My daughter and I talk pretty regularly. Partly because we enjoy it, partly because we were pals when she was growing up. Neither one of us was born in Texas, but as the saying goes, "we got here as quick as we could". Her daughter wasn't born here either, but you wouldn't guess it by the way she thinks. I could go on and on, but instead I'll simply share a picture of a gift the five year old gave to her dad.
We love a lot about Texas, but for me it's the simple way of living here and the friendly people. I'm glad my granddaughter is "Texas folk" and it shines through her by the little things she says and does.
The word of the day "my day" seems to be passion, it has "popped" up several times and is speaking to me. The problem with my passion is that it encompasses so many things and narrowing it down is like choosing which color of the rainbow to omit. It simply can't be done. Perhaps one can focus without becoming so narrow in vision that important facets of the vision are neglected or removed.
It seems as if as long as I've lived someone has asked me to fit my desires and passion in his or her box. What always happens is that I box bits in small cubbies and then end up putting the boxes in other boxes. I just can't say no to this thing or that thing just because someone "thinks" I should.
Let's take for instance music. I live and love music. I don't like certain styles of music, but even within the (don't like) pile are small exceptions. I don't like confines. I play the accordion, but haven't had formal lessons. I love the free play method of music when it's allowed to flow from my spirit. I enjoy hearing a tune or melody and then figuring it out on a given instrument. I don't want to copy someone else, but love to share in their end product. I may put my spin on their songs, but I don't ever want to "steal" it by playing it exactly as they would.
The ONLY person I ever give complete permission to limit my life is God. He has the best perspective over my life, He is goodness, and I trust Him. If Abba says, "no" it's for my own good. Only He has the right to make any sort of demand on my life. I suppose if I am honest He colors my passion. He puts the violets in the rainbow of my desires. He paints the azures of my creativity! He even directs the symphony of my soul's deepest expressions. He is my greatest passion. Like the crazy man delivered by the Lord I hear His direction to me when I beg to follow Him: "Go your own way and tell them the great things God has done for you today". And so I shall!
Who would have ever thought that folks would spend their Saturday evenings journeying across the world via the Internet? One can start in one's own living room and end up as far away as China just by doing a little computer surfing. Most of the time I find it more interesting that television because TV can be fake. Of course the stuff people post on the Internet can be faked as well, but even if it's faked the fact that someone personally takes the time to create something here and post it is interesting to me. I love taking a little time in the social network world and then perhaps check into a few blogs. I get a kick out reading other women's blogs no matter where they are. I can "sneak" into places where I might not be accepted normally. I can learn about worlds that were formerly unknown before. I've learned what "steam punk" is by being online. I am intrigued by those who do things differently than my regular "friends". Foreign culture is also very interesting as well. I'm careful not to let my spirit absorb trash, but to understand those so much different than myself gives me a door I wouldn't have otherwise.
This morning I spent a couple hours with a Ukrainian girl. She gave me a manicure and worked on her English as I worked on my Russian. We laughed and talked and also were quiet. We shared "chai" and I was sad when our time was up. She met her husband online via the Internet. She is growing her business and I'm one of her new customers. The Internet brought her from the other side of the world to Texas! How awesome is that?
I love this Saturday evening journey because I NEVER know where it's going to take me. Sure I have some routines I stick with, but I can just take a detour and voila I'm in another world. It's exciting to me and I look forward to where this journey will take me. It will give me more to write!
How crisp the air, so pure and clean
How lovely is the dew's pure sheen
The trees are soon to shed their wear
And drop their garments from the air
Out come the sweaters, drapes and more
From mothball trunks and other stores
Good books we'll gather, mugs of brew
Cocoas, teas and coffees too Around camp fires we huddle near
And sing and laugh of stories dear
We relish seconds and hold them close
For winter hovers dark and marose
Enjoy the pumpkin pie and apple
For soon with winter we shall grapple
Gather now around the table For autumn soon will be unable
How crisp the air, so pure and clean
How lovely is the dew's pure sheen
Autumn sings so short her song
Enjoy the morning ere it's gone.
There aren't many objects that thrill me or that can cause chills to run up and down my spine. I'm pretty careful not to let "things" be my center, but I do enjoy a couple of material things very much. One is vintage linens and the other is vintage aprons. What is it about an apron that can make me dewy eyed? I think it's all about childhood memories. My grandmother "ALWAYS" wore an apron. She wore hers in the kitchen, living room, bedrooms, dining room and even in the yard. She didn't wear one to church, but she carried one with her in the event she ended up in the kitchen. I also remember the feeling I got when I put my first apron on and was allowed to work with grandma to make boysenberry pie. I felt so important. It was different than any feeling I'd ever had before.
Knowing where you belong is so important to the human psyche. Not belonging is a funeral dirge to the soul. Having self worth and confidence as a young person helps one become a productive adult. No one ever made me feel quite as confident as my grandmother. I loved the special quiet times she and I would share. Even when my younger brother and I would go visit grandma and grandpa together, grandma made me feel like I was the center of her world. I never felt like she favored one of us over the other.
I digress. The apron was grandma's "badge" of authority in her home. My grandfather was clearly the head of the household, but grandma was the directing force in their home. Her practical thinking and gracious hospitality made her tiny home in Redwood City, California seem like a mansion to all who graced its doorstep. Grandma made it seem "wrong" to work in the house without an apron. Not that she'd ever actually said it was wrong, but the moment I walked in the kitchen and asked to help she "dressed" me for the job at hand. Her aprons had the smell of freshly hung laundry. They were always crisply ironed and never dirty. Each apron was a work of art. The outside edges were normally piped or surrounded with perfectly sewn bias tape borders. They had deep pockets and would cover my entire torso. They were also supremely feminine and I longed to own one for myself.
My beloved grandmother now graces the portals of heaven with her presence. I miss her dearly when I think about her. My little sister confessed she misses her more having spent more time with her before she passed onto heaven. I understand her loss.
It wasn't long after marrying and starting my own home that I began to notice aprons again. I saw them in the department stores and in specialty stores, but they were NEVER as pretty as grandma's. I love spending time in antique and second hand stores. Being my grandmother's granddaughter, my frugal nature had me shopping for household needs in such stores. It was there I began noticing vintage aprons much in the style of my grandmothers. I bought one and then another, and then another. I know I have several up in my attic. I have a couple in one of our homes and a couple in our tiny farmhouse. No kitchen is complete without an apron! No housewife is properly dressed without one.
I am just as tempted by vintage aprons as I was the first time I discovered someone had foolishly or "accidentally" let go of hers at an antique store. I can get goosebumps today just by trying them on. I honestly believe I was born about 100 years too early. In my youth I served as a docent in a historical museum. I was blessed to work during "Living History Days" several years in a row. We churned butter, made sour dough bread, pressed apples in a cider press, ground corn for masa and hand quilted a pieced quilt top on a quilting frame. The whole affair made me yearn for harder and simpler times. Museums focusing on pioneer times are full of old domestic goods. These all make me drool and imagine earlier days filled with housewives doing their domestic duties. It's all so far removed from the world we live in now, but not so far from my heart. I think I'll get busy and make a scaled down apron for my precious little granddaughter and continue the tradition. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it.