harriet powers stamps

The post office got me again with the recent issue of stamps that celebrate Harriet Powers' quilts. I went in to mail a letter that required extra postage and came out with two sheets of Harriet Powers quilt making stamps.

Harriet Powers was an African American quilt maker born into slavery in 1837 in rural northeast Georgia. She most likely learned her sewing and quilt-making skills on the plantation where she was enslaved.

After emancipation, she lived and worked near Athens, and over time became known for the remarkable pictorial quilts she created - quilts full of symbolism that read like illustrated panels that tell a narrative story. Powers used her quilting as a way to preserve her faith, her African American culture, and her own personal story.

Only two of her quilts are known to survive today, but those two works have become cornerstones in the story of American quilting - especially the tradition of story quilts. Each of the blocks in her quilts is its own little scene, almost like a storyboard.

Today one of Harriet Powers’ quilts is in the collection of the Smithsonian Museum of American History. The other is housed at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.

History is told in many forms - through oral traditions, written narratives, documentary films, museum exhibitions, performance, art, and digital storytelling - all working to humanize the past. But what could be more intimate, more deeply human, than being wrapped in a handmade quilt, feeling the care, intention, and love stitched into every piece of fabric?

the friday feed: an irish meal

"For the whole world is Irish on the Seventeenth o' March!" – Thomas Augustine Daly

Every March 17, the United States turns emerald for a day. Americans wear green clothes and raise glasses of green beer. Menus fill with green milkshakes, bagels, even grits. In a bit of leprechaun-worthy mischief, Chicago dyes its river green.

I’ll wear green on St. Patrick’s Day, but skip the dyed drinks and foods. I’ve been in Chicago for the occasion, walking along that famously green river.

My own celebration happens in the kitchen. This year’s meal: corned beef, colcannon twice-baked potatoes, and roasted cabbage, carrots, and parsnips - traditional fare with a few twists.

HAPPY FIRST DAY OF SPRING!

sunflowers!

Not complaining, but I'm definitely over winter. To shake off the funk, I ordered some Crème Brûlée sunflower seeds from Burpee. Honestly, how could I not? Crème brûlée is one of my favorite desserts.

The catalog's description was the icing on the cake: "Bound to be the sweetest, most sophisticated sunflower on your block. Elegant crowns of golden-yellow petals surround fluffy, amber-bronze centers – a floral reflection of the caramelized sugar atop dessert classic ‘crème brûlée’. Refined plants stand 4-5’ tall with a bushy, branching habit and a continuous bounty of blooms. If you’re craving something new and spectacular for your border, this sunflower is for you."

Now I'm craving créme brûlée!

 

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

On the road last weekend to watch some college basketball. The Dayton Flyers belong to the A-10 Conference and we made the trek to PPG Arena in Pittsburgh to watch our Flyers in their tournament games. The road to March Madness begins

Back in the day of traveling from the Midwest to visit my grandparents in New Jersey, we always took the Pennsylvania Turnpike which primarily cuts through the Appalachian Mountains. It was a long, boring drive for four young children but what got us through the tedium of the drive were the stops at the service plazas and going through the tunnels that were cut through the mountains. We always looked forward to the Kittatinny and Blue Mountain Tunnels - one right after the other. 

On the drive to Pittsburgh didn't take us on the Pennslvania Turnpike but we did get to drive through two tunnels, one in Wheeling, WVA, and one right before getting to Pittsburgh. That little kid excitement of going through these tunnels is still there.

My son and grandson joined us to watch the games. 3 1/2 year old Owen could watch only so much basketball so to help him get his wiggles out we went up and down the escalators too many times to count. "Let's do it again, Didi!"

All smiles after an exciting win to get into the championship game. We beat #1 seeded Saint Louis University by one point in the last .5 second.

Nothing like a messy red, white, and blue popsicle to keep a kid happy!

One of Pittsburgh's nicknames is the Confluence City. Three rivers converge at Point State Park. The Allegheny River is in the forefront of this photo, the barge is starting its voyage down the Monongahela River, and Point State Park where the concrete platform comes out into the rivers marks where the Ohio River begins. 

Pittsburgh is also known as the City of Bridges. It has 446 bridges, which is more than any other city in the world.

While walking around Pittsburgh I saw lots of references to "Yinz" and "Yinzer." Come to find out "yinz" is equivalent to "you all" or "y'all." It originated from the Scottish-Irish immigrants who used "you ones" (or "you'uns") and it evolved into a signature phrase of "Pittsburghese" dialect. A person who speaks this way is often called a "Yinzer." 

We arrived home Sunday night and then in the wee hours of Monday morning, I woke to the sound of howling winds and rain slamming into the house. Very scary. No tornado sirens going off but it was enough to keep me awake for a couple hours. Monday morning my neighbor was in the street with his chain saw cutting up a huge branch that had broken from his old, massive tree and was blocking the street. He wanted to clear a path before the school bus arrived. He got a lane open and then the city street crew arrived to finish the job.

The storm caused our power to go out for a few hours and our wifi was out for most of the day. My son's power was out longer than ours so he came over to do his laundry. It was nice to have him around and have a catch up visit. I invited him and his wife to come over for dinner. I wanted to surf the 'net for some dinner ideas and got shut down because of no wifi. So I went old school and thumbed through a lot of cookbooks. It was like becoming reacquainted with old friends. I do love my cookbooks and got a lot of smiles from finding old favorites and just being taken back to how I used to plan meals when the internet wasn't around. I found a recipe and prepared Chicken Cacciatore from Cucina Povera. Comfort food that came from the stress of a storm.

st. patrick's day

May your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow, and may trouble avoid you wherever you go. ~ Irish Blessing

Oh, the music in the air!
An’ the joy that’s ivrywhere –
Shure, the whole blue vault of heaven is wan grand triumphal arch,
An’ the earth below is gay
Wid its tender green th’-day,
Fur the whole world is Irish on the Seventeenth o’ March!

~Thomas Augustin Daly

monday's mulling: shine!

Walt Whitman believed that life should be lived fully, authentically, and joyfully. In this short and concise thought he’s essentially saying:

You can choose any path in life.

The specific activity matters less than the spirit behind it.

What truly matters is that your actions create genuine joy, vitality, and meaning.

Whatever you choose to do in life - work, art, love, travel, learning - make sure it fills you with a sense of joy and aliveness. 

In other words, don’t just exist - live in a way that lights you up!

"donut" fear the ides of march

 

the daffodil debut

A drive past the "Daffodil House" shows some bright yellow buds and blooms. In a week or two the yard will be a sea of gold.

The Daffodils' Debut

On the sloping lawn where winter lingered thin,
The daffodils arrived like whispered news -
Small trumpets lifted to the wind,
Bright as a promise the cold couldn’t refuse. 

They gathered first along the hill’s soft spine,
Where thawing earth breathed out its sleepy steam,
Gold cups tipping sunlight into time,
As if the yard itself had learned to dream.

Each stem a quiet banner newly raised,
Each petal catching morning’s silver thread,
Till even the bare trees paused, amazed
At little suns where frost had lately spread.

And walking there, you’d swear the hillside knew
The art of celebration long before you -
For every step the spring breeze softly made
Was answered by the daffodils’ parade. 

the friday feed: fresh squeezed orange juice

In February, we took a weekend trip to Chicago to celebrate our grandson’s second birthday. While we were there, my sister-in-law called and asked if we had received our oranges. She didn’t know we were out of town. When I told her we weren’t home, she said, “Well, you have two boxes of oranges sitting on your front porch. Can Patrick go pick them up?”

“No,” I told her, “Patrick’s here with us. I’ll call my neighbor.”

Unfortunately, the oranges sat outside overnight - in 0° weather.

When we got home, I called my neighbor to let her know I was coming over to pick them up. She laughed and said, “You might want to bring your car. There are two big boxes.”

She wasn’t kidding. The two boxes held four dozen oranges - 48 in all! That’s a lot of oranges for two people. I did have to throw a few away because of the frigid temperatures, but we still had a mountain of citrus.

Oranges from Florida in the winter are the best. They’re at their peak for freshness, flavor, and juiciness. I started eating a couple a day, but it takes a while to make a dent in 48 oranges. Before long, a few more were starting to go bad. Time to go the fresh squeezed orange juice route.

So I bought a juicer - and that finally solved the orange surplus. As that long ago orange juice commercial said, "A day without orange juice is like a day without sunshine." We've enjoyed our liquid sunshine!

dad's shoes

Sometimes things just come together in a serendipitous moment. A few weeks ago in the The New York Times Spelling Bee the clue brought back a long ago memory of my dad. A few days later while looking through boxes of “stuff,” I came across this cloth from my dad’s career with Sears. 

What do they have in common? 

The word using all of the letters in the Spelling Bee is cordovan and the shoe shining cloth is a gift from the old Downtown Dayton Sears shoe department after a leather shoe purchase was made.

My dad had a shoe shining kit filled with many soft cotton flannel rags, brushes of different textures - stiff horsehair brushes for buffing and smaller applicator brushes - and metal tins of paste polish (Kiwi or Esquire brands), in black, tan, brown, and cordovan, a rich, dark burgundy or a reddish-brown color. I so remember his shoe shining kit - a dark wood hinged-lid box with a built-in footrest on top for stabilizing shoes as they were being polished and all the dividers inside for organizing the polish, brushes, and rags. Dad taught me how to shine his shoes, first dusting the shoes off, applying the polish rubbing it with the soft rags in circles on the flatter surfaces, wrapping the rag around my index finger to get the polish into those tough-to-get cracks and crevices. Then came the fun part - wiping the polish off and then giving the shoes the final shine with the soft brushes. Back and forth, back and forth to a high gloss finish.

Dad wore suits and ties to work every day of his job at Sears from the beginning management training classes until his retirement in 1993. Business casual dress was becoming more commonplace but dad refused to end his career in khakis, a polo shirt, and casual shoes. He believed that shiny shoes, when wearing suits to work, symbolized professionalism, attention to detail, and personal discipline. He believed a polished look conveyed respect for the workplace, helped create a positive, professional first impression, and ensured a classic image. Wow, how times have changed, not for better, not for worse. It's just change, a new attitude.

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

The Cincinnati Museum Center was once home to the bustling Union Terminal train station. Currently the exhibit "Auschwitz. Not Long Ago. Not Far Away." is the featured  exhibit in this stunning structure. After WWII many Jews from all over Europe emigrated to Cincinnati and arrived at this beautiful building to rebuild their lives as Holocaust survivors. Last week, Todd and I took a trip down the construction laden I-75 to the Museum Center and spent three hours walking through one of history's darkest periods.

Upon entering the exhibit, the first thing we encountered was a red shoe in a glass case placed in front of a large mural of shoes. This red shoe was one of many shoes found in the Auschwitz warehouses after liberation. This bright colored lady's shoe placed in front of the mural that was a sea of worn and dark-colored footwear served as a poignant and deeply personal item that instantly connected visitors with the human stories behind the overwhelming statistics of 1.3 million deportees. 

Benches - either to rest one's feet, to process what one just seen, to watch a video, or to reflect on the atrocities - were supplied with tissue boxes. 

This was the very last message before exiting "Auschwitz." Visitors had participated in an ongoing remembrance and left with a responsibility to combat hate and violence.

Back to dreary Dayton...last week it rained hard almost every day and we were taking care of our son's dog. All the rain brought out lots of worms that needed to escape the water-saturated soil. The dog was curious and while he'll eat most anything, he stayed away from a worm snack.

After the rain comes the most welcome blue sky. These are the Carillon Bells, which if you remember from some December posts, this is the bell tower that is turned into the giant Tree of Lights. A few puddles lined the road and as I drove past my brain went into whatever gear: puddles, bell tower, reflections, so I stopped and took a few "Reflections on a Late Winter's Day" photos.

 

monday's mulling: up on the roof

News, news, news. I know what's going on but the information overload is just too much at times. 

Yesterday, when driving home from the grocery store, the the most perfect song came on the radio. Such an unexpected moment brought a little calm to the media storm. At that moment my "roof" was in my car with James Taylor's soothing voice singing one of my favorite songs.

Up on the Roof by James Taylor

When this old world starts a getting me down

And people are just too much for me to face

I'll climb way up to the top of the stairs

And all my cares just drift right into space

On the roof, it's peaceful as can be

And there the world below don't bother me

No, no

So when I come home feeling tired and beat

I go up where the air is fresh and sweet

I get far away from the hustling crowd

And all that rat race noise down in the street

On the roof, that's the only place I know

Look at the city, baby

Where you just have to wish to make it so

Let's go up on the roof

And at night the stars, they put on a show for free

And darling, you can share it all with me

That's what I say, keep on telling you

That right smack dab in the middle of town

I've found a paradise that's trouble proof

And if this old world starts a getting you down

There's room enough for two

Up on the roof, up on the roof, up on the roof oh now

Everything is all right, everything is all right

Come on

Put down what you're doing tonight and climb up the stairs with me and see

We got the stars up above us and the city lights below, oh

Up on my roof now

it's that time of year

Like most of the 50 states, we did the spring forward thing to welcome Daylight Saving Time for the next eight months. My son's dog is staying with us for a few days so this morning when the pooch woke up for his morning walk, it was 7:30 instead of 6:30. Last night I was really tired and fell asleep early. Losing an hour of sleep was no big deal when the dog came to the side of the bed and nudged me to go outside.

Taking these early morning dog walks has been a gentle way to begin the days. I let the dog sniff as much as he wants. It amazes me how long he can stay in one spot to smell all that there is to offer. Then we stroll, he stops to pee, stroll a little more, another sniffing moment, stroll, pee again...you get the routine. He's enjoying his dog world while I listen to the birds' songs and the woodpeckers tap-tap-tapping on the trees. A couple of early morning walkers were out and about. Good for them to start their day with a stroll around the neighborhood. I do want to get into a morning walking routine. After walking the dog, I feel refreshed and energetic. A few studies have found that among older adults, those who start their days with a morning walk improved their cognitive function compared to those who remained sedentary. I will do what I can to keep that Alzheimer's gene that has cursed my mom's side of the family at bay.

And now, as I write this quick Sunday post, the dog lays on the rug by the patio door in his totally content dog life, snoozing and snoring and farting. Time to move elsewhere 🤢

hallie louise

The princess and her cake!

One year ago today, Todd and I were at the hospital to meet our third grandchild and our first granddaughter. Andrew took her out of her little hospital bed and handed her to me, "I want to introduce you to Hallie Louise." My heart melted, it burst with joy, love made it grow ten thousand times bigger. Little people sure can make you feel big things. 

During the earlier stages of pregnancy the doctors had some concern about Hallie's development, which if the barrage of tests Jennifer had to go through showed certain readings, a tough decision would have to be made. The whole family went through an extremely stressful few weeks but now, look where we are - celebrating this beautiful little girl's first birthday! 

HALLIE - LOU - YEAH! It's time to celebrate "one-derful" you!

My grandpa, who would be Hallie's great-great-grandpa, was also born on this day, but in 1898. Three different centuries separate Grandpa (March 7, 1898) and Hallie (March 7, 2025). Just thinking of the history and all of the developments that have happened in 127 years is mind-boggling. I hope I'll be around long enough to tell Hallie stories of "When Didi was a little girl..." 

the friday feed: avocado toast

It's between 6:30 and 7:00 a.m., kind of early, but I've always been a morning person. For me it's not hard to roll out of bed, drink a big glass of water, and go to the kitchen to make the morning pot of coffee. The smell of coffee offers the psychological "wake up" before the first sip. After the coffee has brewed and my cup is filled, it is then time to sit down, open my computer to read blogs, and play a few New York Times games. I'm not hungry when I wake up and need to wait a few hours for the hunger pangs to set in.

For the last couple of weeks I've been on an avocado toast kick: a slice of toasted seed-sational bread, 1/4 an avocado, and giardinara to top it. It's crunchy, creamy, and the giardinara adds a touch of spiciness. Many, many thanks to my Chicago family for introducing giardinara, Chicago's quintessential condiment, to me. Giardinara is rooted in Italian tradition, the Chicago version is distinct, featuring chopped vegetables (carrots, celery, and peppers), pickled in oil and vinegar rather than just vinegar.

The avocado toast trend took off in early 2010, fueled by the wellness culture, Instagram foodies, and endorsements from chefs. It became a symbol of trendy, healthy eating, especially among the Millennials. Well, it took this Boomer quite a few years (15 years to be exact) to get enthusiastic about avocado toast and most recently, when the grocery store had a good sale on avocados, that's been breakfast for the past few days. 

In addition to avocado toast, this has been a fun week in the kitchen. I've made beef with barley soup, manicotti topped with marinara and ooey-gooey fresh mozzarella cheese, a big tray of roasted veggies, and an Asian chicken salad with a rice wine vinegar dressing. Lots of good leftovers.

happy national grammar day!

National Grammar Day's celebration falls on March 4 so, one day later, this is for you all you word nerds, grammar geeks, and apostrophe aficionados! 

A Clause for Celebration

On National Grammar Day they gathered with flair,

All eight parts of speech were already there.

The hall was booked by bold Noun -

Properly dressed in a velvet gown.

“I’ve named this bash The Grand Soirée!”

Declared Noun with nominal display.

Beside her stood Verb, full of action -

Dancing, leaping, a live interaction.

Verb boogied hard. “I move the night!

Without me, nothing’s done right!”

He twirled Adverb fast and quick - 

“Quite remarkably smooth!” she chimed in slick.

Adjective shimmered in radiant light,

Describing the décor as “sparkling” and “bright.”

She fluttered by Noun with colorful flair -

“You’re absolutely fabulous!” filled the air.

Pronoun slipped in, subtle and cool.

“Why repeat yourself? That’s not the rule.

When Noun grows tired, I stand in place - 

I, you, they - efficiency with grace.”

Preposition hovered near the punch,

Positioning guests in a relational bunch.

“Stand by the cake, sit on the chair,

Dance under lights - syntax is where!”

Conjunction arrived with a linking grin:

“I bring folks together - let the joining begin!

Noun and Verb, Adjective or Adverb - 

Without me, sentences would lose their nerve.”

Interjection burst through the door - 

“Wow! What a party! Encore! Encore!”

She popped like confetti, bright and loud,

Startling the rather composed crowd.

Soon they formed a sentence line,

Structured, rhythmic, quite divine.

Noun took Verb by the hand so tight,

Adverb modified the dance just right.

Adjective added glitter and gloss,

Preposition prevented semantic loss.

Conjunction kept the rhythm in sync,

Pronoun saved space - and time to think.

And as the music reached a stop,

They placed a period - full, on top.

A perfect end, no fragment in sight - 

Just well-formed joy, concise and bright.

“Cheers!” cried Interjection. “Hooray!”

“Let’s do this again next Grammar Day!”