food, crochet, merriment
“Faith is not a theological platitude. It is a fact of life. Faith can become the very wellspring of purposeful living. There is no more compelling motivation to worthwhile endeavor than the knowledge that we are children of God, the Creator of the universe, our all-wise Heavenly Father! God expects us to do something with our lives, and he will give us help when help is sought.” ~President Gordon B. Hinckley
Happy Birthday Pam!This Moment.
A Saturday joy. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from our world.
A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to savor and remember.
If you’re inspired to do the same, leave a link to your ‘moment’ in the comments for us.
Happy Saturday my dears!
We took the babies to the Thanksgiving Point Tulip Festival for the first time in our livin’ lives. It was a lovely, lots of walking, flowery adventure. We saw pink tulips…
and crashing waterfalls,
yellow daffodils,
and secret gardens.
We saw orange and purple tulips…
and a cliff-dwelling mama owl.
We saw a sleepy baby Chompy…
and more tulips!
These were some of the really fancy ones–inside–entered in a competition for the most beautiful flower in the universe.
…although we did have a couple of our own…
and they were “blooming” cute.
Sorry, couldn’t help myself.
:]
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My clever mama made these pretty little Raggedy Ann dollies for Laurie and I when we were really young. Andy only got to hold the silly parakeet…poor guy. I like to think of these handmade treasures as relatively as old and we are. We, meaning Laurie and I, of course.
Look how well the old girl’s held up. Oh, sure–her elastic is a bit stretched out…
and her loopy hair is all pulled straight—don’t know why I did that…
her red felt nose got scratched off…somehow–don’t know why I did that either…
and she has a scar from an old, old wound.
But she still loves me–as you can see…
her socks stay up beautifully without elastics…
and she still manages to hold her head up straight and tall and keep a sweet smile on her face…
which is an amazing thing for a relic…
who’s the same age…
as me.
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It all started when I decided to clean out the linen closet…
and found this old bottle of linen water. It made me remember the days when my babies were little, when I used to iron…every Tuesday. I can just see the long row of shirts and dresses lined up in the kitchen smelling of lavender and starch.
Yes, I know. People don’t actually do that anymore.
It’s a shame too, really.
There’s something comforting about taking a crumpled, wrinkly thing and making it smooth and crisp and warm and lovely, even when–perhaps especially when–you don’t really have to.
My mama knew that.
Years ago, she used to pay us five cents for every pillow case that we kids pressed and folded and stacked in the hall cupboard. Handkerchiefs were a penny. Of course, Laurie got the big money ironing daddy’s dress shirts—at twenty-five cents a piece. But I was the pillowcase girl.
We didn’t have Linen Water or anything fancy back then. Just a sprinkle jug and a big safety pin to keep the cord out of the way, and a note pad and pencil to add up all the nickles.
I earned a Twist & Turn Barbie just like that. She cost $3.69 and it took from May clear till fireworks before I had enough money to bring her home.
From that day on, I’ve loved the smell of ironing.
Mama told us a story once about a fancy lady she knew, when she was little, that loved ironing so much that she even ironed her sheets–just because she wanted to.
Sheets! Can you imagine?
That’s just silly.
But I discovered this very day, that even though you can, of course, get by without ironing anything–for a long, long time–there is a soothing rhythm to the motion and the warmth and the order…
that, for me, was worth finding again.
It smells curiously like a brand new Barbie…
and crisp, lavender sheets.
