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The Board Room

(PLEASE NOTE: I have not been able to upload photos onto my Blog Posts so I have not blogged in a while. But I finally decided to go for it without photos until the time I figure out the problem. If you would like to see the photo that I intended to add with this post, both are on my Facebook page: The Reindeer Keeper). The Post Begins Here: When my older brother was a toddler, he nicknamed our grandmother Giddy. That nickname stayed with her over the years. Giddy worked from the minute she got up to the minute she went to bed. When going downstairs in the morning, she would be wearing one of her house dresses. Functional, with pockets, wearing such a loose-fitting dress made it easier for her to move about the old farmhouse as she cooked, mended, sewed, knitted, crocheted, braided rugs, did the wash, hung it out on the line to dry, did the ironing, baked bread, made donuts and cookies and tarts, prepared meals, cleaned-up, tended to six daughters, helped her husband in the...
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I Will Miss the Singing of the Poplar Tree

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  I knew at some point the magnificent poplar tree standing proudly in front of our home would have to come down. It was showing signs of aging. It was getting tired. Because it was so close to the road, I worried it might fall on a passing vehicle. With great sadness I contacted who I needed to contact and shortly after that, the magnificent and glorious Poplar tee was taken down. I know it was just a tree but growing up I loved listening to the leaves of the Poplar trees lining my grandparents' cinder driveway. Their singing was music to me so when my son Brian and I moved to the country with that mighty Poplar tree greeting us with its own melodies, I felt at home. Sometimes when the wind was blowing in the night, the mighty Poplar would wake me up singing its soulful song. The rustling of its leaves was soothing, telling me everything would be just fine, lulling me back to sleep. Whenever I was out in the garden, the Poplar was right there with me, moving its precious leaves li...
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It Was Never a Resolution

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Getting a kitten was never a resolution. That is too strong of a word. It was more a Hope that at some point, it would happen if all the stars aligned. In other words, if having a kitten would work out in our home due to my son Brian using a walker. I had visions of a kitten getting in his way. Making him trip. Fall down. So, for a long time, I ignored wanting a kitten. That changed when Brian brought the subject of getting a kitten up, telling me it was a good idea. So did my two grandchildren. Not long after that a search began for our long overdue kitten. My grandchildren and I found the kitten on an Amish farm in a big, old Amish barn full of kittens. We named the kitten Daphne only to later be told by a vet that Daphne was a male. It was my son who named our kitten, Tony. And Tony joined our family in early summer. Tony fit in immediately. It was as if he was custom-made for our situation. He seems to sense the meaning of the walker. He stays out of Brian's way. If he happens ...
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A Tea Party To Remember

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  I loved playing TEA PARTY when I was a little girl. Most of the time they were tea parties with pretend friends I named Chunny and Winnie. Our tea parties were always held in the summertime, on an enclosed back porch where the sun and a nice breeze came through the screened windows. My favorite dolls and stuffed animals would join us. They loved being served pretend chocolate chip cookies. So did Chunny and Winnie. So, did I. I wish I had photos of those tea parties, but I don't. There were no cell phones way back then. That's why I was so excited when finding the above photo of another Tea Party, not with Chunny and Winnie but with my cousin Carol and my older brother, Johnny. The tea party was held just outside my grandparents' farmhouse. If you look above my cousin, you can see a bit of my grandfather's barn. At that time, the barn was home to cows, horses and chickens. When we were older, we played up in the hay mows in the barn and in our grandfather's nearby...
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Stories Told in Old Barns

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  I have written before about my intrigue of old barns. Lucky for me, I am surrounded by them. Some are in rougher shape than others. Some look as if the slightest wind will bring them down. They all have stories to tell. The problem is so many of those stories will never be heard. The wind will make sure of that. Here is one story that beat those odds. The story actually began when I was maybe 12 or 13 and tragically lost my cat. While I would go on to get married and have children and we most always had a cat or two, I never felt close to any of them. I am sure I held myself back from embracing them in fear of losing them. About fourteen years ago, I moved out to the country. My oldest son lives with me as he deals with MS. We love where we live. Out back there is a small barn. It is not in the best shape but over the years, that never stopped stray cats from calling that barn home for as long as needed. I never bothered much with the strays until the last few years. I started to...
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The Magic of Autumn

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    The little tree dressed up in its finest yellow leaves stands out back near the garden as proud as a young girl dressed up in her most beautiful gown when going to the prom. This is the first year I have seen that precious tree in such glory, as if the little Elves of Autumn came tiptoeing about under the Harvest moon and with their Elf paints and crayons, turned the little tree's leaves into shades of magical yellows, whimsical under the sun, and the moon, that breathtaking Harvest moon. When leaves on trees do change colors, it seems like it happens overnight. One day they are green. The next day they are glorious shades of crimsons, oranges, yellows. Their colors and aroma tell you Autumn is approaching. Hurry. Get ready. So much to do. Move lawn furniture inside. Close the pool. Get the rakes. Start raking. Clean the windows. Clear the gardens. Pour the cider. Get the sweaters out. Bake some zucchini cookies. Zucchini bread. Pumpkin bread and pies. Pumpkin cookies. Mol...
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National Sewing Month

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 IN RECOGNITION of SEPTEMBER BEING NATIONAL SEWING MONTH I have written extensively about my mother’s fabric shop which was attached to our home out in the country where I spent many a school evening ‘designing’ outfits instead of doing homework, especially math. When I was in my preteens my grandmother taught sewing on Saturday mornings during the winter in my mother's shop. That is where I learned about darts and inseams, marking, and pinning patterns and secrets on how to cut patterns out. While it took me forever to trim a pattern, pin it to the fabric, and cut it out, my grandmother did it in lightning speed. And when she was not the instructor, she would be in her home, in her sewing room sitting at her little black Singer sewing machine with a tape measure around her neck, pumping the foot pedal and turning out one beautifully sewn item after another. She had the eye for her artform and when you have the eye, creativity is the driving force. My mother also had the eye. She w...
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