Young Daddy's Gifts

The Time is ticking away....
Baby Girl's due date is looming large and so is my Baby Girl...
All signs of imminent birth are beginning and Grammy is gearing up.
Even though I had other pressing things in the sewing room, anything for BG/BG's seemed to take precedent due to the time constraint. From the very beginning of the pregnancy, BG's Hubby has been insistent that he wants to be the very involved, very connected papa.  When BG started going through my Handmade Beginnings: 24 Sewing Projects to Welcome Baby, her Hubby was close by selecting  t appropriate accessories.  He particularly wanted a Mei tai baby carrier that reflected him and not someone else's idea of a Man Mei Tai.  Grammy Deb convinced him that he would be able to tote his newborn babe around comfortably with a signature statement.  We selected this one.
And to make it, I used some pretty nice heavy weight cotton in a blue not quite denim but not too light of a shade either. The lining, which was very important since Grammy's little sweetie will be surrounded by it, was a compilation of Hubby's old flannel shirt scraps, worn soft by years in the factory.

Young Daddy Young really needed a bag that would suit his mobile lifestyle.  Something that he could be productive with as well as being nurturing.  He sat down and wrote all the Bag Needs that he had.  I sat down and looked through Anna Maria's book and altered her Dad Bag pattern to suit my more demanding son in law.

The Daddy Bag is made of two colors of suede and is lined with the softest vinyl Crazy Don could share with me.  The pockets are lined with scraps of Unca Joco's trousers that suited the softness and durability requirement.  I used webbing from a part of an old belt to trim out the zipper and the side pockets.

All in all, there is nine pockets, enough for solar chargers and cords of all types and maybe even enough for a few didies, wipes and clothing changes.
Hubby had brought home a passel of straps procured from Who Knows Where, complete with shoulder padding and open clips.  On my last visit to the Amish Leather Shop, (pretty awesome place indeed) I picked up some wonderfully durable brass attachments that probably belong to a horse bridle.  They became the attachment to the strap.                        
                                                           There was something extraordinary about making these things for Young Daddy Young.  There was the creative challenge.  There was the technological challenge.  There was the material challenge.  But aside from these practical things, there was the awareness that I was making these things for a man that is the father of my youngest daughter's child.  A man that had been prayed for and over and about for as long as BG took breath.   Knowing his deep love for BG and his preborn daughter, this task took on a more transcendental feel.  A grand thing to say about something so mundane as a diaper bag and carrier, but truly, profound things are usually spotted in the usual.  I truly felt honored to be supplying for this new daddy, tools that can help him provide nurturing for his newborn.  I felt pleased to be able to send the obvious message through the doing of it, 'I support you in how you support my daughter and granddaughter'.  I want him to know that I am here for him to help in whatever way, from babysitting to help in interpreting my daughter's needs and moods.  
So it was with great excitement that I delivered it to him on Wednesday as we drove to their home to celebrate a very special Pre Birth Thanksgiving.  I was overjoyed to be there and I think he was pretty stoked as well....
.Don't you think??                                                                                                                  

Profoundly Small Things

• I can turn my faucets and relatively clean water issues forth
• I can open my door and walk out anytime I want
• I have the privilege to walk into my kitchen and eat whatever I want
• If nothing pleases me there, I have the privilege to go to a restaurant of my choice
• I can launder my fairly decent clothes in my own washer and dryer
• I own four cars
• I have three toilets that flush
• I own a crazy amount of bibles and Christian literature
• I have a room just for my sewing machine
• I can worship freely
• I have school systems that have walls and desks, books and electronic equipment
• Each of my children have their own computers
• I have a room just for my computer
• I own two homes
• I can walk around my little town late at night and am not unreasonably concerned for my safety
• My closet is pretty full
• I have nearly two dozen pairs of shoes
• I have never lived in a car
• My legs work
• My daughter will soon give birth in a hospital with her husband close by
• I can still see the eye of a needle (with help)
• My pancreas works
• I can breathe pretty well
• My vision is correctable with glasses
• My hearing, though not great, still hears my granddaughter's giggle
• I have cash in my pocket yet I have not worked since 1978
• My adult children call their spouses Wonderful
• I have a dog that keeps me company and keeps me walking twice daily
• My pantry is full
• I can buy gasoline without waiting in line
• No one gives me a second glaring look when I use a check to pay for things
• I have never heard the words, 'I'm sorry, Mrs Cory; your credit is no good'
• My furnace is new
• My roof does not leak (much)
• I can converse with people globally, sitting in my library, in my jammies, on my computer
• If I had none of these things, I have people that would love me anyway

Whatever am I to do with such an overweening abundance?

When will I ever quit complaining?

Thank  you, LORD. 

May I utilize my blessings for Your glory.

May I hear your promptings to share what I have to who you would have me bless...

And the courage and selflessness to do it....

Blessings on this Thanksgiving......

Organizing

Eldest/Admin is a genius in organization skills.
She taught me how to fold my pants for the shelf in my closet, thanks to her retail management skills.
When I started on the venture of mama's collection, she was the one that sat in my sewing room, brain ticking away, setting up the most functional practical set up for the novice entrepreneur.  E/A set out pointing and dictating and mandating procedure and called in her father and brother to move furniture.  And we obey.  And I so appreciate her.

Without her daily presence, however, I tend to slip into my old ways.

Slowly, slowly, disorganization slips in.  Slowly, slowly, bundles of fabric appear without a place to reside.  Slowly, slowly, Sewist Paraphernalia sneaks in during the night and takes over whatever horizontal space that is available.  Then one day, I find myself unable to find the floor.  I find myself tiptoeing to find a space of old fir floor so as not to disturb whatever the Sewing Room Fairies have left from the night before.  When I get to the point when I say, 'Hey!  Where did this come from?!  I don't remember seeing this before!', I know it is time to channel Eldest/Admin and get myself organized.

Personally, I find the creative disorganization quite stimulating.  I am a quasi tidy person prone to somewhat slothful cleaning habits.  In my younger days, I had scheduled cleaning days and scheduled cleaning routines.  Now, not so much.  Matter of maturing priorities, I suppose.  But I do have to get realistic every now and then and admit that I need an intervention.

Yesterday was the day.  I pulled everything out to get a look over, mentally cataloging all the new acquisitions that somehow slipped under my inventory radar.  It was kinda like my own personal Christmas, finding so many new finds.  I guess that's what happens when you're memory slows down; everything seems new.  I had a good book to listen to while I set out sorting, filing and finding places for some pretty swell fabrics and notions.  I did realize that when we remodel our basement space soon, a significant amount of space might have to be taken up with extra fabric stock.  Rolls of upholstery fabric and interlinings take up a bit o' space.  And if my goal is to grow, business-wise, it would behoove me to make some room for growth.  I had Hubby come in now in then for some grounding and advice and encouragement.  Miss Dixie gave me several looks that told me that her bed was getting a bit crowded and she needed some more space as well......

While I would have rather spent the day working on Baby Girl's Baby Girl's Christmas Stocking, Or BG's Hubby's Daddy Bag, or Special Order Bag from Church Friend, or 2G's mama's Christmas Order, I knew, I knew, not much could be done in the chaos I had created.  The thrill of accomplishment must have been cathartic for me because I slept like a log last night, exhausted from all the brain work that it takes to overhaul my mess.

I do believe that there is a moral to this story, but, alas, I am too pooped to learn it today...

Tidying Up for the Holidays

Back in the day, before oak furniture was frowned upon, it was highly valued.  I'm talking way back in the mid '70s when the Antique Awakening took place.  Furniture formerly relegated to Grandma's attic, received their Glory Days.  Antique Stores were swamped with Newby Collectors eager to have the raging trend.

And I was one of them.  I lovingly caressed the legs of an old buffet discarded by Hubby's dad.  We had a huge table with carved legs and matching buffet that Hubby's father had found in a garage sale coup and took it to a furniture restorer while we awaited it to be dipped and stripped for our refinishing.  We waited a- l-o-n-g time since other Newby Collectors were dragging their estate sale finds there as well.  It got to the point that we would 'visit' our table and buffet, just to make sure it was still there.  While we waited, we collected bits and pieces of solid oak furniture, stripping some and (gulp) painting those things that were too far gone, finish wise.

In the mean time, by Grandfather passed away.
He had lived by himself for nearly 20 years after my Grandmother died.
A jolly, loving, practical joking kind a grampa, his housekeeping skills were a bit....um, lackadaisical.
He only had one eye and the remaining eye was a bit bad as well.  Needless to say, we would be hard pressed to guess if anything was moved from the time my immaculate grandmother died to his own demise.
Grandma and Grandpa had acquired some lovely pieces of furniture throughout their marriage but what was swell in the early twenties, was sadly dated in the early 70's, before the resurgence.
It was at his wake that I came upon this conversation between my uncle and my aunt, sitting in front of me.
"What in the hell are we going to do with all that damn furniture in dad's house? Who in their right mind would want that stuff?" (Their words, not mine.  Sorry)
I nearly bounded out of my chair to interrupt them.
Hubby and I had purchased a home the year before and we had the perfect dining room for this now, Very Desirable furniture.  Being on the Cutting Edge of Trends, I knew what the table (with six leaves) six chairs, large buffet with matching china cabinet with the original glass, was worth.  I knew it was more than I could afford.  But it was Grandpa's and my dad had played ping pong on it and hid his Easter Candy under it and all of our extended family suppers were shared on it.
I had to have it.
Estates being what they are, legally, the dining room set had to be sold, the price shared equally among my father, my uncle and aunt.
While Hubby scurried around to come up with the asking price, my benevolent relatives agreed to give us their share of the sale so that the three pieces could stay in the family.

So this amazingly strong, sturdy table has seated copious amounts of guests for over 35 years.  While no ping pong has been played like in the days of my drunken Irish uncles, there has been a fair share of painting projects, nails hammered into it, myriad hours of home school and countless patterns cut out upon it, including Eldest/Admin's wedding dress.

This summer, before the mama's collection First Annual Collection of Friends Retreat, I started scrutinizing things.  One of the glaring items on my To Do list for the retreat was to clean the dining table realllll good.  That little chore did not happen due to the humidity and oppressive heat.  You don't want  your table oily when company is bringing fabric to lie upon it.  The Ordeal of cleaning the table would wait till Holiday Cleaning .(She says as if she does this every year....)  With Hubby home this past month, we started working on the mile long Honey Do lists for Home Upkeep.  The cleaning of the table was right up there near the top.
During a long road trip this summer, I sat in the co pilot seat devouring all my magazines that had been sorely neglected.  It was then that I found this very successful recipe for wood cleaning. As you can see, it works just dandy.  And so that your dining table shall shine forth this Thanksgiving, I'm going to share it with you:

Wood Cleaner:
1/4 boiled linseed oil
1/2 cup turpentine
Mix in a closed jar.
Clean surface with warm water (very little) and wipe with a dry cloth.
Spread the mixture by dabbing with a #0000 steel wool pad.
Work with the grain.
Wipe off with a dry soft cotton rag.
Wait a few days (this is tricky) before adding a soft paste wax, carnuba, or bees wax to the table top.

Do not use this on questionable finishes or veneers or shellac.  When in doubt, try it on an unseen spot.
I have also seen 'recipes' with white vinegar included in the mix for extra cleaning power.
You decide.

Hosting Hint:  Always set your Thanksgiving Table the night before.  That gives you time to decorate without pressure while the pies are baking.  It also helps delegate out the chores from the busyness of the T-Day!!

Purposeful Patterns!

 Mostly, when I make purses and totes, I design my own patterns.  That way, I can flourish, alter, and appease my own purse like needs.  I love the fact that there is no copyright worries.  I love the fact that I work out bugaboos and stretch my skills by design needs.

But then, every now and then, I need to do Obedient Sewing.  Taking the skills of those with more experience or sewing knowledge and utilizing it for just the right project.
Recently, I seemed to have stumbled into several opportunities to need actual patterns.
And I just love it!
Pictured is the random assortment of projects that I've been working on.
My project board is getting a bit crowded with Baby Girl's Baby Girl's arrival imminent and baby things to be finished.  First up: Baby Girl's Baby Quilt. sonowiknow.blogspot.com/2010/11/sewing-sidetracks.html. .  That got me into a quilting mode and high on my to do list, was to make a quilt for Pretend Granddaughter Sara.  In between big projects, I just L.O.V.E. working on this amazingly fun and creative Patchwork Style log cabin quilt pattern! It allows ample room for the more Rebel Sewist, letting you call the shots on the size of the pieces that you assemble.  Did you hear that?  NO measuring except for the size of the batting that you start with. Fab-u-lussss! The most timid of sewists will not be daunted by the simplicity of it all.  I have a feeling that many a quilt shall come forth from this pattern. (And the rest of the book is pretty dang awesome as well.)

 Then came Baby Girl's Hubby's request for His Own Mei Tei Baby Carrier!  (He also has an order for Anna Maria Horner's Daddy Bag, but I haven't started that yet!:D)  His request was for it to be manly yet little girl comfy.  A sturdy home decor fabric in a solid, will back the softest of flannel, provided by Pappa Pat's old factory used flannel shirts of long ago.  I just cannibalized his old shirts and had enough to use on the pattern. Actually, the green and blue pattern flannel, I remember wearing when preggers with Eldest/Admin!  This kind of info really tickles Baby Girl and endears her to the item.....

 Of course, it is time to think about keeping Miss Viv warm this winter.  It's fun to make her little coats since Cincinnati doesn't get wicked cold, but certainly enough to make this soft, soft fleece helpful on those cold trips to the Cincinnati Resource Center for her weekly classes.....Cannot wait to start this!

Last but not least, Crazy Dee's purse!  She saw this pattern made up in a tiny fabric shop on our vacation in Gatlinburg and insisted (demanded) that I make it for her.  I tried to tell  her that I could come up with a similar design, but she insisted (demanded) that I make one just like the one at the sewing shop.  The batik material for the bag was not sold in the shop (odd?) but after looking around my stash, I found this previously eBay purchased skirt that I could never figure out how to operate, to be perfect for the project......

So as I stock up on audio books and great tea, it's off to the sewing room!
By the looks of my To Do Board, I might be there a long, long time!
Yay!!

Time Out

 There comes a time when we need to stop, regroup, prioritize, refresh, organize our thoughts and goals and objectives.  Sometimes, that happens when we go on vacation.  Sometimes it's on a spiritual retreat.  Sometimes it's a physical ailment.  Or you can just fall apart  physically and literally cannot move another muscle.

This has recently happened to Hubby.
My main squeeze since 1970, life partner since 1972 and all round, Best Bud, Confidant and Sympathizer.  He completes my overwhelmingly Right Brain.  I depend on him to quilt.  I can put together fabrics and designs, but how in the world it gets geometrically together, I am adrift.
And vicey versa, I venture to say.
So when he is down, I am hindered.
When his body, already weakened from a variety of ailments in the last few years, came to a grinding halt,  I take notice.  The last three weeks it has been my job to nourish, nurture, encourage and heal his wounded spirit, beat up by physical exhaustion.

We all knew it was coming.

But what I didn't now how much fun getting better could be.
We have had a blast.
Hubby and I have languished in our little nest called our bedroom, watching old movies and laughing ourselves silly over comedies that we watched in our early dating days.
We have eaten Squash Pie and drank hot tea on rainy days.
We have enjoyed working on meals together and actually eating together at the same time.
We have embarked on home improvement projects that I thought were relegated to the next owner.
We have traveled to doctor appointments in The Big City, only to have them lead us to meandering  country adventures.
We have taken long walks with our doggies night and day.
I have brought him up to speed  on the goings on in our community during those walks.
We have sat near our fireplace and sighed.
We have plotted and planned what retirement could possibly be like next year in light of our rested, silly, relaxing Time Out.
We have realized that our time together is vaguely reminiscent of our early years of marriage, nearly 38 years ago.

He is much better, thank you, and shall be returning to work soon.
But I will cherish these past three weeks as some of the better days of our marriage.
Funny how that happens, Right?

Long Term Investments

Hardly recognize this young lady anymore. In fact, when I started looking for my senior photo for this post, I was startled peering into the face of a much younger version of myself.  This young woman is a mere shadow of the fifty seven year old variety that I regularly avoid in my mirror.  This young woman was cocky and afraid.  She was crazy silly but carried some pretty serious secrets.  She had a bumpy but not terrible home life.  In her mind, she imagined what her ideal life would be like and the determination to make it happen coursed through her veins.  She dabbled in a variety of wanna be talents.  She hung out with gymnasts but was too afraid to do a back bend.  She loved music and lied about playing the piano to a lady she babysat for.  This young lady was a terrible student and really found very little to stand tall about.  Even when she earned second place for dance at Ursuline Academy's Annual Talent Show,  her mother quickly let her know that the dress that she accepted her little award in, was pitifully too short.  And I'm pretty sure she was right.

Yes, Jack of All Talents, but master of none was my claim to fame.
Until one day, in my junior year of high school, I arrived to my English/Literature class early.  Very odd for this school phobic child.  Perhaps my lunch companions were still in the bathroom.  Maybe my English Class Bud was absent.  Who knows?  But there I was, in English Class III, bustling around, straightening desks because of my inability to sit still and after all, they did need it, right?
Who should invade my solitary time in the empty classroom, but it's Ruler, The indomitable Sister Vivienne.  Scary, hard and sober, she could stop a bear from attacking.  She was on to me and all my shenanigans.  She could spot a class clown at fifty paces.  Yep.  She was scary to me.  Most of the old nuns, I could sweet talk, work my charm or allow them to be driven crazy by my silliness, but there was no messing with Ol' Sr. Vivienne.  She was a golden black woman from Jamaica.  I never thought about it then, but later I wondered what her story was.  How did she become an Ursuline Nun?  How did she get to America?  Being too full of my teenage self, I crossed my T's and dotted my I's in her room and thought little else other than just making it through the semester.

I loved English Class.  I loved the reading assignments.  I loved vocabulary.  REALLY loved it.  Abnormally loved it.  I even did those little quizzes in the Reader's Digest each month.  A Word Monger was I.  So when I completed the assignment, 'My Life Philosophy', I quickly drew a visual for it, plopped it in a folder and turned it when while others were just starting the assignment.

It was that day, when Sister Vivienne approached me.  She crossed her arms, placing her hands up those cavernous Nun Sleeves, looked down her nose over her glasses and stared me right in the eye and said, 'Miss Murphy, I have something to talk to you about'.  I went cold but resumed my chair straightening.  Serious Teachers are scary enough, but a even more serious then usual Sister Vivienne, well.  That was just too much.  I avoided her gaze bustling around and promised my self I would laugh my way out of trouble.  She informed me of a nationwide essay contest of high school students.  She informed me that she wanted to submit my essay on Life Philosophies to the contest.  She told me that I had talent.  She told me not to blow it.  She told me that she knew I liked to clown around my way out of trouble, but that she was deadly serious about this opportunity for me to go forward in writing.

I told her a flat out no.  No way.  No way would I enter any contest.  What would my friends say?  Would I be labled a kiss up?  No way would I do something so obviously school like?  People would talk.....She shook her head, walked to her desk and said that terrible thing, 'Do it for me.'  Ha!  Why would I do ANY thing for a teacher?  She only sealed the deal.  The class started to fill up for the period and the essay was never mentioned again.

But it was never far from my heart.
In all my inadequacies, one thought always stayed in my mind, "Sister Vivienne told me my Junior Year of High School that I could write.  Despite my disdain for teachers, this statement I believed.  For years, it has buoyed me in the pursuit of developing the passion that I so thank God for.

Teachers.  Mostly a thankless job with such overwhelming responsibilities.  I view teachers now in near God like status.  I appreciate teachers on almost every level.

Thank a teacher today for what she is doing for you, your children, your family, our society...

Thank you, Sister Vivienne.