Yesterday on my way home from a calming yoga class, I took the road less taken rather than the direct, four lane thoroughfare. The old brick brick road wound through the old money suburb, past some gorgeous homes and the Wright Brothers mansion, and required some maneuvering around tree trimming and utility trucks on the way to see if daffodils were popping up at the "Daffodil House." And there they were. Channeling William Wordsworth, my heart leaped up when I beheld the daffodil buds coming through the ground...

The daffodils are on their way! Right now the green shoots push their way through the ground.

And in a few weeks will be a carpet of gold to cause passersby to slow down and appreciate this farewell to winter - the first greeting to spring.

 

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

In Monday's post, I wrote about "stuff" I found while organizing sewing supplies. My grandma made beautiful quilts and during a long ago summertime visit she gave me my first quilting lesson using four patch quilt blocks. Cutting the same sized squares, making even stitches with a needle and thread, not pulling the thread too tight or keeping it too loose, matching the corners...so much to think about. Grandma was so patient with my first try and that experience opened the world to more quilts, needlepoint, counted cross stitching, and machine sewing.

Tucked among my fabrics, look what I found...the little quilt tops with all the pretty fabric combinations that I chose from Grandma's scrap box. My, oh my, what an eye for mixing and matching! 

Now that I have a granddaughter, I'm going to finish these off so if she plays with dolls she can have some blankets to wrap around her little babies. I'll tell her the story about how my grandma taught me to quilt and maybe someday she'll want me to teach her how to make four patch quilt blocks.

The late winter flowers are pushing their way through the dirt. After all the snow that fell a few weeks ago, these sweet winter aconite are such a welcome sight. Yellow...the promise of sunshine and warmer weather.

Valentine's Day is such a busy day at restaurants and for the past few years, Todd's and my tradition has been to order a heart-shaped pizza and have dinner at home. We were invited to a dinner this Valentine's Day so one day after having no inspiration as to what to fix for dinner, yep you guessed it...we ordered a heart-shaped pizza for dinner. Any day is a good day for a heart-shaped pizza!

oh relax

People love to express themselves by the clothes they wear, through the music they listen to, the art they create, the flowers they grow in their gardens...so many ways of self-expression - including the license plates on their vehicles. The surge in popularity is driven (see what I did there 😄) by a desire for individuality and this trend is evident while walking through the grocery store parking lot noticing the catchy phrases on the bumpers. This one hit home. Whenever my mom got worked up about whatever, my dad's response..."Relax, dear." And one time when Todd and I were having a "discussion," a little voice piped in and said, "Weewax, Mommy and Daddy!"

OH RELAX

stamped in metal, bolted to chrome,
a tiny manifesto riding home.

OH RELAX

it sighs at traffic’s daily theater,
at the honk-happy gladiator,
at the tailgater inching near
like urgency itself lives here.

maybe the driver wears it like a grin -
a laid-back soul in rumpled skin,
windows down, arm in breeze,
laughing at life’s small emergencies.

maybe it’s a joke on road rage heat,

a playful jab from the driver’s seat,

a bumper-level therapy session

for every impatient and rude expression.

perhaps it echoes some unseen thread -
a catchphrase once casually said,
an inside joke, a family tone,
a borrowed line now made their own.

OH RELAX

a bumper's message, brief and bright,
a dare to soften, just tonight.

and whether a whisper, joke, or shield,
it turns the highway to a field
where metal carries something kind:
a nudge to ease the racing mind.

monday's mulling: grandma

I am in the midst of a much needed project: organizing my arts/crafts and sewing supplies. Five years ago I had a lot of space to store my supplies but after a series of moves they've ended up in a box over here and in a bin over there, in a random drawers around the house. In the last few months, I've made Christmas stockings for my granddaughter and daughter-in-law and then the zines for my grandsons and it was stressful because I spent so much time looking for "stuff." 

A couple days ago I found three boxes of books and they are now on shelves...yay! In one of the boxes was one of my grandpa's diaries. While plodding through the pages of his 1977 journal (his handwriting was horrible), every single day he mentioned visiting Clara, my grandma. He documented my grandma's Alzheimer's journey. 

Wednesday, February 23, 1977. My grandma died 49 years ago today. 

Grandma always said that Grandpa's handwriting looked like chickens were hopping all over the pages. It always took a bit of time to decipher what he wrote.

"Clara passed away while at coffee. Jack Stucky said John wanted to talk with me. Said Mother was bad. She passed away before I got there. Will have funeral Friday 10. Visitation tomorrow night 5-9. I have a couple hard days ahead. Picked out casket etc this evening. Have called _______." (Couldn't figure that one out. Maybe Arizona as my grandparents spent their winters there).

I was a sophomore in college, Mom called me with the news that Grandma died. I was sitting at the desk in my dorm room working on a paper for an English class and the tears just spilled onto that paper. My college was 45 minutes from home, Mom told me to pack some clothes and a couple nice outfits because Dad would be there in a couple hours to take my siblings and me to Illinois. She had called the schools for my siblings' dismissals, got all their clothes in suitcases, and was heading to Illinois as soon as she got off the phone.

Grandma was a devout Catholic and this date, February 23, 1977, was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. The funeral was on Friday, the first one in this Lenten season. During Lent Catholics are to abstain from eating meat and consume minimal amounts of food on Fridays to imitate Jesus' 40-day fast in the desert. My grandpa was Mennonite and all the ladies from his church provided food for the after funeral reception. And this food included meat - ham, fried chicken, meatballs, and all sorts of marvelous desserts - things that Catholics should fast from on Lenten Fridays. There was an air of what are we supposed to do with all this good food that we're not supposed to eat and the priest is here, too? The priest came through and gave a dispensation to any Catholic who chose to eat the meat dishes (and desserts) that the ladies so lovingly prepared could do so. Hallelujah!

I adored my grandma. I envied my cousins because they lived in the same town as my grandparents and could visit them whenever they wanted. Because of my dad's job, we always lived 4-5 hours away from them and got to visit two or three times a year. But whenever we arrived at their house, Grandma was always on the back porch stoop, waiting for us as the family car crunched down the gravel driveway, with her smile and open arms that said, "It's about time you got here!"

it's that kind of sunday

Maya Angelou believed in treating everyone with dignity, viewing the world as a, "rich tapestry" where all threads are equal and where very act of kindness counts.

After my mom died and I was out and about around town, I would occasionally see her friends at the grocery store, downtown at various venues, walking at the small indoor shopping center, the library -  just wherever we randomly happened to be. The most frequent comment after their condolences was the remembrance of having afternoon visits at Mom's home, sitting at her kitchen table, visiting over a pot of tea with some cookies. Mom had a tea pot very similar to this and I, too, remember visiting at her table over a pot of tea. It was a time to slow down and talk about whatever. Kind and gentle moments - you don't forget how they make you feel.

 "I'm convinced of this: Good done anywhere is good done everywhere. For a change, start by speaking to people rather than walking by them like they're stones that don't matter." ~ another Maya Angelou quote

the crescent moon

Yesterday we met my brother and sister-in-law for an early dinner. It was a gorgeous but very windy, getting back to chilly day. We had been blessed with a couple spring teaser days with sunshine and temperatures in the 60s. But, it's still winter in Ohio and Ole Man Winter took back his duties and hit us with a doozy of a weather event. Thursday night Todd and I were watching the Olympics, waiting for Alyssa Liu's gold medal skating performance. The wind and rain had all at once become much stronger and both our phones went off with a horrendous beep. TORNADO WARNING. We flipped the TV to the local weather station with the adorable meteorologist being very serious telling the viewers to get to their tornado safe spot. The weather system passed in 15 minutes with no tornado touchdown.

Back to yesterday...after having dinner with my brother and sister-in-law (their names are Pat and Patty - isn't that fun?) we came home and the sun was starting its descent. I asked Todd if he wanted to take a walk, he said "Sure," so we took a quick sunset walk. 

We got home And there it was - the crescent moon.

Such a perfect moment: the color of the sky, the outlines of trees, the silver edge of that crescent hanging just above the sunset’s glow.

It was too light to see them in this photo but three planets, Venus, Mercury, and Saturn shone on the western horizon below the moon. 

Possible tornado one night, beautiful sunset with a crescent moon the next. Mother Nature keeps us on our toes.

the friday feed: tabbouleh

I met my friend Annette when our her middle child and my first born were in the same kindergarten class. Her family history tells quite a story. Her mom was a German Jew living in Munich during WWII.  Ruta and her family left Germany to find haven in Israel. Annette's Palestinian dad lived in Jerusalem, Ruta and Elias met, fell in love and married, had two children, and moved to the United States, where they had three more children, Annette being one of them.

Through my friendship with Annette, she introduced me to Levantine food: zeit and za'atar (an olive oil mixed with za'atar dipping sauce with pita bread, Lahma bi Ajeen (Arabic pizzas), dolmas (stuffed grape leaves) falafel, and tabbouleh. When she makes tabbouleh, she'll send a text message: "I just made way too much tabbouleh. Want some?" Of course!

A couple weeks ago Annette went to a golf tournament in Phoenix and stayed with her friend who lives there. Her friend loves to garden, has a couple lemon trees on the property, and sent a few lemons home with Annette. She called me when she got home. "I brought you something from Phoenix!" She came by the house and handed me two lemons. The little orbs of sunshine smelled so fresh and I knew right then and there what I was going to do with them. "Im going to make tabbouleh!" 

Tabbouleh is a Middle Eastern salad that originated in Lebanon. It's made primarily from finely chopped parsley, tomatoes, mint, and onion, with soaked bulgur wheat, all tossed in a dressing of olive oil and lemon juice. I had some mini cucumbers and added those, too. That lemon juice in the dressing tasted so fresh. It wasn't puckery tart. Tabbouleh is served as a side or appetizer, often scooped with lettuce or pita bread. I scooped mine with a spoon. Todd is not a big fan of tabbouleh. More for me...darn.