Never say "never"

...then and now

I think I was 50 when I decided that I would no longer expose certain parts of my anatomy to public view. I freely admitted that these areas of my body, though useful and much appreciated for their long standing devotion, looked much better covered. I was, thus, free to worry and fuss about the other parts where signs of aging couldn't be so easily hidden.

So the point is, that for about fifteen years I have adamently declared to any one who seemed interested that I would NEVER wear shorts, tanktops or a bathingsuit again. Well. It is one thing to declare something while residing in Newbury Park/Camarillo where it is rarely hot enough for a fan and it is way too cold too swim, and another thing entirely when you live in Pasadena where summer temperatures routinely reach 102 degrees and your adopted in-laws have a pool. I found, like many before me, that principles are just words when bodily comfort is compromised ( I do hope I never get tortured for anything important..to keep yourself safe don't tell me any secrets).

Within the first week of a typical Pasadena summer, shorts and tank tops were reinstated into my wardrobe as acceptable articles of clothing. AND yesterday swallowing my much diminished pride, I actually bought some swimming trunks.

Life lesson: number one million and counting.

Abby's list

This is Abby "helping" me write my grocery list.

From top to bottom (sort of):
soup
bisquick
..and
Abby('s) toy
sugar
plates (paper)

Dilema...

So. Here is my latest project gone wrong. I have a white futon in the work room/play room - it looks nice, but it is sort of impractical..so I decided to make pillow and seat covers that can be washed.

Sadly, sometimes perfectly good visions do not transition into real life. I bought material that went well together and that I liked and still like. I spent several hours on the pillow covers and thought they turned out kind of nice. THEN I made the seat cushion and....oh yuk! Christmas in July! Who would have known?

So now I am stuck with deciding to keep part of it, scrap it all or try something different all together.

I tried it with just the pillows and the white seat cushion - it might be ok but seems to need something.

I tried a small green pillow - even that small touch of green jars the senses.

Maybe a small pillow or two of the watermelon red color?

And none of this solves my original problem does it? Ah well, some days just end in limbo.

Making things...

A few weeks ago when I was trying to create Abby's vision of a perfect "twirl dress", I was reminded of how much pleasure I have found throughout my life in making things. One of my earliest memories is of sitting on the kitchen floor making doll clothes out of scraps of material. I don't remember anything much about how the finished product looked or what doll I was dressing, but I remember assessing my skill level (low) and my tools (sissors and a large needle and thread), the excitment of the planning and the figuring and THEN the surge of triumph when I made it work (which is probably why I rmember it...heady stuff for a little kid).

I still dream about whatever project I am working on and if I am not working on anything particular, I find myself dreaming of excel spreadsheet formulas or even plumbing (always the romantic). Though I ultimately failed to produce four year old Abby's vision of a perfect "twirl dress", the pleasure was in the trying AND I have not given up - dress number five is in the works.

So, then I started thinking about all the things I have made in my lifetime (most not captured in photos) and in sheer volume alone the list is impressive. Besides the drawings and paintings, there was, stained glass, pottery, macreme, crochet, sewing and probably stuff I can't remember. I wonder where I found the time to cook dinner, read to my children, babysit for a bunch of kids, devour books, sort of clean the house, sort of mow the yard, and do laundry? There were projects that never saw the light of day; the dress I tried sewing by hand, the giant Barbie doll house that ended life in the rafters, because Ada grew up. There were the projects that should not have seen the light of day; my appalling first attempts at making children's clothes for one (Aaron would tremble in his very cool shoes to know that I actually took him out in public like this). In my defense, this WAS the age of red and gold shag carpet, green appliances and sideburns...we had it all.

So I suppose I am trying to say that for better or worse making things is what I do .




































And I am having a terrible time uploading, resizing and moving pictures (at one point I lost them all)...so this is all you get...

Under my belt..

...one milestone. I have been here in Pasadena for over a month and finally, yesterday, after twelve hours of slave labor in excruciatingly miserable 100 degree heat, I was able to actually PARK MY CAR IN THE GARAGE!! Now to normal people, people without a garage fetish, this may not seem like a big deal. But to me, an organized garage is a sign of physical, emotional and mental contentment. This is why (as anyone who has read my Christmas letters knows) I am continually "cleaning the garage". I love when everything has a place; I feel at peace when I know where to find my stuff even if I don't want it at the moment. It is order. It is respect. It is control! It is wonderful!

New holiday

So today on the way to take Abby to school..(written 5/20/08 and not published)

Abby: Gramma when is the next holiday?
Me: Well I guess that would be Memorial Day.
Abby: What comes after that?
Me: Forth of July, your birthday, Thanksgiving, Jack's birthday, Christmas...
Abby: ...and after that is new holiday (new years eve) for adults.
Me: Oh, New Years Eve, yes. It is an adult holidy because you have to stay up until midnight and kids can't stay up that late.
Abby: Yeh I'd be grouchy.
Me: Uh huh. Lots of adults are pretty grouchy on New Years Day.
Abby: Maybe that's why Harry is so grouchy all the time.
Me: Is Harry a boy at your school.
Abby: Yes and he is grouchy every day...maybe he stays up too late.

..two feet

To my knowledge no one has ever expounded on the wonder and versitility of two feet...

I, who have just spent four endless days with only one foot - Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday - regret that I am not a poet and, thus, unable to adequately praise such a gift; I regret all the times I have passed a wheelchair, walker bound person without giving thanks for two feet; I regret that I have taken two feet mostly for granted.

With two feet you can stand unassisted in the middle of a room, a park, a driveway, a sidewalk; with one foot, unless you are the Karate Kid, you fall on your face.

With two feet, standing tall, you can reach the stove, the sink, a table or the food in the frig; with one foot you are on the ground, knee level at best, where nothing, not even a toothbrush is available without some struggle.

With two feet you can stand in the shower or bend over a sink to wash your hair and even your armpits; with one foot you don't wash at all and you begin to smell a bit pungent.

With two feet bathroom privledges are taken for granted; with one foot a trip to the accomodation is an arduous ordeal and not to be embarked on lightly.

With two feet you are independent, invincible; with one foot people wait on you, are anxious for you and you are helpless.

This is day five.
This is Tuesday.
I have two feet.
I am a happy woman.