Sewwww Long...

On my Facebook page I put "sewing" as one of my activities/interests. That is something I never thought would happen. And I'm still a pretty bad sewer, but the category is, after all, "sewing" and not "good sewing." I guess it began out of necessity. I am much too cheap to buy curtains, and they are pretty much just straight(ish) lines--pretty simple. I've been known to make slipcovers for pillows as well. That's about my speed.

Well I have tried things of more difficulty, which I can never accurately describe the ridiculousness of. Like the dress I tried to make. It had a drop waist with a gathered skirt, not so elementary. As for the facing, well I didn't know what that was, so I just sort of tried to "hem" around the neck. Somehow I managed to pick a pattern 3 sizes too big for me. The fabric was purple with a floral calico print. Okay, not to be stereotypical, but I looked like an old mountain woman in it. It fit literally like a very large potato sack. It was worth all the time and money spent just to laugh that hard.

When we bought a little cottage up in Michigan I lugged my trusty sewing machine up there to make the necessary curtains & pillow slipcovers. I liked my machine pretty well. It was just a $100 model I had bought at Target, or I think it was Venture then. Nothing fancy--I just need a straight stitch, and zig-zag if I'm feeling really crazy. But this was back a few years before stuff was made with plastic gears & such. It actually worked pretty well. But horror of horrors, in transit I dropped the foot pedal, and it broke.

My husband fixed it, sort of, but it still wasn't quite right. I should have just gone on the internet and found one on e-bay, but in a momentary lapse of judgment, I decided to take it to my dad. Now I had a seemingly good reason for this: My dad has a small manufacturing company and one of the things I knew he had produced was an industrial foot pedal. So I figured he might be able to do the repair quickly and easily.

I love my dad very much, and he is brilliant, but I could have told myself that I never should have left that machine in his hands. Because I would never see it again. He tried to fix it, but couldn't, so he decided to build me a whole new foot pedal. Cool, but in the mean time I had found a place where I could just buy one for $40. What? Didn't I want the super-industrial-one-of-a-kind-shiny, metal ($150) beast my dad was already working on?? Of course I did! Well, I never did see that magnificent foot pedal. It didn't work with my machine.

I am confident that eventually my dad could have got the thing to work. Only he has, as I said, a company to run and plenty of other fires to put out, projects, problems, etc. From time to time I would ask about my sewing machine. I don't remember what he said but the writing on the wall was getting clearer. Time ticked by and I discovered products like "stitch witchery" with which you can glue up curtain hems and the like. I tried not to be upset, but I was. Then, without my knowledge, my dad moved his business. I knew they would have to have thrown away as much junk as possible. My sewing machine had been sitting there for at least a year, probably much longer. I assumed it had gone in the dumpster.

Okay, this really is getting "sewwww long," so I will finish with a sequel. Peace out.

Crazy Cat

I have too many hobbies. I forgot, before starting this, that I had started making a blankie upstairs. I remembered when I saw photos of other blankies while searching for the perfect photo for this blog post, pictured above.

I just ordered a bunch of sheet music and it came and it's all too easy and hokey. Very disappointing. So I ordered some more. But this time I set my computer on the piano, put on my magnifiers, and tried playing the example page arrangements first. It is hard to pinpoint my skill level in piano, because I really only like playing things that are too hard for me. But that's okay; I'm dogged.

So, hobbies, occupations, vocations...I have been a parent for quite a while and have seen all kinds of choices being made regarding children and just how-much-time-are-we-going-to-invest-in-their-interests? Time and effort (oh, and cash). When it comes down to it, none of my kids were ever going to be in the Olympics anyway, but had they had the talent...I just don't know if I would have been up for it. Not saying that's a good thing. I lament not focusing enough on any one thing, somewhat.

But let's face it, I value the distractions in life--maybe too much. It's the once-hippie-homeschooler in me. Like, wow. My 8-year-old had his first baseball game yesterday. He did well at bat, kind of left field in the field. But I like this league, because it's all about having fun. There are some really good kids on the team, and they pretty much covered the others, but that seemed just fine for everyone. It was nice, enjoyable, even.

Lately this same kid has been getting very sick of school, even though we homeschool. Like, with stomachaches & headaches that magically dematerialize when he's away from the books. I am confounded. I mean, he has no real school stress. No bullies, no peer pressure, no tedious hours of clock watching, no lessons too easy or too hard...I don't get it. He has a great teacher!

Well, maybe it'll be better next year when his brother is forced to do kindergarten. My big guy will want to be in on all that cutting & gluing stuff. I do think it's kind of sad that kindergarten is only one year. Seems like it could be longer. Especially for kids like my slugger, and me.

Chicken Slide

I know, it's been a long time since I wrote a decent blog. That last one was my bottom. I am here to redeem myself as a writer, to once again stretch my thinking muscles and communication skills. To dredge out my inner thoughts and make them understood. No, you're not supposed to write about your writing, but just call me avant-garde.

The title makes no sense unless you had seen the pictured structure when it had the missing piece. From the upper window of the right barn used to be an extension reaching to the ground like a chute. My big boys and Carly and I used to drive past this scene every Friday, and they named it the "chicken slide." I had to get a picture of it before they knock the whole thing over, but alas the chicken slide was already no more.

Carly was our next-door neighbor who homeschooled with us one year. Once a week we would drive out to "Fantastic Fridays," a co-op of sorts where the kids could take classes with other homeschoolers. Carly was a peach. Very sweet, adorable, and meek around me; a really great friend for the boys as she was good at, and loved sports (and other adventures). The "signal" to come out and play was the sound of the basketball thumping on the shared driveway between our houses. There was a hoop on Carly's garage.

Carly was such a cute girl, with shoulder length blonde hair, soft blue eyes, and a lovely smile. She was always dressed in boyish clothes and ready for anything. My guys spent their growing up years with her, and she was and is very dear to my heart.

The three of them had a club called the "King Tarantulas," and did lots of other crazy things. Once they dug a pretty large "fish pond" in Carly's back yard (her mom was a lot more laid back than me) which caused a lot of screeching late at night as two raccoons fought over the tasty morsels. They would have lemonade stands, and since we didn't get much traffic they would yell out, singing, "LEMONADE, LEMONADE, EVERYBODY'S THIRSTY FOR SOME LEMONADE!!" at passing cars.

Also, it was Carly and her sister who brought my sons to vacation Bible school one summer at a little church around the corner. Carly and Kelsey were so darling toting their little flowery-sewn covered Bibles. They went skipping off with my guys and, unbeknownst to me, the Gospel was preached. I was not a Christian then, and was horrified when my oldest child confided to me one night that he had prayed the sinner's prayer in that little church basement.

Now, of course, I am immensely grateful that Chris received the gift of Salvation early in his life, simply, as a child. As he put it, "I just thought I might not ever get another chance." He was right, you know. None of us knows exactly when the lights will go out. And it probably was easier back then; before the chicken slide was gone.

Abby Normal

I would like life to be simple. To be able to sum things up in a nutshell. But that is not to be for me. Never has been. Everything is so--complicated. Always. Take for instance my birth. My parents were young, not married, but wait--they did get married. But they never lived together. I spent the first couple years of life going back & forth between grandparents. This is probably common now but it wasn't in the early 1960's. Then finally I went to live with--my dad.

He remarried and I have three siblings (I remember being shocked the first time someone referred to them as my "half" brothers and sister). We were a family until another divorce, and from around age 12 I was again with my dad, but the sibs stayed with their mom...blah blah blah. Complicated. Again, it may be common these days but it's still weird. Very hard to wrap your mind around.

Like, where do I fit in? I have had three moms who are all very very different, with families all over the financial and social stratosphere. I have always been very observant, but somewhat confused as to how to act. I've lived in pretty wealthy circumstances and have also been kind of poor, and feel like a faker either way.

We had kids early, in our 20's, before my friends or siblings, then late, in our 40's, so again that is weird. We don't fit in either the "parents of young kids" or "empty nesters" group. We homeschool, making us weird. I am a born-again Bible believing Christian, which Jesus promised would make me an outcast. But even among Christians I have trouble fitting in. I am extremely skeptical, hard-core, and serious. I am not bragging about this. Often I wish I could "lighten up" as I've been told many times to do.

You see, being a Christian involves sharing my faith with others. It is in fact the deepest desire of my heart to preach the Gospel--to tell the Good News of Jesus to the world! But as I can never seem to get a grasp on things--tending to oversimplify or overcomplicate--I find it extremely difficult to explain just what the Gospel is.

Lately I've discovered that I am in good company when it comes to emerging from a complicated background. Look at Jesus. Read the first couple chapters of Matthew. Now that is complicated. And no matter how confused I get about things, eventually I run into this verse again like I did today:

LORD, you alone are my portion and my cup;
you make my lot secure.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance.--Psalm 16:5-6

I know this is true for me. The Lord Himself, He is my inheritance. There is no greater circumstance.

One final note. I'm also weird because I love classical music and don't like rock. In fact I wrote a previous blog on this subject; and like the blog where I doused the French, I am now going to have to recant a bit on my thrashing of the rockers.

I read this interview with Bono, and was quite impressed. He was able to do what I struggle with: lay out the Gospel, simply. Now you have to get all the way to the end of the interview. But I believe he does a good job. So Bono is my brother in Christ (and not half-brother, whatever that is). Hats off to you, rocker Bono, may you preach the Gospel evermore!

http://www.thepoachedegg.net/the-poached-egg/2010/09/bono-interview-grace-over-karma.html

Hilariosity

I love comedy. I realize that is not exactly unique; everyone loves comedy. It really does help make life bearable. God is so kind to give us a sense of humor and the ability to recognize, and even "create," funniness. Look at animals, and they are so cute and funny. Once in college we had a cat that got a cereal box stuck on its head. His name was Frank, and he was kind of annoying, so nobody would take the thing off the poor cat. (Actually Frank turned out to be a girl, we found out when she had kittens.)

I don't like that show, "America's Funniest Home Videos" because they are always showing people getting hurt. I just don't think that's funny. There are enough crazy things kids and animals do and (kids) say, that I don't feel that showing all those painful looking injuries is necessary. Oh well, I don't have to watch it, and I don't. I do get into trouble sometimes, though, because I sometimes watch stuff I know I shouldn't just because I want so much to laugh.

It's really hard these days to find a 'clean' show or movie, especially a comedy. It is ironic because I never find the filth funny at all. You can have some very talented writers and actors doing some really clever funny stuff, and then they have to make it all gross with some inappropriate sex thing that does absolutely nothing to add to the plot or anything. And then it's ruined. Why? It doesn't take any imagination, any intelligence to talk dirty. It's dumbed down.

And a lot of times the premise is so good, like "50 First Dates." What an amusing concept. "Groundhog Day" would be one of my favorite movies of all time, but I really can't say that with all the smut. I realize these films are ridiculously tame in view of what's out there. But this is my world. I don't want to swim around in a polluted stench of human degradation. I could really like "Seinfeld," some of it is so funny, or "30 Rock," or maybe the funniest show I've ever seen--"Arrested Development." But all these shows have that seedy element, that seems invariably to get worse with time. And I just can't recommend them because of this.

A sense of humor has always been highly valued in my family of origin--a sign of intelligence--which I think it is. However, as a parent I made some huge errors in judgment with my older kids in valuing funniness over appropriateness. I refer to the fact that my oldest son, a born-again Bible believing Christian can nonetheless quote way way more lines from "The Simpsons" than he can verses from the Scriptures.

Well, I have learned one thing this time around, having kids. It is enough to just turn off the TV and watch what's actually going on around me. For instance, I wrote some of these down so I could remember them:


I asked Daniel, "Do you want chili for lunch?" He replied, "Does it taste like frosting?" I said, "no." Then he said,"Well then I'm not gonna eat it!"


At the library Daniel was looking at a Peanuts book with Snoopy and Woodstock on the cover. So he says to me (pointing to Woodstock), "This guy, this guy's name is Woodchip!"

Daniel was eating dried cranberries in his oatmeal and asked, "What comes from cranberries?" (but he said 'creeyanberries') I said, "cranberry bushes come from cranberries." Then he asked,"How bout crayons (but he said 'creeyans') do crayons come from cranberries?"

While John was doing his schoolwork at the kitchen table, Daniel was stacking up crayons intently. I asked him what he was making. He said,"a cabbage." I started laughing and John asked, "What are you making?" Daniel answered, "a cabbage--a log cabbage!" (log cabin)

Joke Daniel made up:

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Banana.
Banana who?
Banana peel and stick!

I mean, hilariosity, right?

Fishers' Motley Christmas

Well, if you read my blog, which I doubt, then you'd know that although I consider myself 'artistic' I am also excruciatingly lazy. I may not have mentioned that I am also painfully cheap. This combo leads to all kinds of home-decorating debacles, the crowning display at Christmas time.

It is not an exaggeration to say we have the worst Christmas tree of all time. In fact, I can just hear Commodore Norrington (of "Pirates of the Caribbean") declaring, in his English accent, "That's got to be the worst Christmas tree I've ever seen!" I have attached a photo to prove my point. Granted, the tree got knocked over by my four-year-old and we lost the best ornaments (glass). Still, you can pretty much see that it was, in its original state, lame.

With the advent (no pun intended) of facebook, even hermits like me have to face (another one) some pretty humiliating facts about ourselves. There is no more avoiding the reality that no matter how much I smoosh it around in my brain, our tree is devastatingly ugly. I see other peoples' trees on facebook and they are as drop-dead gorgeous as some of my old classmates, which also isn't fair.

I waltzed into a JC Penney the other day, without kids, which is about a decennial event for me--shopping at anyplace other than the grocery store or the dreaded Walmart. I was like a deer caught in the headlights. Everything in there was so dazzling and lit up and there was so much stuff!! Merchandise and clothes of every kind engulfed me and I was reeling, dizzily. Like those kids in Narnia I no longer had any way of knowing where to go, or how to get back. I didn't know where I was, let alone where to begin. This is the sad saga of a stay-at-home mom who is also a hermit.

My point is (and I only have 20 minutes til story time at the library) that although it is good to be thrifty, there is also a place for beauty. I tend to flop to one extreme or another. Like, I can be really obsessed with appearance, which is not right either. My cheapness and laziness must effect some kind of equilibrium. But, I need to once in a while take a cue from my women friends, and spend a couple bucks on something festive or lovely.

Or, I could take a cue from my step-mom Mary, who used to make some really cool things with us. I can remember making elaborate ornaments out of styrofoam spheres by sticking sparkling beads and colorful sequins into them with pins, pomander balls out of oranges and cloves suspended by beautiful ribbons, stringing popcorn and cranberries. And I guess it's not that she was being frugal, so much, as that she valued things we made...not just stuff made in China (it might have been Japan then).

So I'm going to give this some thought, and prayer, and I'll get back to you later.

Ta-Tee-Tah

Several years ago my husband and I took ballroom dance lessons through the park district in our town. It was a fairly humiliating experience, I think mainly because of the ambiance created in the fluorescent-lit elementary school gym, with its food pyramid posters and protectively caged formidable face clocks, dirty floors and lack of windows. Ugh, how I hated gym class.

Anyway, our instructor was kind of a character. Maybe all dance instructors are, I wouldn't know. But as we would practice our steps, instead of saying, "one, two, three" or whatever, he would say, "ta-tee-tah." It kind of makes me chuckle to remember it. An awkward bunch of middle aged couples, well we were in our thirties then...and this kind of silly guy trying to de-spazz us all into some graceful moves.

Long before this Ron and I used to go dancing, when we were young, but that was a completely different thing. Actually much more embarrassing, to be drunk and think you're really a great dancer...yeesh. I keep having to "add to dictionary" all these made up words. Writing is actually a huge challenge for me, as I can't use any facial expressions, which are about eighty-five percent of my vocabulary.

Well, we finally did meet a dance we actually liked in our remedial park district class--the polka. The polka was so much fun. You got to spring around all energetically, somewhat like the "dancing" we had done in the past, but more civilized. Culturally acceptable, if you will. We had finally made it to grown-up dancing.

That was probably 15 years ago, and sadly, we have never had an occasion to do any ballroom dancing. Everybody likes rock now. Even at weddings. Well, everybody except me. Yes, I have turned into my dad, thank goodness, in respect to music. I am so glad I don't have to spend the rest of my life missing out on the really good stuff I am discovering now. It makes rock music sound like how my old dancing looked--yech.