My mom’s in clean-out-mode. And for me, that means I’m finally getting some of the little treasures I’ve had my eye on for the last few years. Granted, she’s not breaking out the bicentennial grandfather clock or silver yet, but a week of attic-cleaning for her has meant some hidden jewels for me. The first is this quilt pictured above. It was made for my mom when she was pregnant by a woman who was blind–that, in and of itself, is amazing.(what was my excuse for not quilting yet?)
The quilt is very faded and lots of the squares need a little repair, but I love it–in all it’s worn in, well-loved, faded glory. (Isn’t martha trying to replicate this nowadays?) It has become the perfect summer quilt for Mary’s crib now that I’ve put away the down throw that warms her little toes in the winter.
And then there was this:
Now I know it’s not much to look at these days, but let me tell you this used to be a favorite of mine. One of my most vivid memories being the time that I interrupted a 4-H meeting that was being held on our farm to give a demonstration to those in attendance on how to "cut off a horse’s head". I know it involved a stainless steal mixing bowl full of grain (to distract your horse) and a butter knife (probably not the most painless method, I’m guessing…) You can see I tried to add a little more detail to my ‘horse’ as the years went on. Mom thinks it’s black paint from when we were painting the balcony that used to come from an upstairs bedroom, down the side of our old stucco farmhouse. I think it might be black shoepolish.
Either way, I’m going to find some way to bring it back to its glory, I hope. (Or should I say, I’m going to try to convince my husband to find some way to bring it back to its glory…are you reading this, Dan?) I can’t keep the girls off it…at least Emma, who is the exact same age as my infamous beheading demonstration. It squeaks with each rock, as if pained that I’m bringing it out for another generation of riders. But I love it. And I love having it my house. And I love seeing my children’s bruised and scratched legs draped around the same seat that rocked my bruised and scratched knees, as well. That, in my opinion, is good design.
A Final Note:
There were men climbing telephone poles all around the valley last week. Working their way up one road, around the corner to the next. I watched them as they worked and so badly wanted to know what they were up to. I even dared to faintly utter the words to my husband: "Maybe they’re installing high speed internet?" And leave it to my father, to pull up alongside a truck and yell up to the man in the bucket….cable internet is the word. cable internet. it’s coming. I even called the cable company that afternoon to get some answers…how long? how will I know when it’s here? what if they forget to notify me? And sweet little Renee, put my name on a list, and she’s going to call ME, when it’s ready. Sixty days, folks. A sweet little 60 days.
And you know, when this little stint with dial-up is over, I think I’ll be a much more patient, high-speed appreciative person. And after that I’ll write a book: 1001 Things To Do While You Wait For A Page to Load.
Today–knitting a swingcoat for Mary. (not all in one page load, though…it’s not THAT slow.)