I dont always finish things that I start.
Well
thats one of my problems.
This time though, Im going to. I have confidence in myself.
Itll be two weeks Tuesday since my mom taught my how to crochet. You ask why in the world a woman in her early 20s would want to learn the art of making an item out of yarn by using a hook. I say why not?
Next thing you know Ill be sitting home on a Monday night crocheting an watching Antiques Roadshow on PBS. Oh wait, I did that this week. One thing I wont do though, is eat peanut brittle or give out pennies at Halloween.
I asked my mom to teach me how to crochet to simply make myself a scarf, I told her that was the reason at least. In actuality, I wanted my mom to teach me how to crochet because it was a good reason to spend some quality mother-daughter bonding time, something we have been lacking for a few months due to life catching up with us.
While she was teaching me, she told me a story. My moms grandmother taught her how to crochet at a young age. My great-grandmother use to sell her wares at craft shows. At the age of 9 my mom sold her first crocheted blanket. I had never heard the story and was astonished. I wasnt bewildered by the fact that my mom had made something so spectacular that someone would buy it, I was amazed that she was 9 years old when she sold her first piece and had entered a craft show.
I was proud of her, even though it happened so long ago. I was glad that my mom had taken the time to share this information about her life before me. My mom had told me several stories about her childhood, but this was a new one, a new moment added to the other collection of anecdotes in the filing cabinet of my brain labeled Mom.
Crocheting teaches you patience. Id like to think that in these almost two weeks of my crocheting career that I have grown a tad more patient. Patience is a virtue.
Crocheting helped my mom and I share something again. Sure we share many things, but I wanted to learn something new from my hero.
Currently, I am a quarter of the way through with my scarf. Maybe, just maybe, Ill finish it by the end of winter, just before spring hits, so Ill be able to show off my craftsmanship. And maybe Ill be able to finally say that I finished something I started. Even if I dont finish it though, at least I learned a little more about my mom, of who she was and how she transformed into the person that I know today.
Monday, January 25. 2010
Black Sheep Add Color To Ones Family
By: Karen White-Walker
Do I dare? Oh, why the heck not. Everybody has at least one, but nobody likes to admit it because they might, God forbid, be a reflection on them. But youd have to be mighty insecure not to survive a smudge on ones familys fabric. Im referring to the black sheep in the family who, incidentally, have the biggest hearts and sometimes the biggest mouths, too.
Uncle Giuseppe, fully grown, was a mere five feet one, 120 pounds, but had a voice that could rival a megaphone. Just ask the survivors who may have attended the Passion play back in the early 1920s. There probably nobody left, but the familys offspring still talk about it. At the time, seven-year-old Giuseppe (they called him Biggie) with an angels face was playing our Lord in the play. Sister Mary Martha pulled rank because she wanted her student nailed to the cross. Thats what the Passion play, you know, re-enacting the Stations of the Cross. Little Biggie shouldered the heavy wooden cross and the entire family was captivated by the sudden transformation in the little tykes demeanor. Surely this couldnt be their smart-alect, street-wise, dirty mouth little guy?
Mama, thats our-a son, whispered a teary-eyed Papa.
Shut-up-a your face, warned Mama. Hey Papa, you tink we should kiss-a-his First Communion ring when he come-a home tonight?
The plays climatic moment was approaching but unfortunately, not fast enough. Our Lord lay on the cross while Herods men drilled nails into his hands and feet. They hoisted the cross upright and the audience gasped at the scenes authenticity. People felt the little boys, I mean, our Lords pain and there wasnt a dry eye in the place. Some people had to use their sleeves to wipe their eyes and even their noses, and suddenly the sacred scene definitely lost something. The re-enactment had been going on for hours---much too long to test a hyper, restless, little imp. Biggie began twitching and squirming, and that should have tipped off Sister Mary Martha had she been on the ball. A kids kidney can only dangle so long, you know. Suddenly his angelic expression turned distorted, mean, hateful, and ugly.
Hey you guys, he shouted out to the audience. If one of you damn dummies dont get me down from here, therell be hell to pay!
There was Mama snorting smelling salts, and the whole family never fully recovered from the humiliation. Had Giuseppe not been the product of such a highly respected family, this seven-year-old would have been run out of town. If the Vatican had gotten whiff of the Passion play gone awry, excommunication proceedings surely would have been started. Sister Mary Martha said a million years in purgatory would never absolve him from his sin of blasphemy. Maybe deep down Mama felt the same way because years later when Biggie sought his parents approval and blessing for the woman he wanted to marry, Mama led the naïve girl to the kitchen window. Rosalina, you say you love-a my-a son?
Very much, Mama, very much, the timid thing answered.
My-a dear, look outta the window and tell-a me what you-a see.
The canal? she stammered.
Good, you see-a the canal. Do your-a self a bigga favor, Rosalina. Go down-a to the canal, tie-a bigga cement block around-a your-a neck and jump-a in! Believe-a me, you be-a better off.
And THIS is the blessing the poor girl received from the family. She still married my Uncle Giuseppe, but out of respect for the sacrament of marriage, well leave it at that---for now anyway. In later years this midget of a man turned out to be a giant in the family, but first I must tell you, if you thought he offended our Lord, (unintentionally, of course) wait till you hear what he did to Gods mother!
Its very comforting that God doesnt hold a grudge, so why do we? (continued)
To read more of Karens previously articles, please visit homegrownharvard.blogspot.com
Do I dare? Oh, why the heck not. Everybody has at least one, but nobody likes to admit it because they might, God forbid, be a reflection on them. But youd have to be mighty insecure not to survive a smudge on ones familys fabric. Im referring to the black sheep in the family who, incidentally, have the biggest hearts and sometimes the biggest mouths, too.
Uncle Giuseppe, fully grown, was a mere five feet one, 120 pounds, but had a voice that could rival a megaphone. Just ask the survivors who may have attended the Passion play back in the early 1920s. There probably nobody left, but the familys offspring still talk about it. At the time, seven-year-old Giuseppe (they called him Biggie) with an angels face was playing our Lord in the play. Sister Mary Martha pulled rank because she wanted her student nailed to the cross. Thats what the Passion play, you know, re-enacting the Stations of the Cross. Little Biggie shouldered the heavy wooden cross and the entire family was captivated by the sudden transformation in the little tykes demeanor. Surely this couldnt be their smart-alect, street-wise, dirty mouth little guy?
Mama, thats our-a son, whispered a teary-eyed Papa.
Shut-up-a your face, warned Mama. Hey Papa, you tink we should kiss-a-his First Communion ring when he come-a home tonight?
The plays climatic moment was approaching but unfortunately, not fast enough. Our Lord lay on the cross while Herods men drilled nails into his hands and feet. They hoisted the cross upright and the audience gasped at the scenes authenticity. People felt the little boys, I mean, our Lords pain and there wasnt a dry eye in the place. Some people had to use their sleeves to wipe their eyes and even their noses, and suddenly the sacred scene definitely lost something. The re-enactment had been going on for hours---much too long to test a hyper, restless, little imp. Biggie began twitching and squirming, and that should have tipped off Sister Mary Martha had she been on the ball. A kids kidney can only dangle so long, you know. Suddenly his angelic expression turned distorted, mean, hateful, and ugly.
Hey you guys, he shouted out to the audience. If one of you damn dummies dont get me down from here, therell be hell to pay!
There was Mama snorting smelling salts, and the whole family never fully recovered from the humiliation. Had Giuseppe not been the product of such a highly respected family, this seven-year-old would have been run out of town. If the Vatican had gotten whiff of the Passion play gone awry, excommunication proceedings surely would have been started. Sister Mary Martha said a million years in purgatory would never absolve him from his sin of blasphemy. Maybe deep down Mama felt the same way because years later when Biggie sought his parents approval and blessing for the woman he wanted to marry, Mama led the naïve girl to the kitchen window. Rosalina, you say you love-a my-a son?
Very much, Mama, very much, the timid thing answered.
My-a dear, look outta the window and tell-a me what you-a see.
The canal? she stammered.
Good, you see-a the canal. Do your-a self a bigga favor, Rosalina. Go down-a to the canal, tie-a bigga cement block around-a your-a neck and jump-a in! Believe-a me, you be-a better off.
And THIS is the blessing the poor girl received from the family. She still married my Uncle Giuseppe, but out of respect for the sacrament of marriage, well leave it at that---for now anyway. In later years this midget of a man turned out to be a giant in the family, but first I must tell you, if you thought he offended our Lord, (unintentionally, of course) wait till you hear what he did to Gods mother!
Its very comforting that God doesnt hold a grudge, so why do we? (continued)
To read more of Karens previously articles, please visit homegrownharvard.blogspot.com
Havelock!
By Klew....warning...This story is sad and may be offensive to those who do not share my beliefs.
Havelock, my beloved furbaby of nine years died on Thursday, January 21st. The only solace I can take is that it was sudden and I was with him. For me, this was easier than to see him go through an illness and make the decision to euthanize. The hard part was going through this knowing the tragic outcome.
Needless to say I was hysterical grief stricken. In addition, my own private guilt is that he may have ingested a cleaning agent that I did not rinse.
My friends and family told me that Havelock would have been too smart to continue to drink the poison. I felt they were just telling me that because they love me. However, upon investigation, they may be right! A cat's sense of smell is greater than humans, and the "fumes" should have been repulsive enough to stop any ingestion. Also, some of the symptoms that appear with ingestion of poison did not take place.
To deal with the "what if" factor I turned to my belief that "when it is your time, it is your time".
Havelock would have died on that day....no matter what!! I truly believe it.
Now I am dealing with the grief of missing him! He was very special and very loving! He was beautiful. He was EVERYTHING a furbaby should be. I would post his picture but I would be worthless for the rest of the day. In the future, when the pain subsides, I will memorialize him.
A sense of humor is needed at this time and this is a story that will be remembered! For burial, Havelock was wrapped in a blanket and placed in a cardboard box. His food bowl, his toys, etc. were buried with him. The problem is that he is buried in a shallow grave that the rain pounded on the whole weekend. Because I did not like the thought of him in that rain soaked box, I made the decision to have his body exhumed and have him cremated. It took a long time for his ashes to be ready. When I inquired why it took so long, I was told "He was frozen"! While many may find this morbid, I look at it as closure. In addition, having his ashes with me will provide me with the comfort that I need!
When I first mention this to family and friends, they look at me with visions of Pet Cemetery or Practical Magic!!! The looks on their faces make me laugh!!
Even in death, he brings me laughter!!!!
A more meaningful tribute to follow............................
Havelock, my beloved furbaby of nine years died on Thursday, January 21st. The only solace I can take is that it was sudden and I was with him. For me, this was easier than to see him go through an illness and make the decision to euthanize. The hard part was going through this knowing the tragic outcome.
Needless to say I was hysterical grief stricken. In addition, my own private guilt is that he may have ingested a cleaning agent that I did not rinse.
My friends and family told me that Havelock would have been too smart to continue to drink the poison. I felt they were just telling me that because they love me. However, upon investigation, they may be right! A cat's sense of smell is greater than humans, and the "fumes" should have been repulsive enough to stop any ingestion. Also, some of the symptoms that appear with ingestion of poison did not take place.
To deal with the "what if" factor I turned to my belief that "when it is your time, it is your time".
Havelock would have died on that day....no matter what!! I truly believe it.
Now I am dealing with the grief of missing him! He was very special and very loving! He was beautiful. He was EVERYTHING a furbaby should be. I would post his picture but I would be worthless for the rest of the day. In the future, when the pain subsides, I will memorialize him.
A sense of humor is needed at this time and this is a story that will be remembered! For burial, Havelock was wrapped in a blanket and placed in a cardboard box. His food bowl, his toys, etc. were buried with him. The problem is that he is buried in a shallow grave that the rain pounded on the whole weekend. Because I did not like the thought of him in that rain soaked box, I made the decision to have his body exhumed and have him cremated. It took a long time for his ashes to be ready. When I inquired why it took so long, I was told "He was frozen"! While many may find this morbid, I look at it as closure. In addition, having his ashes with me will provide me with the comfort that I need!
When I first mention this to family and friends, they look at me with visions of Pet Cemetery or Practical Magic!!! The looks on their faces make me laugh!!
Even in death, he brings me laughter!!!!
A more meaningful tribute to follow............................
Posted by Karen Lewis
in The New 50= Age 30 with 20 Years Experience
at
11:08
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Thursday, January 21. 2010
To Dine Alone or Not To Dine Alone...That Is The Question
My bucket list contains a few items that are easy to accomplish; one being, eating alone someday in a restaurant.
Im afraid to eat alone because I am not sure of what to do while I wait for my food or while Im eating where to stare or whatnot. These are the hurdles I must overcome before embarking on this journey and eventually crossing off this item on my to do list. Quite frankly, I just dont have the confidence to dine alone. I have flown alone though, which sadly was one of my greatest accomplishments of 2009.
When I see people dining alone my heart instantly breaks. I want to walk over to their table and join them, but then again if they really wanted to eat with someone they could have found someone (I usually assure myself with that bit of information.)
While browsing through Yahoo News, I noticed the article How Not To Feel Humiliated When Dining Alone. The article is found at, http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/food/how-not-to-feel-humiliated-when-dining-alone-567610/.
Ive talked to a few friends of mine asking if they have ever eaten alone, and what they have done to pass the time in between ordering and your food arriving.
The answer is always the same; either bring a newspaper, magazine or book to read. Most say that it is great to eat alone.
The article talks about it taking guts to eat alone and that is the truth. Even though part of me pities the lonely diner, the other part of my envies them for having that confidence I lack.
If your phone has the internet on it, you could always be on that the whole time, although I only have my usual five Web sites I check and that takes less than five minutes to go through. When I wait for someone to show up wherever we are meeting I usually peruse my cell phone and the seconds dont go by fast enough.
Now, not every place is an acceptable restaurant to dine alone. Acceptable places include diners, family restaurants, small places, the like. I wouldnt attempt going to places like The Friars Table (I only grab a few drinks there alone and only because I know some of the staff there), Buffalo Wild Wings (where everyone is there with friends watching a sports game) or Mr. Bills (a cozy little place in Cheektowaga).
One day, eventually, I will dine alone. Ill get up enough courage to tell the hostess its only a table for one and Ill truly experience life and cross off another item on my list of things to do before I die.
Im afraid to eat alone because I am not sure of what to do while I wait for my food or while Im eating where to stare or whatnot. These are the hurdles I must overcome before embarking on this journey and eventually crossing off this item on my to do list. Quite frankly, I just dont have the confidence to dine alone. I have flown alone though, which sadly was one of my greatest accomplishments of 2009.
When I see people dining alone my heart instantly breaks. I want to walk over to their table and join them, but then again if they really wanted to eat with someone they could have found someone (I usually assure myself with that bit of information.)
While browsing through Yahoo News, I noticed the article How Not To Feel Humiliated When Dining Alone. The article is found at, http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/food/how-not-to-feel-humiliated-when-dining-alone-567610/.
Ive talked to a few friends of mine asking if they have ever eaten alone, and what they have done to pass the time in between ordering and your food arriving.
The answer is always the same; either bring a newspaper, magazine or book to read. Most say that it is great to eat alone.
The article talks about it taking guts to eat alone and that is the truth. Even though part of me pities the lonely diner, the other part of my envies them for having that confidence I lack.
If your phone has the internet on it, you could always be on that the whole time, although I only have my usual five Web sites I check and that takes less than five minutes to go through. When I wait for someone to show up wherever we are meeting I usually peruse my cell phone and the seconds dont go by fast enough.
Now, not every place is an acceptable restaurant to dine alone. Acceptable places include diners, family restaurants, small places, the like. I wouldnt attempt going to places like The Friars Table (I only grab a few drinks there alone and only because I know some of the staff there), Buffalo Wild Wings (where everyone is there with friends watching a sports game) or Mr. Bills (a cozy little place in Cheektowaga).
One day, eventually, I will dine alone. Ill get up enough courage to tell the hostess its only a table for one and Ill truly experience life and cross off another item on my list of things to do before I die.
Friday, January 15. 2010
No Time Like The Present!
By Klew
It's really easy to forget about what is happening elsewhere in the world as we look forward to the weekend! Tonight I have plans which include a great play, fine wine and a wonderful man! ( I will discuss "Gamma" in a future blog) I know that once I begin my weekend activities, my mind will NOT be on Haiti or on any other third world issue. But.... at THIS moment in time, right NOW, I can't think of anything but the devastation and carnage.
I have the sincere desire to ask my publisher for a leave of absence in order to join the relief effort in Haiti. But because of my need for instant gratification and being unable to work out the logistics of my desire, a monetary donation is all I can do at this time.
My agency of choice is the American Red Cross. I was trained as a Disaster Relief Volunteer many years ago. I was involved with the ARC when their reputation was tarnished during 9/11. What few people realize is that the only mistake the ARC made at that time was failure to communicate. The disaster relief fund was not set up for just ONE disaster but for EVERY AND ALL disasters. I am very glad that the ARC was able to effectively inform people of their mission and regain their sterling reputation.
SO...at THIS moment, right NOW, I am asking YOU to make a donation to the disaster relief agency of choice to help the Earthquake Relief/Recovery Effort before your wonderful weekend begins.
http://www.redcross.org/
It's really easy to forget about what is happening elsewhere in the world as we look forward to the weekend! Tonight I have plans which include a great play, fine wine and a wonderful man! ( I will discuss "Gamma" in a future blog) I know that once I begin my weekend activities, my mind will NOT be on Haiti or on any other third world issue. But.... at THIS moment in time, right NOW, I can't think of anything but the devastation and carnage.
I have the sincere desire to ask my publisher for a leave of absence in order to join the relief effort in Haiti. But because of my need for instant gratification and being unable to work out the logistics of my desire, a monetary donation is all I can do at this time.
My agency of choice is the American Red Cross. I was trained as a Disaster Relief Volunteer many years ago. I was involved with the ARC when their reputation was tarnished during 9/11. What few people realize is that the only mistake the ARC made at that time was failure to communicate. The disaster relief fund was not set up for just ONE disaster but for EVERY AND ALL disasters. I am very glad that the ARC was able to effectively inform people of their mission and regain their sterling reputation.
SO...at THIS moment, right NOW, I am asking YOU to make a donation to the disaster relief agency of choice to help the Earthquake Relief/Recovery Effort before your wonderful weekend begins.
http://www.redcross.org/
Posted by Karen Lewis
in The New 50= Age 30 with 20 Years Experience
at
15:52
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