Post T-day Memories

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 © jb katke

We have wrapped up another Thanksgiving Day for the memory book. Like every year, this one was different. Silly me, I thought the energy of the day was in all the prep work of the house and food. Not so, it’s keeping up with the little people in the family.

I learned my great-grandchildren are a bigger treasure than I realized. They bring life to the party and a new way to play games. Six-year-old Josie and I sat down to play a Bingo game. We were each playing by differing rules; she explained, “GG I think you are playing the right way, but that is not the way I play the game.” Such tact and insight from one so young.

Matthew found Nana cleaning up in the kitchen. But he wanted to play with her. “I’ll tell you what, you help me in the kitchen, then we will play, ok?” He agreed and was quite the little helper, never minding his clothes getting sopping wet in the process of rinsing dishes.

Aunt Naomi disappeared. Little Teddy found her for us. Not quite talking yet he stood outside the bedroom door pointing into the room. “Yes Teddy, that is my bedroom where I go nigh-night.” Placing his little finger up to his lips, motioning me to shush. There she was stretched out on the bed taking a catnap. Proving to me he was sensitive enough to be quiet when someone is trying to sleep. 

My youngest granddaughter, Emily, had agreed to a shopping trip with me. I learned she is in to antiques and all things old. A girl after my own heart! Initially we were after a bookcase, but that got taken care of by a friend. She’s becoming a reader, oh happy day! But it seems some home décor was also needed.

To the antique flea market we went, with boyfriend in tow. I thought maybe to keep her from spending too much, but no. He’s into old stuff too…my heart is full. What fun it is to (finally) have a young member of the family desiring heirloom things. She probably could have gone shopping in my home and saved some money. The two of them made this old lady very happy.

Families. Sometimes we think we think there is no living with them. In reality we cannot live without them. They are capable of bringing both tears of pain and joy, but the love is worth it all. Its been said we can choose our friends but something as important as kin are up to the Lord. He knows the personalities needed for us to expand and grow.

Most importantly, to hand the ones we treasure over to Jesus when we are helpless to make sense of awkward situations. Only he can do that; I can vouch to you it will all be good. Not just for you, but will bring added respect to Jesus. Then you too, can become the voice of experience spreading the good news to others that need hope. The Christmas season a prime time to do that.

Genuine Thanksgiving

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Thanksgiving

A particular Thanksgiving comes to mind annually. The year was 1981,

I had just come home from the hospital, having given birth to our third child.

Being so close to the holiday made commitments to anyone’s invite to join them for dinner sketchy. I’ve yet to meet a little one that takes note of a holiday or their parents schedule before making an appearance.

Our friend Carrie thought of that. Of course she would, being the mother of four.

Our church made a point of delivering meals to new families. And Carrie delivered. On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving she brought us a meal with all the fixings. Even down to festive napkins.

I was incredulous at the time and effort she invested for our family. Not everyone would be open to preparing a meal like that to give away. Carrie wanted to make sure we didn’t spend a holiday in want. Mental pictures formed of her returning home and serving hotdogs to her own family.

Each year that memory comes back to life, humbling me every time. Except I can’t recall what we actually did for Thanksgiving that year. Whatever it was couldn’t top what Carrie had done for us. That sticks.

That is a picture of sacrificial love. Unexpected, but appreciated annually. My wish for you is a happy Thanksgiving, one that may be filled with kindness, love, and a memory for all things good.

Gratitude Attitude

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The upcoming holiday season has all the makings of being different, just like last year was. Changes are part of life. The part of life I don’t like. It runs along the line of kids not coming home for Thanksgiving. Or the death of a loved one leaving an empty chair at the table will always bring a heart wrenching ache.

Many Thanksgivings ago, a group of our friends joined in making a basket for a less fortunate family. One of the women had the idea of using a laundry basket; a homemaker never has too many of those. We had a good time meeting up at the local grocer to select foods to place in it.  There was ample room for the turkey and all the trimmings.

Imagine our surprise when delivering this; to learn the family had no oven! We had the good fortune that one of our kids worked at an appliance store, making it possible for us to throw in a few dollars and provide that as well. I think the Indians had a saying something along the line of you can’t know what someone is going through until you walk a mile in their moccasins.

As you comb your mind, desperately seeking ways to make things festive, remember two this. Things could always be worse, and don’t forget to be grateful. Retail stores barely acknowledge Thanksgiving. Your thoughts will bring all sorts of memories to mind that could easily be overlooked. The near miss of an accident, the ability to pay your bills, or maybe being thankful you have an oven. An attitude of gratitude doesn’t focus on the have nots, just the haves.

This year decreased availability of items as prices go up in everything imaginable is a recipe for a stressful season. I urge you to take stock of what you do have. Have you seen the pictures of Christmas trees made of books? Lots of us have excess books, put them to work!

Let your creative juices flow. If you’re lacking in that, check out Pinterest, it seems to be teeming with projects. Tap into the people you know that love to work with their hands. Or, try shopping in the local mom and pop markets; they may cater services that Walmart doesn’t. For some time now I have heard we should check them out, too many have succumbed to the pandemic crisis. They struggle to make ends meet too and will thank you for the support.

Praise to the good Lord above that we still have options.

Unaturalistic

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If you are a lover of all things nature, the following is not for you. You may be excused to carry on with your day.

Dave and I have a friend that can look at a spider and see the beauty of it. Mom always said, “A thing of beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” I see nothing beautiful to behold in a spider. My eye sees a creepy, crawly, too-many legged thing that does not belong in my home. Nor in my yard.

Our exterminator and I were chatting outside as he finished up working. Spotting a spider crawling on the house. “Since you are here, could you shoot some spray on that spider?” That being his business, he obliged me. “Oh, he’s irritated now.” With indignation I replied, “I don’t want him irritated; I want him dead!”

This time of year, I would wield a big stick when mowing the grass of our previous home. The house sat on a  larger than normal piece of land for a neighborhood and held all kinds of nesting places. The autumn season brought those really big orb spiders making their presence known. If you should run into one of their webs you would get a crawling sensation, even if the spider was not there. I probably made quite a picture for passers-by, waving a stick around, knocking down webs that cannot be seen from a distance.

Just writing this makes me feel  crawly. I cannot tolerate them. Everyone has something that can’t be tolerated. Grandma wouldn’t tolerate a messy house. My mom couldn’t tolerate the cotton balls that come with over-the-counter medications.

The mystery is why some things are more bothersome than others. Even the most tolerant of people can be intolerant. We come from various walks of life and experience different situations. Its saddening when folks find they can’t handle those who think differently. It happens in places you would least expect. Differing diagnosis between doctors, private schools, right on down to families.

 No one is exempt, not even churches. Does that surprise you? Many look upon a church as a place where perfect people go. Not so. A church houses  a people group who are struggling to make sense of life, that have messed things up badly and need to know that God provides hope. He is capable of turning difficulty into something good.

My father once told me, “If you find a perfect church to attend, you’ll ruin it.” Gee, thanks dad! He also told me that if I find one that teaches from the Bible, you will hear truth. Dad was right to steer me in that direction. Even with our differences, we can find Jesus’ words to cling to, when our actions are questionable.

He warns us against doing what seems right in our own eyes and thankfully sees where our heart lies. Jesus doesn’t want any creepy, crawly attitude to enter our hearts, especially with those that we will be spending an eternity with!

Costuming

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Shhh,,,can you hear a sigh of relief? Halloween is over for another year. For the mothers that made those costumes, they should get a badge of honor. I remember those days. Making them a size or two larger to accommodate a coat was a necessity. Michigan Octobers are cold.

Halloween isn’t the only time costumes are donned. Back in the day of my childhood, we dressed up for church. Flying on an airline, travelers donned their good duds. Later on, work places allowed casual Fridays, veering from the business casual of the week.

Living near an international electronic business, I see employees out and about in ultra-casual attire. They could turn the tables and have a dress for success Friday. Time has changed and I’m not certain if its for the better or worse.

Through the years I have witnessed these changes, not just in our wardrobe, but the behavior of people as well. When dressed nicely, people don an attitude of  civility towards each other. Those who put time and thought into how they present themselves are respected.

Tim is a case in point. He lamented, “My wife makes such a big deal about how I dress for work. But I like wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, they’re comfortable.” Not to argue his point, but when he presented ideas or wishes concerning his position, he wasn’t taken seriously. It sincerely brought him down.

I tried to make him understand, but not sure he bought it. “The thing is Tim, how you present yourself to others is a reflection on both you and your wife. She thinks highly of you and knows you deserve the respect that comes with what you bring to the company.”

Years ago, our son Jamie earned a two-week scholarship to the National School of Music. It was a big deal for us; as we readied him for the school, there were regulations we had to abide by. He was required a certain color of pant, shirt and belt. The purpose was not lost on us.

Students from all walks of life came for the focused classes they provided. By everyone having the same attire, it leveled the playing field. Class and social distinction was eliminated and gave the students the opportunity to form lasting friendships, no matter the background.

Getting back to Halloween, perhaps we should have more input in what our children put on. If they are going to act out that character, it could be to their detriment. I wouldn’t want my little Superman to try flying out a window. No one would want their young one dressed like a devil.to act like one. Better to stick with innocent figures; angels would be good!

Impact!

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            Tooling down the street, minding our own business, we suddenly find ourselves swerving out of control. Our hearts were light, giddy for how our future was unfolding. I was five months pregnant with our first child. How quickly our picture changed!

            My husband Dave had recently gotten out of bootcamp, with the Navy stationing us in Glenview, Illinois. The least likely place one would think to plant a military base. It was what I considered an upscale neighborhood. Middle class may have been a better description. One must keep in mind comparisons; I was raised in a semi-rural area.

            We were heading home from purchasing a sleeper sofa and an area rug. That was no small feat. Back in the day, it was difficult for young people to establish credit. Today charge cards are handed out like trick or treat candy.

            As newlyweds we purchased a mobile home; only to put it up for sale nine months later. Uncle Sam needed a few good men to serve their country during the Viet Nam era. Moving to our converted barracks apartment, furniture was sparse. Hence, our purchase.

            Suddenly a car shot out of the parking lot of a shopping mall, running a green light, hitting us. I suppose that could be reworded. We ran a red light. Traffic signals of Illinois may be different now.

            At the time we lived there, traffic lights were stationed at the corner of intersections, meaning a driver had to take their eyes off the road to see it. If anyone had asked me, I would have said that was poor planning of the road commission. No none asked.

            The elderly man that hit us got more than a fair amount of feedback from his son. “Dad, you had an accident with a service man? Do you have any idea how to contact him? You’re never gonna see this guy again. How do you feel, did you have any whiplash?”

            Several days later, Dave did contact the man, with cash in hand to pay for his damages. He was surprised to see us, welcoming us into his humble home. It was our turn to be surprised; the gentleman presented us with a Release of Claims document. He was not holding us responsible for any physical harm incurred from the accident.

            Enough time has passed for my reflection on this unfortunate incident and see the comparisons. The old guy didn’t have to do this; he was more concerned about a couple young kids and their unborn child. I know of a guy who voluntarily died for mankind, who was prone to do wrong.

Living in an imperfect world, Jesus made a way for us all to ultimately look forward to living in perfection. He didn’t have to do it, but did so by choice. He was more concerned about you and I.           

If Dishes Could Talk

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 © jb katke

If a persons’ wealth revolved around their dishes, I am filthy rich. Recently my dishes have started talking to me. I had a few words for them as well.

Through the years I had become heir to several sets of dishes and glassware. I would love to continue the momentum of passing them on. One little bitty problem, many of my young millennial girls don’t want them. I wonder what will take place when they are next in line?

As I began my annual dishwashing ceremony; I was again reminded of how much of what I have is disliked. Washing dish after bowl, after cup, after saucer; they all began speaking to me. This Desert Rose pattern can be seen in antique stores everywhere.

 They were Aunt Janes. She never married, didn’t have a home to call her own until both her parents died, leaving her the only home she knew.  In her years of collecting, did she have hope of establishing her own home and a husband?

Other pink flowers entered my life from an Aunt Marion I barely knew. When she passed away, Mom and Dad traveled to collect Uncle Charlie and whatever else they could fit in their car. Among them, dishes.

The interesting story on them are how important they were to Grandma Andrews, Moms mother. Jane had her china; she may have thought this was her chance to have her own. I know she voiced an inquiry of them to my mom. “Mom, we only had so much room in the car.”

Grandma turned her question to me, but I knew nothing. It wasn’t until after mom died that the question came up again. Still, I knew nothing. But sometime later, those dishes found their way  to my house. Apparently, Mom wanted me to have them. The pattern hails from the 1800’s, that’s all I know about them.

I am the proud owner of my mother-in-law’s serving dishes. Or maybe they were her mothers’; it doesn’t matter, they are mine now. More pink flowers. There must have been an unwritten rule back in the day that all china must bear pink flowers. I thought it was only yellow flowers I didn’t like.

My mothers dishes are another story. She got the pieces one week at a time, at the grocery store. Each week a different part of the set was featured. Mom marched them home, right into her retirement hope chest, planning to put them to use after dad’s retirement. They aren’t pink! Blue cornflowers are the design. They remind me her favorite color was blue.

A small red set comes from my daughter. They are high maintenance because they require hand-washing. These are ideal around Christmas or Valentine’s Day. Another plus is they are relatively small; it keeps me from overeating.

I have a set bearing an apple pattern. Also, from Aunt Jane. I believe she got hers at the grocery store, like my mom.  The green leaves and red makes them perfect for both autumn and the Christmas season.

Finally, my dishes. A small set of dinner plates only. They sport a quilt pattern, reflecting my appreciation of quilts.

The plain old white set is what I use on a daily basis. I purchased them expressively for how attractive they would look with the tablecloths I never use.

All of these dishes has made my husband Dave, a dish connoisseur. Some are too small, others have to wide a brim, making the cutting of food awkward, others are too much like a bowl. All in all, each of them are too something. Bottom line: I have had enough!

From Trash to Treasure

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© jb katke

When I was growing up it was called making do, leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve since converted.

Many are still staying within the confines of home. Upcycling old pieces has become the rage. The time is ripe for all crafters and do-it-yourselfers to unite.

Never has there been so many TV shows on home improvement. It’s satisfying sitting in the comfort of my home watching houses get torn into shambles and rebuilt into new and improved condition that someone will gladly call home. I love the fact that I’m not the one sweeping up the debris!

It doesn’t stop at homes, either. Old things have the capability of being put to a new use. This picture I share with you comes from my mothers childhood. It was her toybox. The measurements are 20”long x 9.5” tall and 11” deep. That is not very big by todays standard toybox size.

Why so small? Mom never said as much to me, but I venture to guess. Back in the day, children filled their time with useful activities. Gardens needed weeding, or picking the vegetables for dinner. Many homes did not have the advantage of sidewalks or paved driveways, hence, floors needed perpetual sweeping. You get the idea.

Today moms toybox now lives in my quilt room; holding all manner of sewing paraphernalia I most likely will never use. Maybe its time for round two of flushing out unused items. It still amazes me that I don’t miss quilting; when at one time I lived and breathed it.

What pleases me is using the time I used to say I never had enough of for sewing, but now am writing. It satisfies the soul and take comfort I am doing something God initiated. If you have been following me all along, you know; this was never on my bucket list.

An idea is a mental revolution of doing what never was previously thought about. Such as the pie safe my husband Dave made. He probably didn’t know I loved pie safes. We trotted over to the new homes being built outside our door and gathered the wood pallets destined for the trash. The rest is history. You can get a glimpse of it in my A Labor Of Love blog.

A repair man commented on liking my singers. Singers? What is he talking about? Pointing up to the space above our closet were perched two sewing machines, removed from their cabinets. Once they were serviceable necessities in my grandmothers homes, now décor.

Likewise for the vintage hand tools from my grandfathers tool box. Newly attached to a distressed wood backing; complete with a center vice grip displayed as if a letter K for out last name. More décor. I should probably mention grandpa’s tool box as well. It’s built for the ages, weighing in just under twenty pounds empty. It now houses my ribbons, trims, and lace pieces that I won’t live long enough to put to use.

Having these things around me brings a smile. I think back on the people who once used them and how essential the items were to their daily life. Just as I looked upon myself as a quilter, God saw another use in me. One I never dreamed of, but feel a contentment that I am capable of more than I think. With Gods help, of course.

Not Sorry

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© jb katke

It’s so easy to look back on things we’ve done and have regrets. Can we take a moment and make a list of what we are not sorry for?

I’m sharing this photo with you, a weekend project. The wheelbarrow carries much more than these pumpkins you see. It was my dad’s, and he used to give me rides in it when I was a child. We have no need of it, but I can’t seem to part with it yet. Having limited storage ranks this as yard décor. I hope.

Currently, we are in an HOA community, they call the shots as to whether we can keep it or do away with it. Providing it is not a problem will entail having to have some form of a pretty in it year-round. I’ve figured out summer, each fall I can do as you see here. Winter I will have to think on.

My husband has his doubts. Especially after we embarked on moving the thing full of dirt in this locale. A few things were in its path, making it difficult. It took muscle, moving the downspout and a guy grumbling, “The things we do to keep a wife happy.”

Not sorry. It’s looking good, for the moment. Now if I can just get the powers that be to see things my way.

When a new baby joined our family, I made it a practice to keep the older siblings home from school when I returned home with our new bundle of joy. My purpose was to give the children a chance to get to know their new sister and how home was going to look a little different. Hopefully too, they wouldn’t feel left out and resentful. Not at all sorry.

The day our youngest put in a request to wear her roller skates to school amongst warnings, “You’re gonna get in trouble!” She didn’t. Permission granted, not sorry.

Here is a big one, giving my granddaughters cake along with their breakfast! When Momma found that out, “Mom! I can’t believe you did that! You never let us kids do that.” Along with grand parenthood comes certain rights, like spoiling them rotten. Not sorry.

Finally got my husband to agree to moving. “This winter we’ll fix up the house and put it on the market in the spring.” I found our new home that same afternoon. Not sorry, we enjoyed that home. 

It took a long time coming, but I have a hutch for all the inherited dishware that belonged to various relatives, I was next in line. No one, including me, has good dishes anymore, making hutches almost extinct. I enjoy mine. Not sorry.

I accidently got into a car accident, totaling my vehicle. A car I never liked anyway. It is now of great importance to my husband that I like our cars. Not sorry.

It took me some time to realize the Lord was serious. I’m now following his direction and writing a book. Not sorry.

Really grateful that our Creator sees potential in all of us, giving us opportunity to step out of comfort zones and see what a difference he can make in life. So incredibly not sorry!

Things That Bring A Smile

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© jb katke

During this COVID season, I have cut back drastically from shopping. Such a pity as I am an excellent shopper. I have a system; beginning to my right, I walk the four outer walls. Then proceed up and down the center aisles, making sure I miss nothing. As I go along, I place items of a potential purchase in my cart. Just before I approach the cashier, I retrace my steps and return my choices back on their respective shelf. I don’t bring much home, but do save a few dollars in the process.

A new home dec store opened in the neighborhood some time back and I could resist no more. The day was reserved on my calendar and I was so anxious I could taste the anticipation. Enough time had passed that I gave myself permission to make a fresh addition to my home. Clearly, I was in a spending mood.

Following the above pattern, I happened along many nice items. They didn’t make it to my cart, though. The place was full bore decked for Halloween. I’m not into spooky, so passed them by. However, I am all over autumn décor. There was much to be had; but a bit glamorous for my taste. Others were a little too scare crow like. Did I mention that I’m picky? I prefer the term selective. Much was priced over what I was willing to spend. Leaving the store, I was disappointed in my inability to satisfy that spending spree I had hoped for.

But wait. Next door is an antique shop. Old and broken in is more my style. Antique stores are not what I remember from my youth. My parents used to frequent them when there was a furniture need; and indeed, the merchandise was vintage. Today, we might find something old, a fair share of refurbished items or new crafts with that aged look. If you are intent on a genuine antique, care must be taken.  

I am glad I entered. Because being a genuine antique is not of importance to me, I find myself  more open-minded to what strikes my fancy. Today my fancy was struck by a vintage toy we once had for our children. It was a pint-size bench that held round pegs for hammering. Immediately, it brought a smile to my face.

Our first home had four bedrooms upstairs in a revamped attic. There was only one heat register; unacceptable for Michigan winters. The home improvements started with a new furnace and heat ducts for the upper level. The job created quite a racket, more that our little son could handle. When the workers began their hammering, so did Jamie on his toy. I thought was his coping mechanism was clever for a three-year-old.  

I’m not quite sure what to call the other purchase I made. Possibly an urn, or maybe a vase? It certainly was not a need but the colors called out to me. Blue and green are a favorite color combo of mine. Showing the purchase to my husband, Dave, I noticed Roseville written on the bottom. I have watched enough of the TV show, Antiques Roadshow, that the name sounded familiar to me. Roseville pottery is of value. There were no other markings to determine if it is the real deal or a knock-off. No matter to me, I like it.

My mother’s words come back to me, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”

Another adage, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It makes me so very grateful that Jesus found joy in me before I had joy in him. He might be smiling at us right now.