THE VIEW FROM MY WINDOW

           I spent some years of my life, in the 40's, living in a military housing complex with a plethora of kids, bikes, trikes, kids, and kids.  Moms in the complex finished up their morning work, grabbed their coffee mug, cigarettes and lighters, and headed for the neighbor's house for a chat.  I remember, as if it were yesterday, going with my mom to one of these tete-a-tetes.  Bored, I looked around the lady's house at lacy white curtains blowing softly in the breeze, a highly polished wood floor, and a baby bouncing in a Johnny-Jump-Up swing.  It was, to me, perfection.  Even as a five year old, I wanted that kind of life for myself.  Many years later, I had the lacy curtains, polished floors, and six children, and I wasn't quite so enamored!!  I felt that I'd lost "Me" somewhere in the equation of acquiring the perfect life.  I identified with Thoreau's "lives of quiet desperation."  I concluded that, in order, to find "Me" again, I had to set aside some time for myself, but when....?  One morning, at 3 am, I was up with a sick baby.  As I rocked him in the blessed silence of that early hour when the only sound was the ticking of the clock and his soft baby snores, I knew I'd found my "Me" time.  I'd found the time of day when, for the most part, I didn't need to be housekeeper, mom, wife, teacher, etc., I only had to be myself.  Arising at 3 in the morning has become a lifelong habit.  I've spent my "Me" time over the years sewing--xstitching, beading, crocheting, knitting, quilting, crafting, reading, indexing, researching, and writing.  I recommend the habit highly.  I've solved most of my own problems in those quiet hours before dawn through hundreds of quiet prayers.  Once I hear the stirrings of the family or the buzz of a distant alarm, I open my curtains with a sigh.  As the sun was coming up this morning, I was greeted with this sign that this is going to be a beautiful Sabbath day, no matter what the weather:



         On a lighter note, ur week has been filled with our projects: 

One row of the slats of the pergola is completed.  The other row will go up soon.  (As I was taking this picture, Astro sped off into the neglected orchard behind our house after five deer who were enjoying a morning fruit feast.  He nearly met an early demise when he wouldn't give up his determination to scare the deer off.  Papa Deer gave him a bit of a whack.  He's fine, but he decided to let the deer have the orchard; he'd lick his wounds on the couch.) 

 The "Wonky Pineapple" couch cover is completed.

Vale has arrived for his sophomore year in the Kennedy Boarding House.  Electronic gear is all set up, and his "man cave" is stocked.  Backpack is loaded with supplies.  The dunce hat is for his favorite teacher, Mr. Sankari, who Vale felt needed a dunce hat for a special corner of his classroom.
                  The view from my window is looking....upbeat and bright.  How about your view??  Love to All.  Mom

You can't help respecting anybody who can spell TUESDAY, even if he doesn't spell it right; but spelling isn't everything. There are days when spelling Tuesday simply doesn't count.”
― A.A. Milne



LAZY, HAZY, CRAZY DAYS OF SUMMER--OR WHY I HAVEN'T BEEN BLOGGING

          May to August with no blogs...hmmm...I just can't seem to keep up with this blog.  Here's why:
DAD'S SUMMER PROJECT:  Finishing the decks and trim on the house.  Still not finished, but it's looking beautiful.  He had planned to stop at putting on the railing; then decided on a pergola for the lower deck.  In addition to the decks, he's done yard work and stockpiled lots of wood for the winter.

MY SUMMER PROJECT:   Couch covers for the two living room couches. The one in the top picture is designed around a block called Courthouse Steps.  I'm learning to quilt large quilts on my own sewing machine.  Machine quilting is no easy skill to learn.  ALL of the fabric in this quilt is leftover strips from other projects. 

        The second quilt I call  Wonky Pineapples.  The blocks in Wonky Pineapples are made from fabric scraps as well.  To make the pineapples, I'm learning a quilting technique called Free Motion Quilting.  Some of my pineapples look like handgrenades; some like pumpkins; some almost resemble real pineapples.  Lots of fun.

          The "blurps" in our summer have been electronic!!  Dad describes me as the "techie" in the family, so you can guess that we struggle!!  Susan and Eric bought me a streaming device called a Roku, so that we could have Netflix on our tv.  Installing the Roku to our tv involved replacing our outdated gorge network setup, numerous calls to both our network provider and the Roku techs AND me crawling under the table in the sewing room about 20 times.  Now, however, we're old hands at this Netflix business.

         The second blurp involved my sewing machine and a very sweet tender mercy.  While I was working on a graduation quilt for one of the girls from church, my Pfaff broke down.  You can't be a reader of this blog without knowing that I count on my sewing machine, so you can imagine how devastated I was when our local repairman told me that he no longer worked on Pfaff machines.  In desperation, I borrowed one of the church machines to finish the quilt, and it BROKE.  There was nothing to do, but  take my machine to a Pfaff dealer in Portland.  In a telephone conversation to a tech in Portland, I learned to my dismay that there's a minimum charge of $160 to open the machine and do a diagnosis!!  On top of that would be the charge for the part replacement and the labor--estimated at $400 minimum.  Gulp.  However, it had to be done.  The repairman kept finding this and that wrong, and I kept praying that I could pay the bill.  In the end, he said with a grin, "Let's make it $50.  It's a slow day, and you're a nice lady."  Whew.

       Enjoy these Dog Days of Summer.  Hope all are well and happy.  We are.

Love, Mom

Listen to your heart. Even though it's on your left side, it will always be right! :)

 

NOTES ON A SUNDAY MORNING

           It’s a beautiful day in the Gorge. 69 degrees with a slight breeze. A far cry from the heavy rain/windstorm we had last night.  I'm skipping Church this morning to keep an eye on Vale.  He's had a cold/sinus/allergy problem for several weeks, and yesterday, he was a lot worse than he's been and felt even worse this morning.  I was ready to take him to the ER for a prescription of anti-biotics, but he seems better this afternoon  Still, I felt I should be around just in case!!  I've heard numerous complaints this season:  "I've never had allergies until now."

 

Dad has spent a lot of time in the yard this spring. Most of his efforts have been to trim back our many trees which were damaged in the ice and snow this winter. We can see that we’ve lost one or two bushes/shrubs but no trees. 

See the lilac bush by the shed?  It has a triumphant tale to tell.  We've had the bush for about ten years, and it's never been more than about the height of the wall, and it's produced exactly one bloom each year.  I think the experiences of some of the other bushes who've been trimmed way down to their underwear taught the little lilac bush that he'd better do something or he may suffer extinction.  So he's shot himself right up there.  Hope he continues and starts a family--I've always wanted lots of lilac bushes.

In addition, as soon as there was one moderately "good" day, Dad loaded his truck with his saws and awls, his compadre, Astro, and his Gene Autry cd and headed for the woods.  To my delight, his trips to the woods are in full view of our friends the Kings and the Matosiches, so I don't worry about him quite as much.  In addition, he's bought several cords of wood from the Boy Scouts. There's more wood behind the tree.  Now he has to split all of it.  Since Vale won't be here for Scout camp, he hasn't been in on the woodcutting project.  When the Scouts came to deliver the first cord, Dad sent the entire troop in to the house to roust Vale out to unload the pickup.  They were quite impressed with Vale's new man cave.

   The picture's a bit dark.  The black head in the middle is Vale with his headset.  On his right is Uncle Garth's old recliner which is where Vale usually sits.  On his left is all of his "stuff...clarinet, guitar, game cds, etc.  It's a touch life Vale leads.  If you look right in the center of the other picture, you'll see Vale.  He's in Concert Choir.  .

As for me, in addition to being Vale's chauffeur and taskmaster and the housekeeper, I'm into my usual:  genealogy, indexing, and quilting.  On the genealogy front, I discovered Mark and Debbie's mother's genealogical line.  Turns out there's a lot of blue blood running through those veins; they're descendants of the kings and queens of France and Spain.  For Indexing, I'm working on the 1940 Census.  Indexing is a job of processing the original sheets into the computer, which has been interesting and quite informative, as well as dull.  For 2 or 3 days now, I've been doing a neighborhood in Brooklyn which is full of surnames from many Eastern European countries.  I indexed the family of Samuel Cohen, whose son is Isidore Cohen.  I knew Isidore Cohen was a famous name, and, sure enough, he was a well-known chamber musician and violinist with the Julliard Quartet.  I also indexed a family in Bremerton.  The father in the family was Merton Wells, who was in his 80's when we knew him.  The ward was so desperate for Scoutmasters that Mert was still a Scoutmaster when Mark joined.  When Mark got ready for his first hike, we simply couldn't afford a backpack for him, so Mert brought his over for Mark.  It was his WWI pack made of canvas and boards!  As a mom new to Scouting, I dutifully packed every single item on Mark's list into the pack.  The list for the overnight campout included a set of winter clothing even though it was July and enough packaged meals to last for a week!  As Mark got ready, I was trying unsuccessfully to hoist the monstrosity onto his tiny back.  I could hear Mark yelling, "Julie, please quit pushing down on the pack!!"  Fortunately, one of the other Scoutmasters heard of our plight and brought us a different pack.  However, I've never forgotten Mert's kindness on that occasion.  I'm also still quilting.  I'm still working on Tom's quilt, which I mentioned in an earlier blog.  Half of the queen-sized quilt has been hand-quilted.  I'm also making quilted couch covers for our old couches.  They are designed, one top is finished, and I have 27 blocks out of 64 done on another, so I'm cooking along.

We are always concerned about all of you and wish we heard more from you, but we know how busy your lives are.  Both of us have become hard of hearing.  It makes for lots of jokes between us, but it is also a challenge.  We often don't hear the phone even though we're home.  If you call, and you don't receive an answer, try again.

Love from here to each of you.  Mom

“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?"

"What's for breakfast?" said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?"

"I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?" said Piglet.

Pooh nodded thoughtfully.  "It's the same thing," he said.

Chapter 2

            In my January post, I told the story of the quilt I made for my husband.  This post is Chapter 2.  To truly understand my tale today, you have to understand that I need to have a hand sewing project to do!!  Most evenings, my sweetheart and I watch television; he with a book or his scriptures on hand for the boring parts, and I with a hand sewing project.  This one is the quilt.  "Lovers' Knot" designed by Eleanor Burns.

I emphasize quilt top because a quilt is actually a sandwich of fabric:  the colorful top, a batting for warmth, and a backing.  The quilt maker puts this sandwich together by either tying, machine quilting, or hand quilting, and then binds the sandwich.  What you see in the picture above is the quilt top, and it looks symmetrical and quite attractive, doesn't it?  This particular quilt top was designed as two large separate triangles.   Designing my own Celtic Lovers' Knot pattern for the red and green knots you see in the quilt, from January to late February, I spent every evening hand quilting the bottom triangle.

My mother and her sisters used to brag about their quilting stitches.  Ladies in their seventies, they were so proud of their tiny stitches--twelve to an inch--that, if one dared to contradict or criticize, the others resorted to calling her some of their childhood naughty nicknames.  My stitches are more like six stitches to the inch, but I'm learning.

                       When I put the finished triangle half on my design board, I noticed, to my horror, a horrendous blunder.  See if you can spot it.  Look along the edge in the bottom left corner of the picture. See it now?  Look at the little red triangles.  There's a pattern:  red triangle, green V, red triangle and Ooops...

Three of the four sides of the quilt have this same error, and two of the sides are fully handquilted.

                       DO I CORRECT MY ERROR OR NOT???  This is the part of the quilt called the overhang--the part that hangs over the edge of the bed.  The border.  Should I ignore the problem and just finish the quilt?  Hours and hours and hours of picking out the hundreds of stitches.  Is it worth that much effort?  YES.  Yes it is.  This quilt is for the man of my dreams, and, even at 70+, he is as handsome and kind and loving--a Prince Charming--a real Boy Scout, as he was 41 years ago today when I met him!!

                 The first step was to label every part of the quilt with sticky notes. looking for the error. 

                 Then, I used these wicked-looking fellows:

Picking, picking, picking at miniscule stitches--mine aren't as small as my mom's, but they're small.  Picked and picked and picked through football games, political caucuses, old movies, and tv episodes until the pattern and rhythmn of the border is back in sync. 

                       In the meantime, my sweetheart is up to his old tricks.  These are his wicked-looking fellows.  He's been trimming and pruning the damaged trees in our yard.  Yes, he climbs on that orchard ladder.  Yes, I've told him a million times not to.  But, as I want the border on the quilt to be right, Tom wants the trees in the yard to look right.

 

Maybe that's the secret:  to do what's in our power to help what we love be the best that they can be. 

                         Love, Mom

“The purpose of life is not to be happy – but to matter, to be productive, to be useful, to have it make some difference that you have lived at all.” Leo Rosten

LEST WE FORGET

           Have you ever had times in your life when events seem to have a theme?  That's been my plight this week.  The theme has been service in the military.  I think the seed was sown when I began to read Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand, which is the true story of Louis Zampereni, an Olympic runner who survived a plane crash and a Japanese POW camp during WWII.  One evening when I was involved in the book, Tom suggested that I watch a two part episode of the old tv show, "Doc."  These episodes originally aired as a Veterans Day tribute in 2001.  Wow...talk about gut-wrenching!!  Then, there was the flap about flying the flag at half-mast for Whitney Houston.  I had no choice but to research my own Whitby family's service in the military, so the theme kicked into high gear.

 I've talked before on this blog about my brother, Joe, who served in Vietnam.  I still remember his first leave home from Marine Corps basic training. Every shoe in the house was polished to a high gloss, and every bed made to military rightness.  Joe was 23 when he was killed in 1967.  He had only been in the country for a month or two, having served most of his military time as a guard at a military prison.  He wrote a few letters in which he warns me over and over:  DO NOT DATE MARINES.  He didn't have to go to Vietnam because of the nature of his assignment, but he felt duty-bound to serve with his fellow Marines.  I found this description of his last days: On 05 March 1967 Charlie and Delta Companies, 1/9 Marines, assaulted NVA forces emplaced around Phu An. The NVA were defeated at the cost of at least eleven Marines killed in action: 

I've talked to two of the men who served with Joe in that horrendous battle who credited Joe with saving their lives. 
                                                 Then, I researched the military service of my uncle, Cyrus Whitby, who was career military, serving in the tail end of WWII and dying during the Korean War. 
Sergeant Whitby was a member of Company D, 8th Engineer Combat Battalion, 1st Cavalry Division. He was Killed in Action while clearing a mine field at Sin-dong, in South Korea by a direct hit from an enemy mortar shell on September 16, 1950.  He was 29.  I never knew Uncle Cy, but I have a few letters that he wrote to his brother, Jack, that I cherish.  In most of the letters, he longs to come to Seattle and have some beers with his brother.  His last letter is dated September 16, 1950.  He tells Jack of new leadership responsibilities that have brought him to his knees in prayer for the first time in many, many years. 

                                His brother, Jack, also served in the military--the US Navy during WWII.  Jack was the uncle we children knew well.  He was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy and loved us dearly.                                          

Another of my uncles, my father's half-brother, Frank Warr, was also career military.  He served in the cavalry and actually worked with horses early in his career.  I also have some of his letters where he talks about the many precision drills for which he was grooming and training the horses.  Since he is buried in Manila, I began to wonder if he had been in the Bataan Death March.  Although Uncle Frank was in the 31st Infantry Division which was marched to their deaths, he died of his wounds in a battle at Acubay four months before the horrible Death March.  Uncle Frank's brother, Ray Warr, was the son who stayed home to care for their widowed mother and to run the family farm which was considered vital to the war.
                                           

                       Finally, I researched my father's military service.  Daddy wasn't drafted until late 1944 because he worked in the asbestos industry which was vital to the war, but in 1944, his number came up, and he reluctantly left my mother and we three children behind for almost two years.  He never spoke of his military service, and he did not allow my brother to have even toy guns in our home.  I did know that he had served in Germany during the occupation.  I searched hard to find his military records since he'd been drafted for the "duration of the war" and to be assigned "as needed."  I'm still waiting for official copies of his war records.  Through bits and pieces in newspaper accounts in his hometown newspaper of Oakley, Idaho, I found out that he was in the 701st Battallion which was part of the First Infantry Division. He served as a truck driver in France and Germany, and in 1945, I received a birthday letter from him which is postmarked "Gotha, Germany."
The 1st Infantry Division continued its push into Germany, crossing the Rhine River. On 16 December 1944, 24 enemy divisions, 10 of which were armored, launched a massive counterattack in the Ardennes sector, resulting in what became known as the Battle of the Bulge. On 15 January 1945, the 1st Infantry Division attacked and penetrated the Siegfried line for the second time and occupied the Remagen bridgehead. On Easter Sunday, 1 April 1945, the Division marched 150 miles to the east of Siegen. On 8 April 1945, the Division crossed the Weser river into Czechoslovakia. The war was over in Europe on 8 May 1945.
                                     Though the theme for these last few days has been depressing, it's also been affirming.  These men served their country, sacrificed their lives, in some cases, to protect their families and way of life.  I doubt that any of them wanted to be warriors; they wanted to parade their horses, drink beer, be at home with family.  Our son, Steve, and our son-in-law, Ben, are this generation's military men, and we're proud of them. 
                 Hope all is well with everyone.  Love, Mom

   

Listen to your heart. Even though it's on your left side, it will always be right! :)

MISCELLANY

          This is a morning so quiet that I can hear myself chewing my gum.  My blinds are still closed, so I don't even know exactly what the weather is like, except that Weather Bug tells me there's a 40 per cent chance of mixed rain and snow.  So be it.  I'm not going anywhere today.  Even the dog hasn't wandered in yet this morning; he knows I won't stir from my sewing/study room for another 40 minutes to do anything interesting like take him for a walk or fill his food bowl, so why stir from his warm nest on the couch? 
           I've been reflecting this morning on how ironic life can be sometimes.  Following through on a New Year's resolution, I've tried to replace mindless internet surfing with working on genealogy.  While working on the Shurtleff line, I came across this ironic obituary:  The following is taken from a newspaper clipping of Mar 18, 1826: "Died in Carver, Mass, on the 6th of January, Mr Abiel Shurtleff, aged 93 years. So late as the 21st of December, this aged pilgrim walked to Plymout, a distance of nine miles in four hours, where he passed several days, remarking among other things, the he had reaped in his native fields eighty two summers, where in his youth he had seen wigwams and aged sachems. and that he had been a soldier in the campaigns of the ware of 1756 at Crown Point.  Abiel Shurtleff Sr died on 6 January 1826 at Carver, Plymouth, MA, USA, at age 93. Mr Shurtleff walked to Plymouth on "Forefather's Day," sat upon Pilgrim Rock and took a severe cold which resulted in his death.   I laughed aloud when I read this, on one level marveling the he could, at 93, walk nine miles in four hours, but also remembering how shocked I was when I saw his sitting rock for myself about 7 years ago.

                  I love this room I'm in this morning; it's my sewing room--my nest, my spot.  My husband created the room for me a few years ago.  It's reflective of my interests--computer at one end, sewing machine at the other.  Soft office chair for me, old oak straight-backed chair for Tom to sit in when he drops by all through the day as he works on his own "stuff."  Wine red walls, lace curtains, cluttered, scattered, unfinished projects here and there...me.  Grandson Vale asks often in family prayer for God to bless me while I do "Grandma Things."  If forced to define Grandma Things, he probably wouldn't be able to do so.  He knows I'm busy at my sewing machine or computer in all my leisure time, and you know what they are because I've told you often in these blogs.  Vale received this Grandma Thing just recently 

                     Until a few days ago, four large oak bookcases lined one wall.  They seemed to loom large, ovewhelming the room, catch-alls for miscellaneous "stuff."  We moved the bookcases into the living room and replaced them with a quilters' dream--a design wall.  A design wall is a pallette for me to work on sewing projects.  You can see six projects on the wall--my some days.  The catch-all with the oval handle is a gift from sister filled with pins, scissors, etc.  The seven red, white, and blue blocks are the beginnings of a Quilt of Valor for our son-in-law, Ben, who has served two deployments to Afghanistan.  See the Mormon temple block??  It's a rough design for a memorative something--the temple is Idaho Falls where we were married 41 years ago.  The small yellow and green block will find its way into a sewing machine cover I'm making for my sister, the tulip block into a pillow or machine cover for myself, and the longer piece is a table runner I started and don't know how to finish.  At the top,  are six little crocheted cups and saucers.  My mother made those in the last few weeks of her life.  I need to design something for them as well.  Thank heaven for sweet ironies in life, sweet husbands and children who pray you'll have good health to do your "Grandma Things," and projects to do and enjoy to keep yourself young.  AND a red room to do them in.  Love from here.  Mom

 

Listen to your heart. Even though it's on your left side, it will always be right! :)

 

                  

                

ON TURNING FIFTY

            No...not me.  I turned fify almost twenty years ago.  This time the one turning fifty is our oldest son, Mark.  I met Mark nearly forty years ago as the new bride of his dad.  We met at SeaTac Airport in Seattle.  Waiting for him to walk off the plane was a nerve-wracking ordeal filled with insecurity and doubts.  How would he feel about me?  Would he be accepting of me?

No need to have worried!!  He took hold of my hand and never looked back.  In fact, he talked all the way home, telling me the plot of a B movie called Freebie and the Bean, a blood and guts R-rated movie. Mark has loved me unconditionally and always treated me tenderly and with respect.  Today, he's a successful businessman, happily married,  father of three beautiful daughters and grandfather of 2.  Happy Fiftieth, Dear Mark.
             We Kennedys like February birthdays, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY to: Ivan, Connor, Ben, Nicole, and Brenna as well as Mark.

                 We're back to our normal, if dull, routine.  After seven days off school because of illness and snow, Vale was grateful to get back to his second semester at Columbia High.  He was recruited into Choir class and returned to band class as well.  There should be some joyful noises around our house now.  We've had a couple more days of power outages which seem to be caused by an ongoing feud between our local public utility district and Bonneville Power. We're keeping a list of lessons we've learned by "roughing it."  Lesson Number One is to put emergency supplies where we can find them in the dark.  Poor Vale stumbled around trying to find flashlights and candles which were scattered all over the house.
             Just recently, we had a lesson in our church class about procrastination.  The teacher, who always has us laughing one minute and crying the next, did an excellent job of making us squirm in our seats.  She got my Guilt Quotient up, and I determined to make up for lost time.  I started by determining to organize and clean out the shelves in my sewing room/office. First chore was a large stack of unfiled, loose papers.  Aha...I pulled out file folders and looseleaf binders to get those errant strays back into their proper order.  A choice, choice experience...better than any game of solitaire.  The stack proved to be unorganized pages of journals from years ago, pieces of my writing from as far back as 1963, letters to our missionary and our exchange students.  The afternoon flew by, and by the time I had everything properly organized, I was renewed and refreshed with not a guily pang in sight.
                 Life is good right now.  Tom, who's been prowling the house like a caged animal, can now get outside and move on with his projects.  He's even sneaking off to the woods to see if the snow has melted enough to allow him to start cutting wood.  Fun times...much love and happiness at our house, hoping the same for all of you.
Love from here.  Mom

"Some people are so poor that the only thing they have is money."