It was all about CANDY

When I was a kid it was all about CANDY. When was I going to get my next candy fix? How many pieces? What kind? Would my brother get more than me? Would he make it last longer and taunt me with it? Or, heaven forbid, would someone find my stash and steal some????

If I found a penny on the ground it never crossed my mind to save it in a little bank, though I had one for just that purpose. (I remember once when my little brother had a dime and I had a nickel and I unabashedly traded my nickel for his dime, telling him that the nickel was better because it was bigger. All's fair when CANDY's involved.) I just couldn't wait to walk (run) down to Westside Market in Springville and spend that little token on CANDY. I would pace back and forth before the candy shrine pondering how I would spend that penny...should I get a banana Kits, with FOUR little wrapped morsels inside the wrapper?

 ...or should I get a little penny sugar daddy that had an animal card inside and I could suck on that baby for at least an hour of caramel goodness?

 How about a roll of Smarties? or a Pixie Stick?

That decision could take almost half an hour, or until the old guy at the register got impatient and told me to make up my mind and get out. After all it was only a penny sale. I would make my choice and he'd put my little piece of candy into a teenie-tiny bag and I'd carefully fold the top down a couple of times like a little lunch bag and walk out, my mouth already watering for the first taste of refined, artificially flavored sugar.

If I were to tell you about a 25 cent purchase, which was akin to Christmas in July, it would take more than an hour. For me it wasn't about quality...no, it was about quantity. No 10 cent candy bars could be found in my little bag, although sometimes I'd get a large, and I mean GIANT, 5 cent Sugar Daddy because I could make that thing last F O R E V E R. (My mom, I think, hated to see it hanging out of my mouth for fear it would "pull the fillings right out of your teeth, Kristine!" I did lose at least one loose tooth to a Sugar Daddy.) I wanted as many pieces of candy in my bag as possible. Funny, I rarely bought any kind of chocolate.

I look back on those days with fond remembrance: The cold hard cash in my little hand. The feeling of anticipation as I skipped, yes skipped, to the store. The knowing looks, and wistful smiles, from the 'old people' sitting on their front porches. The mental weighing of each choice, ticking off each penny as it was spent. (There was no Candy Tax, thank heaven). The anticipation of eating it. Which one to eat first? Which to save for last? Which one would I think of trading? For it was inevitable that someone else would have made a choice I wished I'd made. Oh the decisions, the agonizing, wonderful, delicious decisions.

Then...it would be gone and I'd be waiting, waiting, waiting for the penny, nickel, dime to come my way again so I could do it all over. I think all the playing dress up, running in the irrigation water, climbing the cherry tree, playing with the dog, going to the library, and making boats from scraps of wood were things I did to fill the times BETWEEN the trips to the candy store. It's probably a good thing that there was lots of time BETWEEN.

Now...it's not so much about candy. I would rather buy a bag of mandarin oranges, or plastic container of blackberries at Costco for $4.99. I think it might average out to about 10 cents a berry.

TEN CENTS A BERRY!! and NO added sugar!!

Candy's cheaper and I could grow the berries in my yard with some work and patience.

Something's wrong with this picture.

A Dream of Arabian Nights

Around this time of year I get a bit nostalgic about the place where I grew up. Why? Because it was the only time of year that was magic, (except maybe Christmas...but that doesn't have anything to do with geography, unless you want snow.) The rest of the time it was just hot or I was in school. Well, it was magic when I was a kid anyway...when I turned 15 or so I started to see through the magic and began noticing the tarnish and moth holes, but that's what teenagers do best, isn't it?

When all my Utah friends and family were not building snowmen, riding in one-horse-open-sleighs, and catching snowflakes on their tongues; things they should have been doing in this glorious winter wonderland, I was breaking out my shorts and sandals, again, and dreaming in an Arabian Nights theme wondering if I would ever own a Genie Costume like my friend KayDee, who had a pink one. Seriously, it was the most romantic, beautimous outfit ever. Sheer pink chiffon and shiny satin with sequins and a jeweled necklace placed on her head so that the large pink stone hung on her forehead between her eyebrows. *sigh* KayDee was the youngest of 4 girls, (Karen, Krista, Kathy and KayDee) and they ALL had lovely diaphanous Arabian Nights costumes that, uh-hmmm, showed their tummies, (Purple, Green, Blue and Pink, respectively). They also had curly toed gold shoes, and hats with a sheer scarf that hung down from it so they could mysteriously drape it across their noses and mouths. Their mom dressed up too, her costume was gold and their dad wore a fez and a boiled wool vest with decorative gold braid. Oh how I wanted to have a lovely costume for my very own. I think I even prayed for one.

On Highway 111 and Arabia Street

For, you see, it's February and the Date Festival is about to begin. Queen Scheherazade is soon to be crowned and the desert magic will commence. People, even the men, dress in the most outlandish Arabian costumes with gold lam`e turbans and gaudy jewels. One might even catch a glimpse of a camel or even an elephant just prior to the parade. And the Parade! Oh my goodness. Not only are there beautiful ladies dressed in amazing costumes that shimmer and float gracefully on the slightest breeze but some of them actually ride on camels! And even the camels are dressed up with gold tassels hanging from their bridals with a mysterious sheik leading it. There are also the gorgeous floats, and Spanish riders with their silver studded and tooled leather saddles and accessories, the Senorita's wearing lace mantillas and dresses with yards and yards of ruffles that cascade over the rumps of their horses. The men are donned in black velvet with short bejeweled jackets and flat brimmed black hats. Their horses are amazing! They don't plod along like old work horses, they prance with high arched necks. (I didn't pay any attention to the silly mayor or other boring dignitaries who wave from convertibles. Who wants them in a parade anyway?) Talk about fertile ground for a young girl's imagination! I'm tempted to swoon even now.

Queen Scheherazade and her court 1963

College of the Desert Marching Band

There were, of course the carnival rides, cotton candy and popcorn, the fruit and vegetable displays, the 4H shows, the horse shows etc...that any fair would have be we also had...

Date shakes, (dates are awful, I don't care what anyone else says, they look like giant dead cockroaches

Ewwww...ick

and I can feel my gorge rise just thinking about them, but date shakes are heaven!), ostrich and camel races, and elephant rides,

and...The Pageant.

The Fairgrounds were designed and built like a cheap Disney version of the middle east...kind of. In the center of the fairground is the outdoor pageant stage. There is a minaret, and mid-eastern castle walls and turrets and sculpted doorways large enough for an elephant to walk through. The pageant itself was rather boring if you actually paid attention, but the visual treat was enough to fire my imagination and I created my own story as I watched the colors and textures of the costumed participants, listened to the strange sounding music with it's exotic tones and waited for the beautifully dressed camels and...the elephant.

Entrance Gate

All in all it was pretty amazing up until I was about 15 and I got a job at a concession stand during the fair, selling candied apples, popcorn and cotton candy. I got a free pass to get in every day but it didn't take long for the magic to wear off when I smelled like popcorn, and when I had to blow my nose (and that was fairly often) it was purple, or pink, or blue, due to the sugar dust I breathed in when making cotton candy.

Moral of this story?

If you want to preserve the innocent magic of a place, 

it's probably best not to get a job there...

or don't grow up.

Probably both.

A woman's need

Subculture (definition): an ethnic, regional, economic, or social group exhibiting characteristic patterns of behavior sufficient to distinguish it from others within an embracing culture or society.

I think I've been fairly lonely almost all my life and didn't know why. Which is strange since, not only am I married with four children (two married and starting the grandchildren wonder) I come from a fairly large family (3 brothers, 3 sisters with accompanying spouses and children) and extended family (9 aunt/uncle units with accompanying multitudinous cousins, not to mention the great aunts & uncles, grandparents etc...). We're a large and fairly huggy family as a whole and when there's a big get together there's so much talking and laughter going on that it's almost impossible to hear yourself think. So how is it possible to feel lonely amidst that kind of a crowd?

I've talked with a couple of my sisters about this phenomena and found out that I'm not the only one. (Voila! Not lonely in this feeling.) During these conversations I made a discovery. It's the sharing and understanding and appreciation of a passion.

It's one thing to share a family, a history, a religion. I have all those things in my family and am wealthy beyond measure because of them. It's our common background that bring us together and nurtures love within those bonds. I would be a naked tree on a dry and barren plain without my faith and family. They are the sun and water of my existence. I say that without reservation, and also hint of panic at the thought of losing them. But even within those vital bonds We. Are. So. Very. Different. So where does the loneliness come in?

I suppose it is the need of sharing a creative passion with others who share the same enthusiasm. Mine is the needle arts. I practiced my art, so much of my life, alone. I shared my completed projects with family and friends but all the time I spent stitching was solitary. I may have stitched with others around but they didn't know or didn't care that I literally love doing it. It's a need, not just a want or desire. There were even some who looked at my work and said, "So...what's it really for?", as if it were a complete waste of time and 'why in the heck would someone spend so much time making something that tedious?' I even had a close friend say, "Gah! That looks so BORING. I'd kill myself if I had to do that." 

What I love doing brings on the temptation of suicide in someone else? (tearful sniff) 

I didn't know that there were groups of women out there who did it socially, as a group. I thought that all went away when women joined the work force and were no longer home to chat over the back fence or sit on each others porches mending breeches or sewing quilt squares. 

 And getting together to hand quilt?? The general consensus would be 'WHY?' You can go to Walmart and buy a bedspread for far less than it would take to piece and quilt one, and it would probably definitely be cheaper.

BUT...Five-plus years ago I discovered a delicious, heartwarming and thriving subculture. Quilters. Not old biddies who peep through their spectacles and look at you like they've been sucking lemons for a thousand years. 

 These women are nothing short of amazing. They're talented, savvy, intelligent, generous, amusing, creative...and most of all, they 'get' me. When I say, "I just had to have that piece of fabric, even if it's just a fat quarter and I don't know what I'm going to do with it." I am not met with a blank stare and a change of subject. I hear, "Oooh! Let me see it!" "I love those colors!" "Where did you get it?" "I felt the same way about..." I show them a needle keeper that I spent hours and hours hand stitching and there is not even a whiff of suicide. 

 It's all, "Pass it over here!" "I want to see that!" "Is this a pattern? Can I borrow it?" I am rejuvenated and validated. And I'm just as curious and excited about what they do and what they're ideas are. I'm often intimidated but they are not at all intimidating.

There you go...the bridge. That lovely bridge that brings women together from all walks of life, ethnicities, religions, ages, family backgrounds, even quilting experiences. They're all welcome. And that's just the beginning. Through this love of the needle arts so many other commonalities are found: books, gardening, cooking etc... 

 I've come to know and love these women. I care about their families, their cares and woes, their adventures. When one of the group was going through a nasty divorce I took over some fat quarters. 

What else could I do? And she said, "Wow, thanks. I'm going to make something beautiful out of this." And I don't think she was just talking about the fabric.

Quilting/stitching as a group is a mending thing. It's not just about thread or fabric or quilts. It demands creativity; thinking outside the box. It's inclusive. It's possible to take a bit of something that's not so pretty, not so tidy, not so aesthetically pleasing and add it to something else and make something gloriously beautiful and striking! I've seen it done. It requires patience, dedication, hope and faith. And why wouldn't those virtues learned while graphing, planning and stitching tiptoe into other parts of our lives? It has engendered in me a feeling of community and encourages a knitting together of disparate things, ideas, and people to create something new. I love it. I love them. I'm so grateful for a wonderful group of ladies.

I know that quilters/stitchers aren't the only healing subculture out there. For one of my sisters it's writing and writers, for another it's animals and animal lovers. I've come to see that I need to acknowledge and appreciate their passions and be so grateful that they've found a passion and a group of friends that fills a gap in their souls and makes them whole and beautiful and interesting and vital.

I love this quote and read it often:

"The Balinese have much to teach us about the (non) art of celebration. 

The making of splendid occasions occupies much of their time. 

If you ask a Balinese what he does, he will proudly answer, 

"I am a Baris Dancer" or "I am a Mask Maker". 

If you persist and ask again, 

"No, I mean how do you get your rice?" 

he loses interest, 

his voice drops, 

he may turn away, 

deciding this is a pretty boring conversation. 

"Oh that," he will say. - Cortia Kent

 Our creativity, our passions, are our life's blood. Who could live a happy and fulfilling life without them?