A friend got a new foster baby today, and I'm really excited to crochet her a cuddly blanket for her new little angel. Planning and starting a new blanket made me realize (again) how much I love crochet, and how much it is part of who I am.
I started crocheting when I was 8 or 9 years old. We had gone to visit in the tiny town in southwest Illinois where my grandparents lived, and I guess all my cousins were busy with something or other, because I was 'stuck' at home with Grandma, with nothing to do but watch her create an intricate and beautiful doily. I loved watching Grandma crochet. Her hook would move so quickly over and through the yard or thread. And I don't recall ever seeing her use a pattern. I saw patterns around her house, so maybe she did, but it seemed to me, at that young age, that the blankets, slippers, ponchos, scarfs and doilies just appeared magically as if her hook were some sort of magic wand.
At last I was overcome with wonder, and said to her, 'I want to learn to crochet.' Quite matter-of-factly, I had just decided that this was something interesting and valuable, and I wanted to know how to do the magic for myself. She refused. "No." she said, "You're not big enough." Looking back on it, I know now that she must have known how much that would bother me. As the youngest of 17 cousins, I was often being told I was too little to be included in...whatever the other cousins were doing. So I repeated, "Grandma! I want to learn how to crochet! Will you show me?" Here is where my Grandmother's child-rearing genius becomes evident, because what she did was straight out of 'Reverse Phychology 101'! "Nope. Teaching you to crochet would take all afternoon, and I never knew a little girl willing to sit still all afternoon! Well, I'd even bet you an ice-cream cone you couldn't sit here all afternoon for me to teach you!" So, determined to prove her wrong, and win myself an icecream cone in the process, I sat. And she taught me the 4 or 5 basic stitches common to every crochet pattern. When we were done, we walked a few blocks down the street to the store, where I got the ice cream cone she had bet me!
The next afternoon, she had me make a square, which probably was more of an irregular polygon, but she seemed very proud of it, and tucked it in her drawer full of all the potholders she had crocheted. I was very pleased with myself. The following afternoon, she taught me how to read a pattern, and helped me follow a pattern to make a simple, coaster-sized doily, which later became a tablecloth in my doll house.
From such humble and beloved memories, I continued. I have been crocheting for several decades at this point, and have graduated to thinking up my own patterns, and adapting the ones I read. It's as much a favorite passtime as reading or playing the piano. Sometimes, when I'm working on a project that is extra-special, or extra-challenging, I would swear I can feel Grandma sitting next to me, looking over my shoulder, checking my stitches. And I'll tell you a secret, if you promise not to tell anyone. Sometimes when it seems she's near, I talk to her. I still miss her, even though she passed away when I was in high school. But when I'm crocheting, I know she's still there. If not in person, in my stitches, the stitches she lovingly taught me all those summers ago.
And I've realized something along the way. My grandma didn't just teach me the stitches to crochet, she taught me to love it like she did. She taught me to think about the person I'm crocheting for, and weave good wishes, happy thoughts, and love for that person into every stitch. Maybe that's why I love it. Because it reminds me how loved I felt wrapped up in one of Grandma's afghans, or wearing a pair of slippers made just for me. Because it is a treasure to my heart when I hear that someone I crocheted something for cherishes it, when I know they feel loved, like I did.
Someday I hope to pass down the art of crocheting to other little girls who are my friends or granddaughters. And I hope I pass down the love, as well. Because that is certainly one of my everyday joys.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Best Friends
I've been thinking a lot recently about friends. What makes a friend, what causes two people to stick together, to form a permanent bond, what causes them to make another person who shares no blood a member of their family.
I've had best friends. There was Laura, who I met in first grade because she was in my class. There was Tamecia, who I met at summer camp and who became a penpal for the duration of high school, and subsequently, my college roommate. There was Amaya, who started talking to me on an evening when I thought I wanted to be alone, and never left. She turned out to be one of the sweetest people I've ever met! There was Jen, who became family in such a significant way that we literally helped raise each other's kids for a few years. She was the closest thing to a sister I've ever had, aside from my natural sister.
But that's only four people. When I'm thinking about best friends I picture a life long, solid bond that no amount of time or distance or trial or disagreement can separate. Does that mean none of these wonderful ladies was really a best friend?
Best. Better than all the others, superior in some way.
Friend. Someone who you welcome into your life as a companion, who in turn welcomes you into theirs. Someone who acts as the cheerleader to your dreams, even if they don't share them. Someone who tells you their dreams, because they know you will cheer them on, even if you don't share them. Someone who is excited to talk to you and answers the phone when you call...or better yet, calls you! Someone you can talk for hours to...about all the important things, or about nothing, and never realize the time has passed. The person you think to call when something wonderful happens. The person you know you can call when something awful happens.
So, by this definition, each of them was a best friend. By this definition, I have one more best friend. I met Bethany on the day she was born. I held her and cuddled her, and fell madly and completely in love with my new daughter. Of course, she wasn't my best friend then. She had a lot of growing to do. And along the way, we had the normal mother-daughter spats. But now she's grown, married, and a mommy to her own little one, and somewhere along the way, she grew up into a kind, loving, beautiful soul. She really is my biggest cheerleader, even when she doesn't really get why I want what I'm working toward. She calls just to chat, and we can talk for hours, sometimes. She makes a point to ask my opinion, even when I'm sure she knows it's going to clash with hers. :) And I feel so incredibly blessed to have her as my friend.
Some people may be blessed with many, many friends like I've described. That hasn't been my experience. But it makes the treasure of a best friend that much more valuable to me, I guess. And that's why it is my everyday joy to have Bethany as my best friend.
I've had best friends. There was Laura, who I met in first grade because she was in my class. There was Tamecia, who I met at summer camp and who became a penpal for the duration of high school, and subsequently, my college roommate. There was Amaya, who started talking to me on an evening when I thought I wanted to be alone, and never left. She turned out to be one of the sweetest people I've ever met! There was Jen, who became family in such a significant way that we literally helped raise each other's kids for a few years. She was the closest thing to a sister I've ever had, aside from my natural sister.
But that's only four people. When I'm thinking about best friends I picture a life long, solid bond that no amount of time or distance or trial or disagreement can separate. Does that mean none of these wonderful ladies was really a best friend?
Best. Better than all the others, superior in some way.
Friend. Someone who you welcome into your life as a companion, who in turn welcomes you into theirs. Someone who acts as the cheerleader to your dreams, even if they don't share them. Someone who tells you their dreams, because they know you will cheer them on, even if you don't share them. Someone who is excited to talk to you and answers the phone when you call...or better yet, calls you! Someone you can talk for hours to...about all the important things, or about nothing, and never realize the time has passed. The person you think to call when something wonderful happens. The person you know you can call when something awful happens.
So, by this definition, each of them was a best friend. By this definition, I have one more best friend. I met Bethany on the day she was born. I held her and cuddled her, and fell madly and completely in love with my new daughter. Of course, she wasn't my best friend then. She had a lot of growing to do. And along the way, we had the normal mother-daughter spats. But now she's grown, married, and a mommy to her own little one, and somewhere along the way, she grew up into a kind, loving, beautiful soul. She really is my biggest cheerleader, even when she doesn't really get why I want what I'm working toward. She calls just to chat, and we can talk for hours, sometimes. She makes a point to ask my opinion, even when I'm sure she knows it's going to clash with hers. :) And I feel so incredibly blessed to have her as my friend.
Some people may be blessed with many, many friends like I've described. That hasn't been my experience. But it makes the treasure of a best friend that much more valuable to me, I guess. And that's why it is my everyday joy to have Bethany as my best friend.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Cut Flowers
When I was in college, my college roommate and I both had boyfriends. And both our boyfriends liked to impress us and win our hearts by sending or bringing us flowers. For our entire freshman year, between the two of them, our room was never one day without fresh flowers. Even if one of our sweethearts hadn't bought flowers in a while, there were still flowers from the other one. I never did know whether they planned it between them, or not, but my roomie and I sure did feel spoiled!
Well, I married my college sweetheart, and years later, Dearest Husband gave me flowers for Valentine's Day. That's not really too unusual. One might even say it's commonplace, mundane, or unimaginative. But when he gave them to me, he told me a secret, in the way only someone with my husband's quirky sense of humor can. He told me that this wasn't just 'flowers'...it was actually an 'ever-blooming flower vase', that flowers would continue to appear in it.....for the forseeable future.
Now, I have to admit, I fell for it....and him. I was charmed to imagine the romance of my dear husband bringing me flowers over and again. I somehow imagined him handing me the bouquets as one would hand a beauty queen her winning roses, in a pink haze of romance. I imagined him down on one knee, lifting the flowers to me, as one might offer a sacrifice to a goddess or a gift to a queen.
For those first few weeks, I couldn't stop grinning at the thought that my quiet, laid back husband had thought up such a grand and romantic gesture, all on his own, and that I, his wife and princess, had been the muse to inspire such devotion.
By the first of March, the flowers had wilted, died, and been thrown away.....but new ones appeared in the vase! I have to admit, I was amazed to wake up one morning and find new flowers in the vase. They were still in the cellophane wrapping, with rubber bands around their stems, waiting to be cut properly. But they were in the vase, with water. I thought it was a sign of my sweet, charming husband just not knowing how to present them to me properly. It's ok. I'd have to gently teach him to make a presentation of it. After all, that was the point, right?
Many years have gone by, and although there have been a few lean times when there were no flowers in my vase, for the vast majority of days, I have always had a beautiful bouquet of cut flowers from that day to this. And they've taught me something.
Is my husband romantic? Obviously. How many wives do you know who get flowers every time the old ones wilt?
Does he present my flowers to me like he's presenting gifts or sacrifices to goddesses and queens? No. Of course not. Sometimes, he even off-handedly adds 'Flowers' to the grocery list when he knows I'm going, and I have to buy them for myself! But he expects me to. That's the important part. He wants me to have them. Just as much as my son wanted me to have the very best dandelions and clovers picked out of the yard when he was a toddler, and with just as much love.
Are my flowers elaborate displays of adoration? No. Most often, they are grocery store bouquets that cost less than $10. I have learned through the years that I don't even want them to be the huge, showy displays, like one would give a beauty queen. What a revelation that was! I've discovered that the simple, hardy flowers last so much better, and bring joy for so much longer than the showy fragile flowers. (And isn't that just like life? Don't 'simple, hardy' people seem to last through life's trials better than 'showy, fragile' people?) Daisies and carnations may seem like the 'cheap' flowers, but they are so cheerful, so happy, so colorful, and last so long, how could you not love them?
So, yes, I still have my ever-blooming flower vase. Yes, it still has flowers in it every single day. And it is an everyday joy to me to see those happy flowers and know that they represent the fact that every day, in every simple way, my husband loves me, still, after all these years.
Well, I married my college sweetheart, and years later, Dearest Husband gave me flowers for Valentine's Day. That's not really too unusual. One might even say it's commonplace, mundane, or unimaginative. But when he gave them to me, he told me a secret, in the way only someone with my husband's quirky sense of humor can. He told me that this wasn't just 'flowers'...it was actually an 'ever-blooming flower vase', that flowers would continue to appear in it.....for the forseeable future.
Now, I have to admit, I fell for it....and him. I was charmed to imagine the romance of my dear husband bringing me flowers over and again. I somehow imagined him handing me the bouquets as one would hand a beauty queen her winning roses, in a pink haze of romance. I imagined him down on one knee, lifting the flowers to me, as one might offer a sacrifice to a goddess or a gift to a queen.
For those first few weeks, I couldn't stop grinning at the thought that my quiet, laid back husband had thought up such a grand and romantic gesture, all on his own, and that I, his wife and princess, had been the muse to inspire such devotion.
By the first of March, the flowers had wilted, died, and been thrown away.....but new ones appeared in the vase! I have to admit, I was amazed to wake up one morning and find new flowers in the vase. They were still in the cellophane wrapping, with rubber bands around their stems, waiting to be cut properly. But they were in the vase, with water. I thought it was a sign of my sweet, charming husband just not knowing how to present them to me properly. It's ok. I'd have to gently teach him to make a presentation of it. After all, that was the point, right?
Many years have gone by, and although there have been a few lean times when there were no flowers in my vase, for the vast majority of days, I have always had a beautiful bouquet of cut flowers from that day to this. And they've taught me something.
Is my husband romantic? Obviously. How many wives do you know who get flowers every time the old ones wilt?
Does he present my flowers to me like he's presenting gifts or sacrifices to goddesses and queens? No. Of course not. Sometimes, he even off-handedly adds 'Flowers' to the grocery list when he knows I'm going, and I have to buy them for myself! But he expects me to. That's the important part. He wants me to have them. Just as much as my son wanted me to have the very best dandelions and clovers picked out of the yard when he was a toddler, and with just as much love.
Are my flowers elaborate displays of adoration? No. Most often, they are grocery store bouquets that cost less than $10. I have learned through the years that I don't even want them to be the huge, showy displays, like one would give a beauty queen. What a revelation that was! I've discovered that the simple, hardy flowers last so much better, and bring joy for so much longer than the showy fragile flowers. (And isn't that just like life? Don't 'simple, hardy' people seem to last through life's trials better than 'showy, fragile' people?) Daisies and carnations may seem like the 'cheap' flowers, but they are so cheerful, so happy, so colorful, and last so long, how could you not love them?
So, yes, I still have my ever-blooming flower vase. Yes, it still has flowers in it every single day. And it is an everyday joy to me to see those happy flowers and know that they represent the fact that every day, in every simple way, my husband loves me, still, after all these years.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Porch Swing
It is a late summer, beautifully warm, perfectly sunny, quiet day as I sit here on my porch. My lovely old house has a wide, graceful front porch. The kind that wraps half way around the house, and creates an outdoor room full of shade and breeze. And right on the corner of the porch hangs a creaky, wooden porch swing. Our house was a flip. Someone before us bought it only for the purpose of fixing it and reselling it. So maybe the porch swing was an afterthought, a way to fill up some of the vast expanse of the wide front porch, and maybe attract attention to the porch that continued on around the side of the house. Maybe the company repairing the house only intended it as a feature to draw people in.
Or maybe it was intended to draw attention to the view. Across the street from my house is the mouth of a creek that feeds into the Chesapeake Bay. So as I sit on my porch swing, I can watch boats go by, or watch kayakers on the creek, or just watch the sun sparkle on the water. I feel the gentle breeze, keeping the front porch cool and comfortable even in the heat of summer.
It has become a favorite place to curl up with a book. Or a crochet project. A welcoming place to relax and just enjoy the day.
It has become the favorite place for my two little grandsons to curl up on my lap for a snuggle, a nap, or a favorite book. Or sometimes a snack, (but don't tell their mamas.) My dear husband has begun having quite philosophical discussions with my little 2yr old grandson while swinging on the swing. My porch swing has become 'neutral ground' when Darling and I have a disagreement and need to talk. We even invented the idea of a 'fifteen minute date', because when there is a storm, we love to go sit on the porch swing and enjoy the rain for a while, outside, but still protected from the rain and lightning.
It has become the 'hangout' spot on family cookout days, when my three kids just want to sit together and catch up. I have several little friends who like to sit on the swing and rock their baby dolls to sleep while I visit with their mamas. Another little friend pretends it's a pirate ship, and the swaying is the motion of the wave on the high seas, as he sails off to another adventure.
The first moment I saw this house, I knew I loved the porch swing. It was charming, hanging there, overlooking the bay. But I didn't realize at the time how much a part of everyday life it would be come, or what a favorite, cherished place it would become.
Somehow, sitting here in the shade, feeling the breeze, and watching the sun sparkle on the water washes all the trials of the day away. Calms my soul, eases my worries, refreshes me in a way very few things do. Gently rocking on the porch swings reminds me to stop, slow down a while, and enjoy the simple things life brings our way.
It is a precious treasure to have a place like that in my home. It is a wonderful privilege to be able to share this special place with my friends and family. And it is an everyday joy to spend a few minutes on my porch swing.
Or maybe it was intended to draw attention to the view. Across the street from my house is the mouth of a creek that feeds into the Chesapeake Bay. So as I sit on my porch swing, I can watch boats go by, or watch kayakers on the creek, or just watch the sun sparkle on the water. I feel the gentle breeze, keeping the front porch cool and comfortable even in the heat of summer.
It has become a favorite place to curl up with a book. Or a crochet project. A welcoming place to relax and just enjoy the day.
It has become the favorite place for my two little grandsons to curl up on my lap for a snuggle, a nap, or a favorite book. Or sometimes a snack, (but don't tell their mamas.) My dear husband has begun having quite philosophical discussions with my little 2yr old grandson while swinging on the swing. My porch swing has become 'neutral ground' when Darling and I have a disagreement and need to talk. We even invented the idea of a 'fifteen minute date', because when there is a storm, we love to go sit on the porch swing and enjoy the rain for a while, outside, but still protected from the rain and lightning.
It has become the 'hangout' spot on family cookout days, when my three kids just want to sit together and catch up. I have several little friends who like to sit on the swing and rock their baby dolls to sleep while I visit with their mamas. Another little friend pretends it's a pirate ship, and the swaying is the motion of the wave on the high seas, as he sails off to another adventure.
The first moment I saw this house, I knew I loved the porch swing. It was charming, hanging there, overlooking the bay. But I didn't realize at the time how much a part of everyday life it would be come, or what a favorite, cherished place it would become.
Somehow, sitting here in the shade, feeling the breeze, and watching the sun sparkle on the water washes all the trials of the day away. Calms my soul, eases my worries, refreshes me in a way very few things do. Gently rocking on the porch swings reminds me to stop, slow down a while, and enjoy the simple things life brings our way.
It is a precious treasure to have a place like that in my home. It is a wonderful privilege to be able to share this special place with my friends and family. And it is an everyday joy to spend a few minutes on my porch swing.
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