Tag: my crochet story

The Crochet Corner

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Today the moment of complete disrepair was my loss of a crochet hook. And I’m pretty fussy about changing hook brands during a project. The length of the shaft from hook to flat makes a big difference on the stitch tension. The whole item can get crooked or simply loose it’s comfort or softness.

This morning, the day after my mother in law’s birthday, I thought that I was doing okay emotionally. Until… until the I lost the crochet hook that I was using in my current project. After tearing apart the basket of yarn, the corner compilations of things, the blanket on the sofa protecting it from the the visiting dog slobber, and gernerally moving everything to and fro, the hook is still not united with the project.

The Hammerstein Cinderella movie from my early childhood was not something I ever saw as a child. My girls were gifted with the VHS cartridge of the movie and we watched it nearly as many times as they did Mary Poppins. The song, “In my own little corner” could easily have been my theme song from childhood and through adult years. I find the comfy corner in just about any setting I find myself

At church, it is generally at the piano, and yes, it is nearly tucked into the corner, only just displaced by the drum set next to it. Many times throughout my life in significant events, I was the one who used the piano in the corner to “entertain” or lead the singing. Growing up church, I was just stage left of the pulpit. Only because the back office and old stairway were far left, did the piano not truly sit in the corner. In high school, I found myself also often tucked in the stage left of all of the happenings on the stage, pounding out the accompaniment for the choir or the jazz band. Then on I went through college, playing for the interfaith fellowship weekly, local church choir, or other happening. After marriage, my placement did not change much. I did try center stage music ministry for a time, but it was not meant to be. The music that I composed still floats about in my head often crashing upon the shoreline in a tidal wave of memory and private worship times.

Crochet pattern kaleidoscope shawl just looked up a tutorial video and followed the pattern

My daughter’s growing up years found me also in the corner on the sidelines of their accomplishments at the piano. That also eventually failed, as their ability soon became beyond mine. They had other hands at the piano and I was happy to hear them become such very good musicians. I also had a chair or two that kept me “cornered” through their home schooling years. It was my “old school ma’rm” chair and I really have not sat in it much after they went to college and got married. Though it is comfy for me, I do not move my crochet projects about the house to sit in different chairs.

So in my own little corner of the living room, I set up a work station complete with baskets for devotional time, pottery cup with hooks and scissors, table for drink cup, and anything thing else that I might desire is within reaching distance. It’s not that I can be anyone I want to be there. I pretty much feel like “ME” most of the time. It is my creative corner both to use my hands and my brain and stay active in my sedate position!

The phone rings and from my corner I am still a wife, a mother, grandma “Oma,” a sister, a daughter, a niece, a sister in law, a crochet artist, a writer, and so much more. God has gifted me I know with a creative spirit. Sometimes, the old projects are ripped apart and made new. Somedays my ideas of who I really am get ripped apart also as God works on renewing my heart to be His child.

Today as I moved all of the items in my corner searching for my hook, I wondered once again…. What lesson is God trying to teach me in this?

The hook and project are still not united. Our family going the grief process in our recent loss of my father’s brother is also not united in physical form. Though we are united in our wonderment of why 66% of people do not have a will when death is such a guaranteed outcome of living? Yet there is the statistic and we all fall into it. Most of us do not plan for our death.

Okay, maybe these thoughts are all too morbid, but why do we ignore the inevitable? Meanwhile, loss and grief are all so common to us all. Yet some people take it upon themselves to think they are somehow “special” in their own experience and believe that no one else could ever have it as bad as they have. Really? Yes, everyone has their own set of life’s experiences, but should not these help us to relate to others going through similar life happenings. Death is not a singular event. We all have the loss of loved ones, parents, siblings, or children. Living involves loss.

The crochet hooks is still no where for me to find it. I finished one lovely kaleidoscope crochet shawl last week, and enjoyed the process so much I started another. There it sits. Without the correct size hook, it will be left alone for the day. When I have nothing other than crochet I literally feel LOST. I run about with my head chopped off wondering if cleaning is all there is to life I’d rather not live. Okay, it’s not that bad. But my husband would say “Yest it is.”

Books are my imagination escape. If it weren’t for books I would also be lost. I subscribe to an audio book app and that keeps me occupied most of the time. I finally got the BAARD set up on my phone also, and those are free. Then I can download four or five books, and just keep trying them and deleting until one peaks my interest. Sometimes I am not so discerning and pure entertainment is preferred to somehting more historical or educational.

This past month I came across “Mrs. Pargeter’s Mysteries.” While I do not give the books high marks, they did keep me entertained while I crocheted for the better part of two weeks. The final thought that I had after considering why I had spent my time listening to criminal mafia type comedy mysteries was – so that is what a “docier” is… french word maybe for keeping a list of someone’s wrongs towards a person or group that when reaching a certain said sin load would result in the call made for a hit or death wish. I decided that indeed a docier is what a lot of people keep for other’s whom they hold life long grudges and family enemies. I refuse to hold a docier of anyone in my mind or in my heart. Forgiveness has to be the rule in my relationships.

While maybe we are human and we have a difficult time forgetting how others have wronged us, If God can forgive me through Jesus, surely I ought to forgive others. Perhaps forgetting is not always wise, if we can remember without animosity and let it spur us on to be better and do better, that is good. Remembering the past mistakes of others is a lesson learned. And it should make us want to repay evil with good. So that was how listening to those books helped me. And when I mention things my moms said to me, it is so that I can respond with empathy and compassion to my daughters when they tell me things.

It’s been a rough day, but once again I am reminded of my own mother’s “someone always has it worse” stories and bad news reports anytime I felt like I had a bad day. She could always find some negative news item to make me feel like my day was sunshine and roses. Comparing my own happenings to the floods in Napal or the Grand Canyon, or the fires in Nevada just doesn’t make me feel any better, mom! Yeah, I know someone else might have it worse, but could you just say, “I’m sorry, you are having a rough day?” I learned at an early age that my feelings would never be validated. If I was ever looking for someone to weep with me, laugh with me, or just care I best be going to Jesus.

Oh, and the crochet hook is still lost. I have spent well over three hours moving things and looking for it. At this point in the day I am about to say the devil ate my crochet hook. I mean, he probably does not like my crochet and pray hours. So unless I go and buy another hook, the current project will ramain unfinished.

Conclusion of lessons learned from my crochet corner hooks and books already accomplished. However, today is another rough day for some of my people. So many prayer requests laid down at the foot of the cross, it is time to start the praises for what great deeds God has already done in our lives. The first being that I found my hook! I dug through my hook collection and found that the size I needed was “I” not “H” and begin working. I finished one color addition and grabbed the scarlet skein and there was the I – hook that I lost, embedded in the center of the skein that I handled nearly four times trying to find. Wow! Now Lord be the provider in all of these other prayer requests that I lift up to you now, and Thank You for being our supply!

Fruit basket upset

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Proverbs 27:18 “Whoever keeps the fig tree will eat its fruit, so he who waits on his master will be honored.”

Books this month: “My brother’s keeper” about Gettysburg during civil war. Fellowship of the rings again. “The Long Patrol” by Bryan Jaques, Theo of Golden, 30 Key Moments in the history of Christianity, a mystery about dethroning a blackmail agency, and a modern descriptive journal of an 1880’s young lady. The books have been keeping me company while I count to 159. But meanwhile, I took some breaks to make some baskets.

Journal sibling happenings not an option as someone might read it. So I will leave my much bothered adult siblings and in laws out of the writings. We have had hospitalizations, cancer scares, trip chronicles, parent talks, and exciting baby to be news to share. We still communicate much so that is all a plus!

Journal garden mishaps are not interesting at all. One of the petunia plants in the cream can planters just up and croaked. Not sure why, except it was very soggy! The good news is that my little row of mixed zinnias are in full bloom and the colors are so vibrant. Also the gladiolas that I managed to return to the soil are also putting out the glorious colors and tipping over, I need to get a string up to help them stay upright. The lilies in the various gardens have loved the moisture we are finally getting. And those blooms also stand out in the landscape.

Journal crochet is okay because that keeps me most occupied. While I cannot post the baby blanket until someone sees it first, I will keep chatting up the other projects that I do during breaks from the ever concentrated counting. Some rows sure take me a long time if I’m listening to well to my book on audio. I also don’t always listen very well on the phone as I finish my counting sequenceQ

The baskets have been so fun. The three five gallon pail size were stiffened with some wood glue mixed with water. It took a couple of days to dry in the sunshine or in the bathtub. The little one is an ice cream pail size. I tried a new technique for the stiffness. Crochet a chain using two strands of yarn, then crochet the basket using a single crochet continuum. I was so excited about the natural ability of the basket to stand up, that I immediately began a medium size basket.

Mental health awareness. Hope while focusing on today can sometimes be tricky. Scripture says not to worry about tomorrow because there will be enough troubles in this day alone. There are days that the distant future scares me. Especially if I start thinking about my eyesight or lack thereof. I worry about certain adjustments in lifestayle for myself and those around me.

Three basket sizes completed this last month. The medium and small done with the crochet chain and single crochet continuum method.

Allergy reactions that cause phobia. Anxiety over every bite can be pretty nerve wracking. So eating out has been dropped down to a minimum for the last few weeks. We have to be so careful when ordering food even at simple things. I am about ready to visit an integrated health provider and start figuring out this gut health thing.

Pets and such are generally okay to journal about, except that my son-in-law just had to say goodbye to his eleven year old cat. It was a hard way to let a cat go. No one likes that daily routine change. We miss the constance of pets when they are no longer with us. Right now we have a visiting tom cat that is much like a siren or Casper the ghost. Not real friendly but brave enough to attempt eating on the back deck. I have not seen an all out fight happen, but it seems likely.I call him Siren as he announces his presence in such a fashion. Pretty bold actually.

The fruit basket upset in our life is mostly that the fig tree simply could not handle the spider mite pressure. I also think that a water filter is in the happenings for the greenhouse. We use rural water that is system treated and occasionally the plants roots simple give up under the treated water in the soil. So this fall I will get some rich compost and some more fertilizer for the whole house after the sides get put back together. The whole outer shell is being replaced. Which actually means that right now, the building is naked. I’m planning on doing it in green instead of white. We’ll see if the color change acts as a good luck charm!

Well, I delayed this post long enough that hubby got the last of the wood shell on the dome yesterday. We worked together some until the head cold he had the week prior took up residence in my head. I’m a bit under the weather, but grand doggy comes this week for a vacation stay while my daughter and son in law go on a trip. It’s time to wrap this up and write about something more significant.

Burgundy or Chocolate?

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The last three weeks have been the start of many writings. My journal entries are so scattered. Pinning down an over riding thought or lesson in what the Lord has been teaching me is difficult to grasp. This past month marked the one year anniversary of my dad’s passing. So much and so little has changed since last year. All the days that I thought about telling him something so that his mind’s eye could see what I was describing to him, all the days have passed like a blur. And yet, I still want to tell him, or my mom in law or dad in law something funny that their great grand kids have done. I still hear their voices in some odd everyday happening sharing their bits of wisdom and truths.

Today, struggling to see the difference between burgundy and chocolate I once again wondered how my dad might solve this dilemma. Of course he never crocheted, but he did with help color code his closet of shirts. Red and one end and blue and the other. Funny that while helping my mom put away her laundry after a recent hospital and rehab center visit, she too had some system of color coding in her closet. I feel rather foolish that I have not done the same yet. Especially with my failing eyesight. It would be quite helpful. Why had not I put the burgundy ball of yarn in a separate basket?

We are getting a rainy day for the first time in a month. It is cloudy and overcast with just enough moisture to make the surfaces wet. An actual rain dropping sound would be amazing, but we’ll get what we get, right? I remember clearly my mother in law telling me about the year that the corn still put on a crop just by pulling moisture from the air all season. Wow. So grateful for every “wet” day that we get.

The attempt at making baskets was successful. I actually got three done. They are about four gallon size, I used a five gallon pail to stiffen one so far. One cup of wood glue in two quarts of water, Soak the basket, then pull it over the up turned pail with a plastic bag to keep from adhering to the pail. Drying took about two days. First in the sunshine then in the house because it decided to rain!

Our rule is leave the windows open and pray that will bring some rain!

Well, I lost half of my blog by using the update on a secondary device. Bummer. The large tote of yarn that I bought of market place had some real finds. One was a skein of Alpaca Denim Gold for worth nearly 60 dollars. I made a dragonfly shawl. It’s pretty. I spent the first two hours sorting all of the types of yarn. Also finished a kaleidoscope afghan with some number six yarn. That was a real slippery thread.

My book reads this month worth mentioning are “Theo of Golden” and “My Brother’s Keeper” a civil war diary. Both are middle school to early adult reads. The second was one my mother found at the library in her Rehab Center library. The first a media recommend. I liked them both but did not immediately repeat.

The gardens have been weeded and preen spread. I was so tired of the chore. A box of preen was well worht the effort. The rain has been wonderful as I don’t have haul watering cans those days. The front boxes look lovely this year and the begonia’s on the front dect look amazing after i found a shady spot for them to live. The fig trees are on stuggle bus fashion as the spider mites and aphids are hard to keep at bay. I need to feed the soil I think.

Meanwhile, keeping track of colors of yarn continues to be a challenge. I use my phone apps frequently to tell the difference between colors when there are no wraps on the skeins.

There might be some grand lesson to learn over the last moth, but for the most part I am just struggling to breathe. My nebulizer and I have become well acquainted even though I loath sitting still and not doing anything. Books or videos keep my brain occupied while I puff away on the necessary medicine.

My favorite Bible verse this month is Psalm 121:5, “The Lord is your keeper, the Lord is your shade at your right hand.” It has been excessively warm this past couple of weeks. We had heat index over 113 degrees, feels like an oven out there.

Do this and remember me

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The words of Jesus on the night before his crucifixion are a command that should make us think about what it means to “do” things. Realizing that there is always a motive behind any “doing” is quite humbling. Why do we do what we do? Is it merely self preservation or is it self sacrifice? Jesus showed the way to love, the truth, and what living is all about. We do so much that seems meaningless but is it in remembrance of Jesus? Is it communion more that just the breaking of bread and the drinking of wine?

Thinking about my dad this past month makes me wonder how much of what I do is remembering him? We planted a tree on May 21 in honor of our daughter and son in laws tenth anniversary. Our 35th in just ten days later went a little uneventful. No major memory making there, as the next day became more upheaval that we expected. My mother had a major life event and landed in the hospital for eleven days.

Then Father’s day came along. It was hard for me to focus on my hubby’s dad’s memory when the day marked the year to date after my dad’s passing. Yet there were lots of thoughts about both of them. And just a few days later, I found a new thought process going through my head.

We have so many broken pieces in our lives that need to be picked up. There are the broken relationships that mark how life was lived with or without people. There are the broken hearts and broken bodies that never really seem to heal no matter how much time passes. There are the broken homes and broken houses and broken people that mess up churches and break up families of all sorts. So many broken memories that we have to constantly bring to the master physician. Face it we live in a broken world.

There is a Bible verse that runs through my head often. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those with a contrite spirit.” (Psalm 34:18). I get the brokenhearted thing as I have many a time felt that bleeding emotional feeling. But what is contrite, what kind of spirit is one with contrition?

Contrite is defined as feeling deeply remorseful and understanding one’s wrongful behavior. It can also be the feeling proceeding repentance. A contrite spirit is one who knows her own sinful motives behind an action and chooses to have a changed of heart. While a broken heart is often caused by another a contrite spirit is evidenced by a “change of heart” when one realizes the wrongs done to another.

Thinking about my husband’s mom and the cookies that she made by the thousands the other day was humbling. First of all our recipe nearly failed because the margarine was not “baking margarine.” It had too much water content. We added and added and added more dry ingredients to get the right consistency. Then of course was the fact that my husband felt like he had murdered the cookies and finally had to walk away for his grumpy attitude. So I tried to finish the job and had to put the dough the fridge to stiffen up because of our 67% humidity. As many times as mom made cookies I don’t remeber that she every was driven to anger over the process. Bother but we were not making cookies in remembrance of her love of baking, now, were we?

Thinking about hubby’s dad and remembering him was easy the other day as his two sons worked together on a project. So muchof what dad did was marked by draining energy over the years and his “good enough” thought process. I find myself deciding the longevity of a project and deciding how much energy I should put into it and than stating that should be “good enough.” It is all based on what really matters to me. Yet I find that motive driving me to be self preserving rather that self sacrificing.

However, I began thinking out Jesus and His life and sacrifice on the cross in the “good enough” terms. Wow, that was mind boggling. Really now, in all of my thoughts about how brokenness has entered my life, I must constantly be reminded that Jesus is Good Enough for ALL of the brokenness. And in all of the times when I have been broken in my motives towards others, Jesus is good enough to give me a change of heart and help me love the way that He would. Yes, Jesus in all of my life experience has always been the “Good Enough” answer for everything.

My father in law loved to make toys and one of the toys I took that he made was a kaleidoscope. . So this month as I thought bout the project I wanted to crochet all of the pieces came together for this journal entry. One of my friends gave me a large sack full of leftover yarn. I thought about all the broken pieces in the little toy. First the pieces of mirror placed in a triangle, then the confetti or colored glass that turns out the designs. Life is like a kaleidoscope, sometimes all those broken pieces put together make a really fun design. It might not seem that way at the time. So all the leftover broken pieces of yarn when put together in the right order can make a real;y fun lapghan-afghan.

So while putting together this leftover yarn into a pretty pattern, I thought about all the broken happenings in our lives this moment. Broken relationships, broken bodies, broken churches, broken work environments, broken career paths, broken families, broken houses, broken car water pumps, broken tooth, and the list goes on. Yet what we do with all of this brokenness matters. Our reaction to one another, to the pieces we have to pick up and the relationships that we put back together matters. We can sweep up the glass and throw it away, or pick up bits and pieces and make a kaleidoscope full of beauty and blessing.

Life gives us a whole lot of little pieces sometimes and what we do with it matters. Do we run away from the challenge to become a better person, learning how to communicate love and care to the broken spirits around us? Or do we go around breaking others hearts by our incapacity to learn new ways of doing things?

Broken hearts belong to God. Hearts that are willing to change are so because God’s Spirit has softened them. Oh, that I would look at my broken heart moments as the softening of the Holy Spirit to become more like Christ.

C2C crochet kaleidescope pattern using left over yarn and a little skein or two of new No. 5 yarn. A little heavy, but it’s like bottling up the heat of summer for a comfy cozy winter afghan!

Oreos or Cheerios?

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Some days I scare myself. Like walking out to the grill the other day and nearly thinking the stairs were closer than they aught to be, and falling. Well, I did not fall, and the stairs were another two steps, but the electrical “fear” shock still went through me. Then there was the day trying to walk in the dark hallway with my granddaughter on my hip. Her cringe every few moments told me I was getting her too close to the doorway or wall for her comfort. So I decided she had feet, and would just have to walk herself when it was not safe for me to carry her.

Left: the Eastern White Cedar that the bird planted at my daughter’s first house, was rescued from a landscape project and nursed along at my greenhouse for four years. We planted it on their anniversary. Right: my little bleeding heart bush is finally taking root and put out flowers. We had one at our house in Minnesota, and I have wanted one ever since.

I mean really, I don’t need to give her the anxiety of electrical shock scares all of the time also. Someone tried to convince me that the feeling I have, anxiety is based on my gut and some imbalance. Well, I know when they happen. Yes, it’s a gut level response. Fear! And the imbalance is the momentary feeling that I’m going to fall.

That has happened. Like a couple of years ago when a little rocker / sliding toddler chair was in the middle of the hall. I crashed over it big time. And the time the little jumper chair was in front of me and I crashed over that unto my knees. When vision fails me, gravity does not.

And now there is the word blenders. Like the day I asked my daughter for some cheerios for dog retrieval treats. I thought I said Cheerios, the oatmeal cereal. Instead my blender mind spit out oreos. They have cocoa powder which is a toxen to little dogs. Really? I think someone stuck a spun in the blender. Or left a spatula in my mind, when I needed a scubbie!

Oh that happened one time… I mean the spoon in the blender. It was a glass blender nearly fifteen years ago maybe. What a mess. The ingredients went all over the kitchen. And the glass broke too. Did I say that was a mess?

Maybe I’m over thinking these. But honestly when the baby’s name takes a pet name replacement, it’s scary. I did not think I was getting old yet.

So next time I say we need some more cereal, don’t forget the breakfast sausages!

Kramer is the most ridiculous cat, he curls up to sleep in the funnel on top of the rain barrel under the down spout. He has become quite the favorite cat (being the only one left and very friendly.)

And in other news, the nightmare about having a “guide” horse happened again. NOOOOO! While I know that horses live longer, a dog has a lot less allergy implications. I am so allergic to horses that I had to take Benadryl every time I took care of Cocoa, and that means he did not get the care he deserved.

Also doing research about hidden ingredients. Dextrose. Is the plant glucose that is a starchy sugar past. It can come from a number of plant starches, and most often is NOT single ingredient. So maybe potato, corn, rice, or other starch plants. Bother.

Book Review: Two books this week worth mentioning. “All the broken places “ by John Boyne and “The pearl” by John Steinbeck. The first is a World War II recovery novel. I don’t particularly care for gruesome details and skipped over most of the gory stuff. The novel is essential about guilt. How we try to reconcile it ourselves. The second is a battle of good versus evil. It is a much shorter story and I recommend it for the middle school ages. A 1947 writing, it is a parable expansion and a good read. The comprehension of treasure and real value is an undertone throughout the book.

The next week our family passes some milestones. My first daughter and son in law celebrate ten years married, while we will celebrate 35. There really aren’t enough words to describe the difference that twenty years makes on marriage. The unconditional, seet, knowing love is far better than aged wine or cheese. It can’t really be explained in one blog or book.

This week a friend donated me a large sack of yarn! Eureka! What fun. Projects are endless options now. We also got part of the garden planted. The two large garden boxes and the tomato tubs. It’s time to do something with myself again. Maybe I’ll just play with dog. We bought him a new ball this week, so he had to take it to bed with him. It’s so funny!

May is nearly over and the entires have been sparse this month. Another milestone was added in the family yesterday… my second daughter announced a precious baby package will arrive around Christmas time. Oh, I am so excited. It’s pretty hard to contain myself. Putting a lid on such news until the foretell permission is granted is difficult.

The exciting part about the whole week was there is a large stash of baby yarn in the bag from our friend. Yay! God knew and provided. Now I can study some patterns and make decisions and pray for another little one to hold! And pray that I won’t call the baby by a pet’s name… “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in God’s ears and those around me also!”

The Local Giants

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Jeremiah 17:7-8 “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is in the Lord…(my paraphrase) He shall be like a giant tree whose roots run deep to never lack water, and who is never anxious about weather and always produces good fruit.”

Oldest tree I’ve ever known, and next oldest Tributes to the homestead

The two oldest trees on the acreage have been much of my visual focus this winter. The brown barren landscape and the many wind and fire watch weather warnings, makes me wonder how many branches are even left. The oldest tree at over 160 years (planted 1860’s) has such a gnarly look that the squirrels don’t even use it anymore. The second oldest planted approximately 1880’s has a few smaller branches yet and does look to have more recent growth. The most difficult issue with tree second, is that the roots have set out above surface and are in desperate need of topsoil to keep from nicking the mower blades. That’s a definite plan for the lawn care list. These local giants are not ginormous Ents, but they sure are a testament to time and remind me of God’s provision for those who trust in the Lord.

March arrived with some more pendulum temperature swings. One day it’s nearly nice enough to wear only a sweatshirt. The next day we are bundling up in all the winter gear and wearing a scarf to keep the cold from snatching the breath out of our nostrils! So I decided that crochet challenges were again in the works. Marching across the yarn miles with my crochet hook always helps me face the cold days better.

Crochet borders is my current indoor past time. I finished one border on the daybed blanket. And then decided to finish out the “year” memorial with a border that matched some of the flower pattern. Of course after i was done then I thought of another idea for graduating more color use. Oh, well.

First photo from the visit to grandkids, someone thinks it funny to lay “clementine” an orange multi-s1ueaks toy over Kona’s back. The second picture is Kona napping on top of the recently completed lap-ghan (lap afghan) memoir to the year.

Puppy tales untold, Kona’s journal has not had an update for a while. Here’s what he does. I have trained him to find any item that hits the floor. This is important for me as often things roll away from my peripheral and he does a great job. Of course we won’t mention all of the facial tissues he constantly has to give up for finding when I’d prefer he left them alone. Kona also is my alert eyes, when we go places he will point out new entrances into my space and help me know someone os near. Kona also does a pretty good job with occasional guide at stairs and curbs. He has been trained to pause before any change in terrain. If only I would “listen” to the leash changes better. One time he told me there was a parking cement curb, but I missed it. I did not fall just stumble hop. On the way back the exaggerated jump over the cub and his looking back at me said, “watch the curb- you dummy!” I find humor in some of his tell tale ways of “showing” me what is going on. We recently had to take him to church a few times, due to the grandkid mess of items on the floor (quick retrieval for an overnight stay) that did not give us enough time to “puppy proof” the house for him to stay alone. He has done great any time he goes into a social setting. He is so quiet and does his under chair hide that most people don’t even know my alert dog is with me.

The most hilarious happenings are how the grandkids all and have a face-time call he would always begin with “see Cocoa?” Too which I either walked out to see the horse, or had to answer, “Oma is in the house, and Cocoa does not live in the house.” Isaac would repeat “See Cocoa?” Now baby Joseph is about six months old, and already hollers at me with a face-time voice if I am talking to another. Then as soon as he sees me he begins puppy panting so that he can “see Kona.” My little niece Marigold does the same thing. They are concerned for my puppy more than me. Haha.

What do the local Ents have to do with any of this? Except for Charlie barking non-stop up the tree this morning, we don’t think of the two old branch managers often. I mean really, they just stand there looking quite stark naked in their winter chill. Yet, I wonder at all the things that have happened here for the last 150 years. Those old trees have witnessed so much. If only they could talk. What stories would they tell? My dog can’t talk yet he does try to tell me some things, like the lid that fell is still up on the counter somewhere. And little ones that don’t talk yet do try to tell us what they want or need by their cries and or by their giggles. Their are witnesses and evidences of so much if only we have eyes to see or ears to listen.

My new book is the Molly Burke memoir “Unseen.” Now sure I really want to read something that is so close to home. I also have RP and have been legally blind for a number of years. I am glad for tools that help visually impaired persons. Everyone has to have their own “helps.” For some it’s glasses. For some it’s white cane and a dog. For some of us it’s an alert puppy and the ability to Zoom every text out there. For others its people and the most accurate APP available. Don’t get me started on apps and updates!

The Local Ents aren’t telling me any stories yet. I’ll let you know if the trees begin talking. For now they remain silent witness to any changes or weather or happenings here on the homestead.

Winter games project

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Watching television and doing nothing with my hands is foreign to me. Most of my silent time is spent using my hands. I just have a fidget need. Who sits still and does nothing?

Winter Olympics are fun to watch. whether we find motivation to get more fit, enjoy more outdoor activities, or simply do something we love to do. For me it is the later. So I found a project to crochet while “watching” the olympics. Haha.

The best stories are the trials to overcome. Hearing about the single mom that has two deaf little boys and still won a gold medal in some event reminds me that everyone has a story to tell. Overcoming adversity is what makes us unique yet relatable.

After I found a video a couple weeks ago about the ”whole” person discovering our individual purpose, reflecting on our one little wave in the whole ocean of humanity seemed daunting. So I grabbed my yarn and put together a color scheme to crochet something.

Crochet color schemes based on paint color room decorating is my new thought process. I picked two colors looked up a color palette and matched the yarn to them. Wow! I’m so happy with the outcome. It gives me a new lease on crochet projects. Of course, still not sure what to do with this collection of items made.

Two weeks time is all that it took to finish the latest shawl. Some would probably say, “it’s not big enough to wrap up in” so why bother? Sometimes it’s more about the look of the finished item. Of course the feeling of mosaic crochet items is warmth and comfort, also! But I really did not expect to be done in just two weeks.

2026 Winter Olympics crochet shawl approximately 2 foot by 5 foot

What’s next? That’s always the problem. Just like the Olympian who completes their goal, what is the next goal. Ecclesiastes tells us the joy of doing is a good goal in itself. Enjoying the fruits of our labor, like this moment of just sitting under the really pretty wrap while catching up on the happennings for my online journal.

The past two weeks were a bit of a blur really. My daughter’s kidney stone reared it’s ugly head and we had the kids for a full week. Thank goodness their daddy could take care of the baby for most of the week of her recovery period. Nonetheless, the month still seems to be a blur of activity. The first two weeks were so nice outside, and then the last two weeks bitter cold. Winter games on the television did add an element of distraction to the difficulties of the month.

Empty baskets are meant to be filled. My sister dealing with blindness and trying to fill the time gives me more to be thankful for my own ability to do something with my hands. Even when my eyesight was not cooperating with me for church piano playing this past Sunday, I was thankful that my ability has risen to the challenge. God enables in a way that seems unbelievable.

The barren winter landscape in our area does not have to be the focus of dull drum winter. Other parts of the country are under blankets of snow, and I sit under a crochet wrap that is both distractingly pretty and not so heavy it requires hours of shoveling to get out from under the piles of snow… I am glad for my crochet time “killer.” I am glad that I can listen to books while I do so.

The book that distracted me from the brown dead grassy yard this past week was an “Ellie Haskins Mystery.” I was thinking about “Wuthering Heights” and my hubby got me “Withering Heights.” The first is an old classic literature work and the later is a recent mystery novel. Oh, well. I did not mind it so much. wondering what happens next is a little better that than trying to figure out what color palette will fill my basket next!

The Crazy Crochet Cat Lady pattern above is from the Wild Things collection. I really wanted to do a better version than I completed last year with it’s scraps and pieces. I used a smaller hook this time and the completed item is about six inches smaller in both length and width. I imagine that there will be a border on it soon.

Being physically challenged by my eyesight can sometimes be limiting. Like crocheting colors that are hard to tell the difference between, so I’m learning to mix up the bolds a bit more. I am so glad to have the challenges to overcome. And glad that crocheting in a row is something okay for my vision, accomplishing something pretty in the the end result. So on to the next project….

The Duke of Cottonwood Place

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Our acreage has never had a “name.” It is literally called “the place” where dad grew up. The family homestead is about to experience some major changes, but we aren’t advertising any of those plans due to the potential for future troubles. But the thought that the two old cottonwoods in their past century age might be due to fall soon makes me so sad, that I have wanted to give them their rightful place of honor. The first cottonwood lies just to the west of the original dugout sod house. The tree lived for it’s many buckets of wash water dumped upon it’s base for those first years back in 1860. It lost a large branch over the road just four years ago. Still standing it may be nearly 160 years old. But no one is in any hurry to count those rings. The second cottonwood is just west of where the little wood second home was built. Or perhaps the chicken shack that they used for a few years. It is reported that it would have been planted in 1880 or earlier as that is the date of the little old house. So it perhaps is around 145 years old. Once again no one is itching to count the rings. If I am alive when either goes down, I surely will cry.

Our acreage has always had some animals of some sort, and though farm animals have disappeared and the barn is empty, the cats and dogs will find a lifetime of experiences and happenings a plenty. Cottonwood Place is home to seven cats, two dogs, and two gentle folks that will welcome many a visitor along with the homecoming for the girls that grew up here.

King Charles the third was crowned shortly after we received a rescue named Charlie. The idea that Sir Charles had taken over the guardianship of the acreage was pretty evident. Charlie is the kind of independent dog that simply will not come when he is called off his “track.” So when the delivery van pulls up and does not treat the cookie king with a morsel, we are sure to hear about it for the next few minutes. And asking Charles to leave the van and return to the deck is nearly impossible. Cookies help some, but most of the time, even snatching one cookie, he is soon back to the same old barking fit. There are days, he actually hits the front door with a paw to demand his snack.

Poor dog, other than seven cats and his house people, there is not “animal” shepherding. The cats don’t even get a once over most days. Charlie simply ignores them or steps directly on a cat that is too lazy to move. And now Dasthe saga of cat stories.

This past summer, I tried to add to our hunting crew with some kittens. We lost all but one to the vehicular homicide. I don’t know why some cats are so drawn to the roadsters. Both car and pickup had mouse nest somewhere in the front end during their annual tuneups this fall. Maybe that’s why. But really. We’ve even had to replace serpentine belts due to cat suicide. What is with them things? I know some cat lovers find this quite gruesome, but really, when you live on an acreage animals are really just animals.

The match of Zuch (pronounced Zuke) versus Yin Yang began almost immediately. One day the newcomer actually made it to the back deck feed dishes. For the most part the black and white face symbolixm has stuck to the distance.

Such in the left and Yinyang on the foundation leave hole

After Zuch came back, we took the remainder in for neutralization. He and Boots came back just fine and I really thought we were stuck with just three. Tabitha is still here. I’m not really sure how old she is, maybe seven or eight years. Then about a month ago, the wanderer arrived. We have never seen this cat before.

Black and white saddle back cats are a dime a dozen, really. They seem to be everywhere. The other most common is the grey striped coat. This one has some unusual markings on the face. After finally getting a good picture of him sitting in the common perch, I decided it was just like the symbol for Yin-yang. And so it is. Yinyang and Zuch are still duking it out though. It might be a long battle before the new comer is allowed a morsel of dry kibble.

The cat fights aside, the four-some that came from my sister got their names from the wild, confused, ever present Kramer. We named them after the Seinfeld television show. They have all seemed to take on the personalities of various common known favorite episodes. Kramer has entered the house a number of times in his haste to share some story line. “I must’ve got confused!” Is the most common phrase we declare. At least he is easy to get back out. All four seem to be so underfoot, we call them the Seinfeld gang. Funny how each one of them seems to be taking on the character qualities.

The Seinfeld Gang-Kramer and Costanza left to right followed by Seinfeld and then Bennes on the bottom.

Meanwhile, my hubby and I got through our first January cold virus. Lots of hot liquids and vitamins. My favorite warm drink this week was some chicken broth. We decided to take down the Christmas tree and put the daybed in it’s rightful place in the front window sunshine. What good is a daybed if it’s not in the sunnniest spot in the house.

Updates are always quite delayed when one is not well enough to do anything other than care for own needs. So, I took some time to let the dust settle on the last writing. Probably said way too much. The cat saga here on the homestead is about all the happenings there is in the winter days. The bitter temperatures always makes me amazed how animals get used to such bitter temperatures. We added some fish fat canned cat food to their daily fare. The first day, I nearly lost a finger trying to give them the can of food. Leaned that lesson well.

The beginnings of the chips ahoy remake, a crochet project. Kona on the day bed in the front window a new watchdog posting.

The blanket got renamed “cinnamon toast crunch” after it’s completion. Not all the blankets have names. Sometimes Gavin just claims them by calling them “mine” or “my blanket.” Silly. Saying it’s his favorite means nothing when he says that about every one of them. The Stitch is my favorite, though. Entrelac Crochet makes the perfect blanket feeling!

This writing seems a little random, I know. That might be due to cabin fever setting in. Not sorry for getting hung up on the Ents in our lives. If trees could talk, those two ancient ones would tells the whole story I am sure. And though animals are not “human” we sure put a lot of chrarcter reads into their actions. P.S. Seinfeld took a trip to the never world on the road the other day. Bother , at least he’s not a favorite.

From beinging to the end

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If you have followed me for any amount of time, you might know that I love sharing my Bible readings and insights. Today of course is another of those. And I also love sharing tips about how to expand your thoughts towards God.

I finished the year with a new mosaic crochet tile pattern. Learning curve for me as the green with white one that I did had too many stitches and needs a remake. And of course there is the stash of yarn that’s hope for a hook. I do plan a remake on the “chips ahoy” blanket that I never really liked. I hope to do some sort of add-in and perhaps I will like it then. Or give it away!

Ecclesiastes 3: 11 is a very often quoted verse from the scriptures. Most people know the first part, “He has made everything beautiful in its time.” But many do not know the middle section, “He has put eternity in their hearts…” and I venture that some have no idea the last part of the verse is in the same verse as the beautiful quote, Here it is “…except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end.” Wow, making everything beautiful is God’s mysterious work and no one has that understanding. There is that moment when the caterpillar becomes the butterfly, when is that exact moment?

God has put eternity in our hearts. Today my dear little cousin is going through yet another colon surgery. The surgeries that he has had are going into the second set of digits on the hands. I cannot imagine the thoughts and fears that he has experienced in his young life. Yet, God has worked eternity into his heart and he asked to be baptized this past Sunday before the upcoming surgery. Such blessed assurance the Lord is working out in his life and those who know him. surely, we cannot find out the work that God is doing from beginning to end.

So today as the beginning of a new year dawns, I wonder at all those who celebrate with hope and joy what God will work in others lives around me. Just like you, the past year held so many tragic images, I want to focus on the beauty that God brought to me.

While my physical eyesight continues to to fail me, and I wonder why things look so blurry, I will gain a better vision of a clear future in eternity. With those who have gone before me, I can hope for our renewed gatherings in glory. The holidays have changed so much without the visits of those whom we held dear. Now heaven is feeling more and more like the “hope of home” than it ever has before. It is no wonder that the older one becomes, the more homesick we are. It is easier for me to imagine my father’s clear vision restored in glory than it is for me to imagine the garden in it’s July prime this next summer. (It’s the weeds that do me in.)

This year in its beginning, I choose hope. The other day as I tried to clean out the library, I asked for my husband’s help. It did not go really well well, and my herbage became nearly worth the little garbage pail in the room. Finally, I asked him to leave, and I would finish the clean up myself. Yes, he was helpful at reading the titles and such, but that task was done, and now it was time to find a new home for the menagerie of items displaced. I did get it done in case you want to know. But it was a new beginning to me, having help with a task that I have done by myself for the past thirty plus years.

And so the beginning of the year has arrived with its new beginnings and its hope for positive endings, like a clean room that one can breathe in once again. Hope is often hard to grasp. The Bible says that “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.” Hope then can be defined as the expectation of a future outcome that drives one to act upon its believed outcome. How does one translate hope into action. Faith that is not active is not full of hope.

The most common simplified version of Hebrews 11:! “ We walk by faith, not by sight.” Yet Faith does have sight! The vision or dream of what will be is what keeps the faithful moving forward towards the prize or the high calling of Christ. Yes HOPE is the ability to see what is not there. The dreamers capacity is HOPE!

From the beginning of this year, I do not know how its end will be. There are so many hopes and dreams. Like the garden of bulbs planted in the fall that one hopes for in the spring, I must decide to do the work of dividing the soil and placing the dead looking object into the ground. Seed planting is how my brain works. Now I must translate the hopeful bulb garden into everyday life and keep “walking by faith.”