiful bows and the tape didn’t even show. Her presents were works of art. I hated to unwrap mine because they were so beautiful.

We opened gifts on Christmas morning – at o’dark thirty actually, when my brother woke up. He was a real early bird.

Mother had coffee and OJ ready for us. We usually all got new pajamas to wear for the pictures. First the stockings were emptied. There was always candy and an orange in the toe.

I never understood the orange, until I was an adult. My parents lived through the Depression when fresh fruit was so hard to come by. To have an orange all to yourself then was a real treat and my Mother was just passing that on to us.

Then we got to open gifts one at a time, so everyone could enjoy each one. Sometimes one child was designated as “Santa Claus” and would hand out each present from under the tree

Most years we had more than we knew what to do with but I remember one year when I was pretty young. Christmas was little sparse. But a week later my parents told us that Santa Claus had brought some gifts that he had “forgotten” the previous week. We were beside ourselves with excitement. And were we ever popular in school that year. Santa Claus had come to our house TWICE!

I was grown before I figured out that my parents had to wait for the after Christmas sales to get us Christmas gifts. How hard that must have been. But they made it so wonderful for us.

My parents always did that. They made every holiday special. They ept a positive attitude when it wasn’t easy to do and protected the children from adult concerns. Even though they must have had many Christmases when they were uncertain how they would manage, I never felt fear or worry.

My childhood Christmas memories are filled with fun, laughter, good food, family, bright colors, a silver tree, and an occasional fire (but no one was hurt!). I hope my children can say the same.

For The Love Of Selvedges

So what the heck is a selvedge anyway?  Well, for those who really don’t know, it’s the edge of either side of a woven fabric, so finished as to prevent raveling.  That’s according to Merriam-Webster, that is.

To me, it’s the fun narrow border of a fabric that usually has written words and color dots, and more recently, colorful designs.  Selvedges have become so charming, I am absolutely enamored with them.

Sometimes selvedges will have more than just the name of the company and/or the name of the fabric.  Nowadays they will have words of wisdom, like these.

How can you go wrong, when your fabric tells you how the world should be!

And the selvedges with those cute characters!  I mean, who doesn’t love colorful, charming, little animals or objects just marching across the edge?  Usually the objects pertain to the pattern of the fabric and sometimes . . . who knows where the idea came from?

But I save all selvedges – the smooth edged and the ruffly edged.  I cut the selvedge plus at least one inch of fabric.  That way, when I overlap the selvedges to make fabric, I will get some of the color.

Which is why I save the selvedges – to make more fabric out of the strips.  Sounds insane, I know, but it is so great-looking.  I have covered my sewing room chair with that fabric. Here’s a photo:

Also made a tote.

Basically, once you make a piece of fabric from the strips, you can do anything with that fabric.  Use it like any other fabric and sew into any shape you want.  The possibilities are endless.

I’m not sure why selvedges speak to me the way they do but I sure am hooked.  I confess that once I bought some fabric only because the selvedge was so outstanding.  My love of selvedges is so well known, that many people now save them for me.

It’s kind of like being a drug addict and having dealers who give me the drug for free.  I mean, really?  I once even talked a lady at my Quilt Guild Meeting, who had won a bag of selvedges as a door prize, into giving me the whole bag.  I think I need an intervention.

So next time you see a piece of fabric, look at the selvedges.  Careful!  You might become addicted, just like me!

Oh, I see some now!  Gotta go!

A Cat Named Starsky

It all started when I looked out into the backyard one day and saw a white rabbit hopping around.  He looked very domesticated and very lost.  So, of course, we adopted him and named him “Hutch.”  We thought that was very clever.

Within a month, I was coming home from work in the rain and saw a small cat in the street.  I stopped to see how I could help and when I opened my car door, a wet black cat jumped into my lap.

And that’s how we adopted a completely black cat who subsequently was named “Starsky” after the TV series “Starsky and Hutch.”  Now we thought we were practically brilliant at naming pets.

When I took Starsky to the vet to be checked out, the tech asked me all the necessary questions including the cat’s name.  I said I was a little embarrassed to tell her the cat’s name and she said that was okay – she had heard them all.

So I told her his name was Starsky, and how he got his name.  She said that was not bad. She actually thought I was going to say his name was “Sammy Davis Jr.”  Now that would be a great name for an all black cat!

We eventually gave Hutch to a friend who owned a farm, but Starsky lived with us for many happy years.  He grew up to be the best cat ever.

He was calm, gentle, playful and great with our two children.  They could easily dress him in clothes and he would never make a fuss.  Or put a hat on him and he would just stare at me with a “come help me” look on his face.

We even have a picture of him with red checkers all over him and the poor cat is just frozen in position.  He was the best!

He would let me carry him anywhere and would sleep on my lap.  He also slept at the foot of our bed at night.  He was quiet and didn’t snore a bit.  But he could also be playful. Have you ever seen a cat play fetch?  Well, our Starsky would!

If anyone would throw a bottle cap or fire a rubber band down the hallway, that silly feline would run as fast as he could, snatch the object and trot back with it in his mouth. Casually he would drop it at the thrower’s feet and wait for the next toss.

This would go on for as long as the thrower had energy or until Starsky got distracted by something fun . . . or maybe food.

Which brings me to poor Starsky’s weight problem.  He loved to eat and he was no athlete, so eventually he ballooned to a whopping twenty-five pounds.  Vet said, “Put him on a diet!”.

That’s when the begging began.  Our wonderful gentleman of a cat became a real pest for food.  At every meal there would be a little black paw running along the edge of the table, just in case any crumb happened to be there.  Steady as clockwork.

And our Starsky was a pacifist every day of his life.  He wasn’t a good fighter either.  I know, because after every disagreement with another cat, he had an injury on his backside.  Never anywhere else.  Always the tush – from him running away, I suppose.

Our Starsky set the standard for all the other cats we ever owned. He was the most mild-mannered, cutest, gentlest, funniest, best cat ever.

He left a huge hole when he was gone.  Hard to believe for such a small animal.  We still talk about him in all our “remember when” stories.

Everyone should have a pet like Starsky to enjoy and then remember forever.

400!

Today’s blog is my 400th!   I can’t believe it but yes, it’s true. Four hundred blogs!!!!

I’ve been writing pretty much all my life.  Mostly newsletters for different organizations and lots of letters.  I’ve always loved expressing myself per the written word.  Even after I almost failed Freshman English in College.  (The Professor didn’t think I was much good at writing in those days.)

I started this blog because I had a few things to say about being a Granny.  I thought it would be a temporary outlet and that I would run out of topics.  What a silly thought that was!

I have more to say now than I did then.  As the years have gone by, I have found that more and more ideas have occurred to me and my subject areas have broadened immensely.  It seems odd, but the older I get, the more observations and opinions I have.  I realize now it will never stop.

This blog has given me a wonderful creative outlet.   It has allowed me many opportunities to express myself in hundreds of ways. Through gratitude, humor, self-reflection, pride for another, happiness, courage and faith, I have been able to tell stories about Granny, Gramps, the grandchildren and the village.

The blog keeps me disciplined.  I must not go too long between blogs.  I must choose a topic.  I must write a certain number of words with a beginning and an end.  I must edit it and it must make sense when done.  Then it gets published.  At that point it’s all up to the readers.

They are in charge of reviewing the blog and making comments on it.  No one can know the importance of the viewing public to me.  Without you, your views and your comments, I really have no reason to write a blog.  It would be like talking to the wind.

The blog provides me much encouraging feedback to keep writing.  It’s you, the readers, who keep me going and wanting to keep posting.  One sweet compliment lasts a good long while and a positive reply is as good as intravenous vitamins.

All you viewers out there have no idea how important you are to me.  How much you mean to me and how much I depend on you.  You are always brutally truthful as to what is a good blog and what is less than my best.  For that I thank you.

This blog has taught me to be able to choose which parts of a story can be told in truth and which parts need to be kept secret or told in code.  People must be protected and social media is not very good at that, so a person must decide what is included and what is not, to protect the people.  Editing becomes a big part of writing a blog well.

This blog has taught me another thing – how kind most of you readers are.  You are basically a good group of nice people with specific opinions I need to hear.  All this exchange back and forth makes me a better writer and you a better reader.  That combined effect of getting better makes the whole blog that much better.

So how do I say thank you to all of you – my faithful followers, my diligent readers, my responsible ones, who read each blog.  How do I express my gratitude?

This is my BIG THANK YOU!  I couldn’t do this without you!  Besides the fact that I have to do this, I have to do this for you!  Thank you for that – for being there and making it worth it!

Here’s to the next 400!