Thursday, March 15, 2012

The Lost Art of Letter Writing


I have always loved to write letters.
Because you have to write a letter to receive one.

And there is nothing sweeter than getting a letter in the mail.
Especially if there are photos.


Receiving cards are wonderful, too. And if there is a letter or note inside, even better.
There are so many beautiful cards these days. Or you can make your own. These handmade cards were from my daughter and I to my Dear Mother. I found them in with her keepsakes when she died. To know that she had saved them, makes my heart happy.

The beautiful embossed envelope from my sweet Hubby is missing it's card. No doubt it was beautiful and I displayed it for a while, separating it from it's envelope.

I'm sure I still have it.

I am one of those people who saves pretty cards and letters. 


My Dear Mother also loved to write letters. When she moved West from New England and left all of her friends and family behind, she kept in touch regularly by writing letters.

She collected Limoges porcelain boxes, and before she died, she gave them to me. This one is especially dear. A miniature envelope. A gift from my Father.


With a tiny card inside that reads, 'With Love'.
A perfect little remembrance of her love for writing letters.
The letter on top of my ribbon tied bundle is from her. The last one she wrote to me. Even though she lived down the street.

I am always on the look out for beautiful note cards to add to my collection. A personalized thank you, or a sweet endearment just to say, 'I'm thinking of you', is a precious keepsake.
Some of them are truly little works of art.
This little beauty is hand stitched on hand made paper. A gift from my Dear Daughter.
These colorful works of art were made by my children in school. I use them for special occasions to send to them one at a time.
I would love to know how they made them!
Museum gift shops are wonderful places to find these miniature works of art. Lovely souvenirs of a pleasurable day spent surrounded by beauty.

The Limoges stamp box was a gift to my Mother from me. And now it is mine.
I keep these little treasures in my Mother's beautiful desk.
Where I also keep a photo of them taken at the Senior Prom. My Father wore a white tux. So many years ago. This little lamp with the capiz shell shade has graced this very same spot since my Mother bought her beautiful desk from the Ethan Allen store in the 1960's.
The Ink bottle with the feather pen, and the three little quail have also resided there since then.
Another picture of my parents when they were dating, at the beach. And the wooden Mortar and Pestle we found in the abandoned farm house when I was nine, where I also found the crochet hooks that inspired my love of crochet.


I still write letters. Although not so many these days. I write to my elderly Aunts living in New England. I write to Hubby's sisters and his elderly Mother.

I write about my day to day life, a record of my life in the present.

As I sit at my Mother's desk, connected to the past.

And maybe, my letters will live on for future generations.

Writing letters is a lost art. But one well worth preserving. The romance of a bundle of letters, tied with a ribbon and yellowed with age, speaking of simple day to day lives, can never be replaced.


The pleasure of receiving a beautiful note card, perhaps with a photo or a small keepsake, such as a feather or pressed flower, can never be compared.

I hope this inspires you to write a letter today.

At the very least, it gives you an excuse for buying all those pretty note cards!
And I guarantee it will make someone very happy!

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Vintage Embroidered Linen Jacket


The wind has been blowing.
The snow has been falling.
But I have had spring on my mind.


This is what it looks like from here.
But I have been busy working on an embroidered linen jacket for spring.


Something to throw on when I work in the garden.
I can also see myself wearing this on a picnic with Hubby.
We love picnics.
But I am getting ahead of myself here.
Spring seems so far away today.


I found this little jacket in my favorite vintage store. I think I paid $6 for it!
It is the softest linen. With real bone buttons. When I iron it, it releases a scent of fresh mown hay.
I love linen. And Flax. And 100% cotton. Fabric Love.
But you can see, it is very plain.



I used a dark linen floss to embroider a cross stitch onto some of the seams.
The rest of the stitching was done entirely in back stitch.


Even the flowers.


To make the back pattern, I simply used a cardboard template, 5"x8", to draw a rectangle with a pencil directly on the linen.  I measured to find the middle, then found the middle of the jacket back and lined them up.


I just drew the flowers in freehand. As you can see, they are thistles. I used a soft moss green for the leaves and stems. I also filled in with the same dark linen color I used for the cross stitching. I used blue and purple for the thistle flowers.


I then stitched the 'frame' in dark linen using the back stitch.


The jacket had lovely pieced seams around the waist and the bottom of the sleeves that I cross stitched.


I also used the dark linen floss to stitch around the collar and pocket top seam using a back stitch.
Soft natural fabrics with prominent seams work best for this technique.
Less than perfect design and stitching give it a vintage country look.
 
 
I hope this inspires you to look for your own vintage clothing to embellish. Simple stitches and soft colors add up to Vintage Love.
 
Now, if only it would stop snowing!

Monday, March 12, 2012

An Approaching Storm and a News Tribune Column



The forecast says we have an 'atmospheric bomb' circling off our coast in the Pacific.

This means we could get winds up to 60 mph here in the foothills.

I am sure we will lose our electricity.


We've had snow showers all weekend. The temperature has dropped.

The storm is going to hit early in the morning.

We have filled the wood box for both wood stoves.

We have water stockpiled.

Candles and Oil Lanterns are at the ready.


We've been through this before.

But you are never quite prepared for

the sound of the wind roaring through the pass.

Bending 100 ft trees over.


The sound of debris hitting the roof, hitting the glass.

Wind whistling down the chimneys.


Wondering if loved ones are safe.

But the house is sturdy.

We always have Faith.

All will be well.


We'll weather the storm.

We are cozy and warm.

But if you don't hear from me for a few days, you will know why.

We are always the last to get our electricity back.

We live at the end of the line.

But that's the way we like it.


I have a little project to work on to while away the hours.

And maybe......it won't come to pass and the storm will blow over.

And I will have a new project to show you when I come back!


In the meantime, my News Tribune column comes out today.



I hope you enjoy it.

Friday, March 9, 2012

A beautiful March day


We have had beautiful sunshine for the last three days.

Every day I gather my wheelbarrow and the dogs and I head up the driveway.


The Indian Plum trees are starting to leaf out. There are tiny white flower buds encased in translucent green cocoons.



The bright sunshine illuminates the ferns growing along the forest floor.

It is very still.


I work all day making neat piles out of fallen branches.


The sun keeps me warm as I listen to the birds.


It's late afternoon and the shadows become long.

Sound carries from far away.

I hear the distant drone of a small plane, the piercing cry of a woodpecker.

I finish my work, wheelbarrow in hand.


The dogs and I head for home.


The end of another beautiful day.


Thursday, March 8, 2012

Dogs have owners, Cats have slaves

Maggie
I woke up this morning and had the same thought I have every morning. I don't want to get up. Because I know what awaits me every morning.

This.

Ling Ling
And this.

Now don't get me wrong. I love these sweet little faces. But the staring really creeps me out. First thing in the morning.

They follow me over to the coffee pot. They trip me as I fill the pot with water, scoop the coffee into the filter. And then they make their move.

A quick lunge to the left and I am doing the two step, trying to stay on my feet as my feline friends head me off at the pass.

All this just so I will open up a can of food.

Yea, just what I want to smell first thing in the morning. Tuna.

Ninky
This guy could care less about eating. All he wants is to go outside. He will patiently wait until I have fed the 'girls' and then it's his turn to dart in front of me as I head over to the door to shut off the porch light. Once again I nearly fall on my face trying to avoid squishing him into kitty rugness. So out he goes.

But it doesn't end there with him. Soon he is back. Staring through the glass door. Does he want to come in? I open the door. He stands halfway inside, halfway outside. He can't make up his mind. It's freezing out. I can't shut the door until he decides. Finally, he makes up his mind. He will stay out.

But he wants to be fed.

Outside.

More tuna smells. Yum.

Whitey
Then there's this guy. I usually get a few sips of coffee in me before I have my morning ritual of coaxing 'Mr. Happy to See Me', out the door. This guy can jump like a circus dog. For no reason other than sheer enthusiasm.

You gotta love it.

But first thing in the morning? 

So while I try to find cans of doggie food and fill my bucket of kibbles, and bird seed to bring out to the birds, he is leaping and jumping and overwhelmingly excited over the whole process, tripping me once more as we head for the door.

Where he turns around and blocks my way, because this is where I have to 'surprise' him with a dog biscuit. Even though this happens every day, he still pretends he is surprised.

Biscuit in mouth, he is happy to now prance in front of Little Bear. He loves to flaunt his biscuits.

Little Bear
This brings me to my favorite. Oooops! Did I say that? Shhhhh! We don't want the others to hear, but yes, this homely face is my very favorite. My sweet patient Little Bear. She is getting on in years now. She moves with slow dignity. Sometimes her back leg goes out on her and she will suddenly list to the side. The other day she actually fell down and she was so surprised and a little embarrassed. It broke my heart and I gently helped her up again. I treasure every morning with her. She greets me with her toothy smile (yes, she smiles). She looks for all the world like she is baring her teeth in a nasty snarl, but we know she is simply smiling.

She loves her chow, so she stamps her feet impatiently while I fill her bowl with her favorite. I fit in a couple more pats to the head and then leave her to savor every last bit.

I fill the feeders and then finally, I am free to drink my coffee and start my morning.


Ironing Hubby's clothes for work and packing his lunch. While I perform these rituals, I am accompanied by Ling Ling. She loves the laundry room. Especially the laundry baskets. Even better if there are freshly dried and folded clothes inside.


If there are no laundry baskets available, this empty water bottle box will do just fine, thank you. I heard this little crackling noise and looked down to find her carefully turning herself around inside the cardboard tray, the plastic forming a nice little cave. Ling Ling loves a good cave.


She is a true creature of comfort.

Birdy boy
Once I get Hubby out the door and depending on the weather, all the cats and dogs outside, I then turn my attention to this little guy. Birdy boy. Every morning he accompanies me while I do my household chores.

This is imperative. You do not ignore a Cockatiel when he wants to come out. If any of you have a bird, you know what I mean. For those of you who don't, let's just say the screeching is like fingernails on a chalkboard. Times 10. An unhappy cockatiel is an unhappy home.



He is trouble with a double 'T'. He loves to chew anything paper or leather, or wood, or well, anything. So I have to give him things to play with. Toothpicks and Q-tips are favorites. Little scraps of paper. Peanuts. Lettuce.
Don't ask me how I ended up with all of these little darlings.
O.k. since you asked.......
Birdy boy was a lost cockatiel. Yes, you heard me. I coaxed him over to me from the roof with wild bird seed. That was 15 years ago. We've been together ever since. He is tame and loves to ride on my shoulder and 'sing' me pretty songs.

Maggie the gray tabby was a stray kitten my daughter found. She kept her with another cat in her apt. until the other cat died and then Maggie was so lonely she cried all the time. I took her in about 9 years ago and she has been with me ever since.

Ninky
One day soon after, I was watering flowers near the blackberries and out popped this little yellow cat face. He was starved and when I found him, he threw up the contents of his tummy. Blackberries.

Ling Ling was my Mother's beloved Siamese mix. When my Father went into the nursing home with Alzheimer's, she was my Mother's loving companion. Right before my Mother died last March, she made me promise to take Ling Ling because that was 'the only thing in the house she cared about'.


Whitey, the dog, ran in front of my truck at a busy intersection the day I was coming back from my eldest daughter's wedding gown fitting 5 years ago. I followed him because I was concerned about this beautiful dog running in traffic. As soon as I stopped, he ran under my truck and refused to come out.
The neighbors started coming out and told me he was a stray, that he had a companion that the dog catcher caught, but they couldn't catch him. Naturally I had to take him home. We had just lost my beloved border collie 'Twiggy' from old age and Little Bear was heartbroken and so were we. Whitey definitely filled the void.

Little Bear getting a kiss from Twiggy

That brings me to 'my favorite', Little Bear. My youngest son brought her home from a friend's house as a roly poly puppy, saying if he didn't take her, she was going to the pound. She looked just like a little teddy bear, hence her name. I had to sleep on the couch with her for weeks so she wouldn't cry and so I could house train her. She never did get house trained, no matter how hard we tried, so we set her up in her own insulated heated dog house with 10 inches of shavings on the floor. My daughter sacrificed her play house for her. She is 13 years old now.

As you can see, all of these sweet little companions found me, not the other way around. It was meant to be. I wouldn't have it any other way.

But I still hate the smell of tuna first thing in the morning.
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