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?

Family = Heaven

The past two weeks have been wonderful in spite of suffering a stinky cold for 8 of those precious 13 days.

Jeni was able to come with the kids for almost two weeks. It was so fun to get a room ready for the children to stay in. Setting up the Pack-n-Play, borrowing a toddler bed then making them up with some warm blankets and anticipating seeing the sweet beings who would be sleeping in them was almost as good as the reality. We picked them up at the airport close to midnight on the 15th. I was able to get a special pass and go through security to meet them at the gate so I could help Jeni with the kids. It was totally unnecessary. She had everything all organized and could have met us at baggage claim without my help but it was fun to see them ASAP. As we were walking the long hallways to Bag Claim we were telling Fitz that we were going to find Papa now. He whipped his little head around from side to side several times while saying, "I don't see him! I don't see him!" He sure loves his Papa and was so excited to see him and come home with us. It was hard to put them right to bed but they were ready as it was about 3 o'clock in the morning for them when we finally made it home.

It was fun to have them in the nursery then next day with me and cuddle and hold Swede as much as I wanted. She was so well behaved and sat in her chair without a problem during snack time. During singing time she was enthralled, trying to sing along or lead the 'music'. 'Ram-Tam-Tam' has become one of her favorite songs and she does it really well.

That evening we had all the kids over for a dinner of Taco Soup and a most delicious coconut cake that Jen made. Jeni, Fitz, Swede, Jason & Jen+Sophie, Daniel, Stephanie & Jon, and Steve's brother Pete were there and we were actually able to sit at the table...with a lot of getting up for the kids.

The days were full of visits and outings: 3 trips to Springville to see Papa & Gramma Great as well as cousins Shannon & Jamison, Melissa and baby Jack, Aunt Lisa and her children and Uncle Kyle.

Chloe came over with her children Max & Xavier several times, and once with her husband Dan. One time included a trip to BYU to the museum.

A baby shower for Jen who's due any time...eek!

Outings with Stephanie to the Dinosaur museum, and to the Mall with her boyfriend Jon.

A cold outing to Gardner Village with a treat of fried breaded avocados with a creamy salsa for Jeni and I and suckers for the kids.

Dinner in Orem with the other Great Grampa.

Visits to friends and from friends.

Amidst all the running around there were tantrums and hilarity, giggles and tears, welcome nap-time and sleep deprived, volatile, zombie-midgets wandering around wailing like melting miniature banshees. I heard the sweetest prayers ever uttered by infant lips as well as the funniest stories ever invented to teach a child not to constantly pick his nose. Who would have thought that "The Three Little Pigs" could be updated to "The Three Little Robots" wherein the homes were made of movies, computers and solid concrete reinforced with steel, and the wolf is now a lonely giant robot who goes, "CLINK-CLANK-KLUNK! CLINK-CLANK-KLUNK!"? Fitz loves that story and Swede would listen, engrossed, while whispering the Swede equivalent of "CLINK-CLANK-KLUNK! CLINK-CLANK-KLUNK!" at the appropriate times.

Papa's leaving in the morning and coming home at night became highlights of the day. Hugs and kisses, feeding the fish, and a visit with the cat-who-sometimes-lives-in-our-garage were moments of awe and delight for them in the morning. Papa was the only one who could do these things with the children and he loved those special moments that were only his. Then we'd raise the blinds in the front window and Fitz and Swede would stand on the window ledge and wave and kiss the glass until Papa disappeared into his car. As soon as the car rolled down the street Fitz would turn and say mournfully, "I miss him!! I miss him!!" with the most tragic face a 2 1/2 year old could have.

In the evening we'd mention that Papa would be coming home soon and there'd be hopeful peeks out the window and eventually he'd come in the door and shrieks of delight and clapping, interspersed with "Papa! Papa!" would erupt from Swede as she ran towards the sound of his voice waving her hands, only to stop just short of him then shyly tiptoe away coquettishly until he picked her up and kissed her then asked her if she wanted to go see the kitty.

We had dinners accompanied by Papa playing the guitar and singing the ABC song along with other silly, made-up songs to keep Fitz in the kitchen long enough to wheedle some bites of dinner into his reluctant mouth. I don't know where he gets all his energy! He must suck it, vacuum-like,  from the adults around him because he burns off the tiny amounts he eats running around between bites. Oh my gosh! I've never seen such energetic non-eating dinner times. I was tempted to duct tape him to the chair, but I don't think even the industrial strength tape would hold him for long.

Fitz loved playtime with Papa just before bed. It always involved cars, and fanciful storylines that could include anything from giant babies to dinosaurs, Noah's Ark animals and/or a giant stuffed tiger, all living together in a playhouse...as well as an unwelcome tip-toeing baby sister who could spoil the fun at any time. "NO BABY! NO!" was often shouted in frustration and was sometimes accompanied by an angry shove or slumped shoulders and a tragic face of 'pity me' woe. Poor Fitz. It's so hard to be two.

Yesterday, the last full day they were here, was sweetly memorable in so many ways. I suppose that its being the 'last day' was a big part of that but it would have been wonderful at any time and I was finally feeling better and had my voice back! It had been missing for almost a week.

We decided to take one more trip to Springville so that Fitz and Jamison could play together again. Fitz was a complete pill that morning and was forced to take a nap. Poor Jeni had to listen to pitiful pleas of, "Mommy! Mommy! I love you! Please let me out, open the door! I love you!" as she held the door closed to the downstairs bedroom where she'd prepared a nice nap bed for him. Telling herself, 'He needs this. This will be a good thing for him,' while her mother's heart squeezed in love and concern. He fell asleep and his bad mood was healed. He woke later all smiles and charm. All was forgiven and forgotten. He even had a good lunch. Naps are a good thing. He was able to go on a four wheeler ride with Papa Great. He called the wheeler a 'Tank' and was Very Reluctant to ride. He finally succumbed, but only if he could ride tucked between Papa Great and Nana. But as we pulled away he wailed in fear, "Mommy! Help! Help me Mommy!" He then went on another ride with his mommy and Papa G, but was happy when the motor was turned off. It was the noise. He said, "I no like it! Too nosey, Papa, too nosey!" My dad had such a good time talking to him about it and teasing him about waking the Tank up again, to which Fitz would say, "No, its seeping Papa, it seeping. I no like it, too nosey."

By the time we left late that afternoon, he was calling them Papa Gate, and Gamma Gate and giving them kisses and hugs and knuckle punches. As we pulled away he said mournfully, "I love dem Mama! I miss dem. I miss dem!" Even timid Swede had started to warm up to my friendly, boisterous, teasing father. She has such a charming way of drawing people in with her shy little dimpled smiles and tip-toeing grace. I love that we had that time with my parents. I want my grandchildren to love them as I do.

Last night we had breakfast for dinner and invited everyone over again. Jason & Jen+Sophie and Jen's sister Sarah, Daniel & Hillary, Stephanie & Jon, Jeni, Fitz and Swede and Steven and I.

A wonderful quiche with sour cream and salsa, gingerbread pancakes with lemon, ginger, or real maple syrup and lots of conversation, laughter and love.

I'm so full...of love and sadness, tenderness and and need.

This morning I got to gently wake a sleeping Fitz who responded with, "Mee-me a-wown Nana! I seeping," feed Swede her breakfast for the last time; one more Ram-Tam-Tam and an ABC song. Then hugs and kisses and sweet, early morning goodbyes at the airport. It went way too fast.

It may feel like I'm looking on the abyss but...on to the next thing. Sophie is due at any time and I'm so excited to have Jason, Jen and baby Sophie move in in March for a couple of months or so. Something to look forward to. Time with a loved son and daughter and another new grand-daughter! How fun is that? When a door closes there's always a window for the sunshine to come in. I'm a blessed woman.

What to do in cold January...

For some reason, after the holiday rush of December, the overindulgence of gastronomical delights, the intense warmth - soul and body - of family gathering and all the extreme emotions that come with the season, I feel pressed into a sort of stitching hibernation in order to reach a comfortable inner balance. It's not just the hours of hand work and the things that get finished, it's the long hours of pondering, and thought sorting that happen during that time that smooths out the rough edges, and calms my spirit. I look forward to January in that sense. Some may dread that boring 'month after the month before' but I treasure it. It's the perfect month for Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, the books of Mosiah, Alma and Ether, the four Gospels, and some vibrant color in the gray coldness of mid-winter. It's the most healing January therapy I can think of.

To give myself some credit, I did have a reason to work on these things other than just therapy. I teach a class every month on a quilt inspired by the Farmer's Wives from the 1920's and decided to feature some things that they might have done in the depths of the bitter months of winter. These are things they might have made sitting next to a warm fire while listening to the radio shows with their families, along with other mending. I have to think that beauty and color were just as therapeutically important to them in that freezing monochromatic time as it is for me.

I dug out my collection of embroidery floss and added a few more colors. Just looking at all these vibrant shades and envisioning them in finished projects made my fingers itch to start a new project...but I promised myself that I must finish some old ones first. 

I dug out an old pattern I've had for a couple of years and spent a few days listening to some Charles Dickens while I stitched away. It measures about 4 1/2" x 3 1/4" when closed. I love it. It's stitched over 28 count even weave linen over two threads, except for the tiny flowers which are stitched over 1.

I really got into the Biscornu thing too. The word "Biscornu" is derived from a French adjective, meaning skewed, quirky, or irregular. It is pronounced "biss-core-new". A stitched Biscornu is an oddly shaped tuffet or pincushion. I downloaded several cross stitch patterns and finished this one from last year. It's made from two squares, each stitched off center of the other. They make loverly pincushions. Simply adorable.

 

If you haven't realized how addicted I am to this type of therapy by now this next one will certainly spell it out for you. It's a scissor fob. I haven't attached the loop that actually fastens to your scissors but it's supposed to identify your scissors so as not to loose them.

It's about 1 1/4" square and has beads layered to make the blackberry. I just think it's dang cute and will probably turn it into a broach or scarf ring.

This next item was inspired by a blank space left on my wall where a small quilt hung but was borrowed for a quilting display at a local museum. It was designed and sewn while listening to "Mansfield Park". I wanted something springish but I also wanted it to go with the romance of February. I call it "Love Grows". I still have to do a bit of embroidery work and quilt it before I hang it in that blank spot though. It's about 36" square and made entirely from my scrap basket. :)

So there, I must be the most balanced person on the planet by now. I should probably act like it.

1's Good

We went out to dinner last night, or should I say late afternoon. I think we left at 4 pm, so as not to get caught in the crush. The Olive Garden was our destination. It was very yummy. I had Limoncello Chicken Scaloppini and a Berry Acqua Fresca to drink, which was pretty much a dessert too. I would recommend them both. I even have leftovers for lunch today which is even better. (As an aside I will mention that it was exactly 9 degrees outside after dinner at 5:15) Then when we got home we snuggled up on the couch with a quilt and watched a movie together. One of our favorites, "Galaxy Quest". So sentimental and swooney. Not. All in all it was very nice.

At dinner my husband asked me what my New Year's resolutions were. I gave it some thought and told him a few things, (I've since amended them) then I asked him what his were. He said, "My New Years Resolution is to love you forever and ever and for always and always."

I laughed out loud. "You say that every year! Is it that hard that you have to try again each year?" I asked incredulously.

He grinned, "No, it's easy. I like to do easy things. I know I can do this one and I succeed every year. I win!" Then he kissed my hand.

Yeah, he wins. I have a good and loving man who cares about me and my happiness. If that's his New Year's Resolution every year then I win too.

----------------------------------------------------------
 

I know that time is relative; that the measuring of it is a man made thing. That a new start could begin at any time one chooses, be it in the middle of a day, week or month. But there is something about a New Year that brings with it a sense of obligation to reflect on one's past, a needful pause in one's life for an inward measuring of character and growth, and a renewed energy in the ongoing resolve to be better. Why is that? In any case, it's probably as essential to the world as a whole as it is for the individual.

A new beginning is a good idea. I think it's always a good idea. Not just at the beginning of a new year. I think I'll start 'new' several times this year just to keep in practice.

Therefore my 1st resolution will be:

1. I'll start "New" whenever I feel like I need to. I won't wait for a New Year. I'll just chuck the calendar when it comes to reflection and change. If the skin I'm wearing becomes too uncomfortable, dry, scratchy, unbecoming, I'll get rid of it. Of course that means I'll have to be Aware, which does take some work. It means I have to Care more, Forgive more (including myself), and...other things. This is already getting a bit heavy. Maybe I'll just stop at 1.

Yeah, 1's good. It symbolizes beginning. It's more than zero which is better than nothing and it always leads to more than one. A nice simple straight line. No curves, no loops. Just...

1

Okay, I'm done.