May 19, 2014

To Complain is Human.....

We all have them.  Those things that just irritate the living daylight out of us.  I tend to swallow and ignore the things that most annoy and frustrate me.  It's just the way I am.  But since I can, I now put pen to paper to point out some of the things I most dislike.

Such as the shrill scream of a leaf blower that splinters the serenity of a still Sunday afternoon.  Where's the sense in that? Why  not let the winds that Southwest Minnesota is blessed with take care of the situation?

Or those new-fangled toilet tissue holders in public restrooms.  Sure they can hold a mega roll of paper, but at the same time are placed at an angle designed to deter even the most deft user any attempt at retrieving a fair share of tissue, and usually results in ripping off little useless shreds of paper.

And so called express lines in those super stores.  When I'm in line with a tube of tooth paste and a bottle of Tylenol, why do I always find myself behind a super shopper with 22 items who is pushing the allotted limits?

Need I even mention those lesser skilled drivers who, for some reason feel that no matter the speed I am driving, it is much too slow for their taste, and who hover so closely behind that I can see the fire of competition in their eyes as we share the highway.  

Barking dogs.  It only proves neglect or boredom.  Dog owners, this is something that you need to address.  Give your pet a little attention.  Or discipline.  

Grammar.  Bless those English teachers who have made it their life's goal to instill an ounce of decorum when it comes to correct grammatical expression.  But when everywhere we turn there are inaccuracies in expression, what can be done?  Let's stop misusing the pronoun "myself" when it should be "me"!  Maybe it's time we all went back to grammar school and had a refresher course.

And radio commercials that scream so shrewdly at me that I only want to cover my ears.  Who determined that to be effective?  It only makes me turn my radio off or switch stations. 

I've noticed lately that in every picture snapped of a lovely girl posing with her date, or in a group of friends, she always has her arm/wing flung upon a hip.  Maybe this is because of celebrity influence, but it's really not attractive.  Brings to mind the old song...."put our right arm in and your right arm out and you shake it all about..."

The list goes on and on and on.  I realize I may be acting a bit overly critical here, but it's just my opinion after all.  Fear not. Next time I promise to share with you some of the things, no matter how trivial,  that bring immeasurable joy to my very soul.  After all, that's much more pleasurable than grumbling about the world around us now, isn't it. 

But sometimes you just have to get it out of your system.  Ahhh, that's so much better!

May 12, 2014

Legacies Are Meant to Be Passed  Along

Some things are meant to be passed from one generation to another.  In my sister's case it is the artful completion of a quilt lovingly created by  my grandma Anthony.  In mine, it is the recollection of learning the craft of knitting from my mom and grandmother Hudson, one stitch at a time.

Together we sat on the couch, three generations strong, as my hesitant, young fingers worked the yarn over the awkward needles, so eager to learn the craft, yet so clumsy in the efforts.  So far away yet so close. I tried, I failed, yet I persevered.  

It had to be the belief that  both those remarkable women, my mother and grandmother, had in me that led to a lifetime of  what I now feel to be such an important part of me. 

I learned to knit and have grown to appreciate that every day of my life.

Those first projects were simple ones - a scarf to match my winter jacket, a  plethora of crafty items, and eventually a real sweater.  Each time I picked up my needles and yarn, there was no end to what I could create.

And it all began that one day when I was a mere 7 year old child with mom and grandma at my side.

Through the years I knit mittens and gloves and hats and scarves and afghans. Then came the day when my second son was born. Eager to craft something perfectly special, I knit a fair isle sweater and matching leggings for my newborn. I still have that little gem as well as many of the other projects that I attempted.  (Even that partially completed sock which was a departure from my usual fare). Maybe one of these days I'll finish it and actually knit its mate. 

Perhaps the greatest thing of all happened, though, was last year when my mom gifted me with her knitting needles, patterns and yarn. the fact that she placed it into my hands meant the world to me.  Project #1 then was to finish the afghan that she had started many year ago and never completed. Well stitch by agonizing stitch I finished what once she began, and when done, it was regifted back to her as a Christmas surprise. 

Whenever I pick up those needles, or begin a new knitting project, or even when I'm in a knitting zone, my thoughts can't help but to retreat to those days so long ago when two generations of knitters strove to teach me their craft.

Recently I was asked to join a group of knitters who meet once a month to do, what else, knit!  It is a joy I'll tell you, to be a part of such a sorority.  For we all know how to knit and purl, increase and decrease, but what's more important is the fact that we have in common the love of knitting and of creating and of gifting what we make.  

What a legacy was made oh so many years ago when three generations of women sat together in a knitting unity.  Truly a gift of the heart.

May 5, 2014
That's the Way the Ball Blows, er Bounces

Once upon a time a little girl owned a beautiful pink ball.  To her it was the prettiest thing she had ever seen, and was adorned with all manner of pretty little girlie decorations.  Many delightful hours were spent bouncing the ball – thwack, it would softly hit the sidewalk and gently bounce back up to her waiting hands. There was something magical about that beautiful bouncy orb.

The ball had once lived in a towering cage in the middle of the supermarket aisle, and every time the girl went to the store with her parents she begged them to buy her a bright, shiny ball.  But the answer was always "no".  One day, for some reason or other,  her dream came true and her mother finally said “yes”!  Of course the little girl chose the biggest, brightest ball in the upper most spot of the display case.  It was no easy fete to retrieve that special toy but once in hand, the magic began.

As is wont to happen, that lovely ball  one day took on a life of its own when the prairie winds turned up a notch to near-hurricane force.  And like that, it was gone (with the wind). 

My thoughts turned to those memories the other day when fierceful winds struck yet again in the area this spring.  Lodged under the car was found a lovely bouncy ball, all bedecked in princess, girlie graphics.  The ball had stolen unknowingly from some youngster's care and darted down the street in reckless abandon by those breezes. Hard to say from where the ball originated and with the gale force winds in these parts, it could have come from far and beyond.  

The forlorn toy seemed in dire need of an owner. There it sat, unneeded, unloved and alone.  

But alas, one day, along came a little lass in search of a ball.  And so it was to pass, this little darling came to be the new owner of a beautiful bouncy ball.  Finders keepers, what's old is new again, or something like that.  The little girl walked away, ball in hand, and a smile on her face.  

Oh such a simple joy to behold!!  The motto of this tale is, hold fast to your dreams. For the winds are a force to be reckoned with.  And if you lose hold, never fear, for the joy you have lost will surely fill someone else's heart to the brim.

April 21, 2014
Are we there yet??!!

Can it be....really?  I'm not sure if acknowledging the fact is premature or valid. Could it be that spring has fallen finally in these parts?  Up until now I have found myself commiserating with the faithful, trusting red-breasted robins hopping on one, then the other little scrawny toe attempting to restore the feeling to their extremities. 

Will they ever learn to hold off when making their travel plans home for the summer, I wonder.  And what about that old adage go that it isn't officially spring until the snow falls two, three times on the robin's head? 

I guess it's a case of wishful thinking.  But after all, we've actually had one or two shirt sleeve days, and I'm feeling a little daring, leaving the house with my spring outer wear and even going sans socks for one glorious day.  I've stowed my gloves in the drawer in hopes of not requiring them until next fall once again.

And I even toted the budding amaryllis buds (passed to me from my dear friend Alice), from the basement and set them on the back porch to soak up some April sunshine. I gave them a shot of water and they're starting to awaken and stretch recuperatively after their endless winter's rest. Perhaps one of these days they'll gift me with some lovely blossoms.

The thought makes me smile.

Now is the time to contemplate divesting the flower beds of the dried leaves and spent stalks that have languished through these long winter months as the plants have lain dormant in the ground.  For me it's just like the long-awaited birthdays of my childhood.  Unwrapping the flower beds is such a sweet surprise, just as the anticipation of that special day always was. 

Time and again I am amazed at the miraculous regrowth as the spring days begin to dawn.  It's truly a joy to behold. 

All too soon will be heard the first lawn mower's purr in the neighborhood.  Can it be?  I think so. And oh what a joy it will be to cut that emerald carpet once again, and inhale the unmistakable scent of summer.  (And so soon will I be grumbling about the need to mow once again, for the third time in one week.....)

Am I but a wistful dreamer? I think not.  Because we all know that no matter its severity , the seemingly endless months of winter eventually draw to a close and what follows is, once again, warmth here in the Midwest. 

Time for me to find those gardening gloves and my rake.  I know I left them somewhere last October when I was busy hauling those fallen leaves to the tree dump.....and where did I put all of those short sleeve t-shirts, I wonder. They might come in handy one of these days after all.