In 1982, a woman I worked with named Jackie introduced me to art of cross stitching.  I watched her work on her cross stitch projects during our lunch hour,  how her fingers tenderly and precisely poked the needle through the fabric and how she gently teased the thread through to the other side and then started again.

It was rhythmic the way she worked that needle and almost hypnotizing to watch.  She said she found it relaxing and it was easy to see why.  She inspired me to want to make beautiful cross stitched things too.

I was 22-years-old at the time and had just moved to Texas from the Midwest and didn’t know a lot of people. Consequently, I had more time than friends and I thought that maybe cross stitching would be a good way to absorb some of those long after-work hours that I spent alone as well as satisfy the itch to do something creative.

I went to a craft store and picked out a cross stitch kit with a butterfly motif.  As I handed over the few dollars I had to the cashier, I fully believed with all my heart that like Jackie, I would finish it in a week or two.

As I walked out of the store with my new cross stitch kit, I was already envisioning the glory of the finished product and experiencing the glow of satisfaction I would feel as I gave it to my mother for Christmas.  She would be delighted and awe struck that I had created such finery for $3.99.

I worked on it faithfully every day for a few weeks, tediously stitching and un-stitching the rainbow of thread into butterflies.  Then one day, I decided to take a short break and set it aside.  It was another year or so before I picked it up again.  That was 1984.  I haven’t touched it since.

Every once in a while, as I’m looking for something, I’ll find it tucked into a box of odd things that fail categorization.  I suppose I could feel badly that it has remained unfinished all these years, but for me there was tremendous value in the doing, if not the finishing.   And besides, we will all leave this life with unfinished business.  None of us will finish all we set out to do.

I just hope that when I leave this world, that any unfinished business I leave behind is no more consequential than butterflies.

* * *

Anyone else have an aging and unfinished project tucked away somewhere? Anything older than my 25-year-old butterflies?

Warning: Pointless and unrelated drivel ensues.

It’s Friday, y’all. Good gravy, another week of life down the drain. How does that happen so quickly? I am positive that when I was in Sister Luke’s 5^th grade class, that one day time actually stood still.  During long division class time did not advance one minute for three solid hours.  It’s documented somewhere in the annals of St. Cabrini history.

Speaking of St. Cabrini, I am reminded of this:  Back in the summer of 2004 (which seems like it should be last year), my 8^th grade class got together for a class reunion and we toured the school, all eight rooms. Sadly that school closed recently (moment of silence).

Anyway, still hanging in the hallway since 1966 when I was in 1^st grade, was a big picture of Jesus (you know the one) with a portrait of John F. Kennedy to the left and a portrait of The Pope on the right.   Just as it will be in heaven.  I don’t know why I bring this up, but it made me laugh then as it does now just thinking of it.  The message in that arrangement is not very subtle, even for a 1^st grader.

Moving on…

There was mostly good stuff this week.

We had several spring-like days this week. It was in the 80s here, so that was lovely and a very nice reprieve from our so-called winter.  Sean and I got out and went “scootering” as he calls it. It is entirely too much fun to jog  behind him as he hot rods around the neighborhood on that little red Radio Flyer scooter. At five, he’s so happy and delighted with every aspect of life and unburdened with woes of any kind.  To witness that kind of unfiltered joy kind of makes up for the fact that my den looks like the Lego factory exploded in it.

Which brings me to pointless point number two, or is it three? I’ve lost track:

Old Coffee Table:  Time, Newsweek, Architectural Digest, Art in America, Venetian blown glass object d’arte, cocktails and appetizers.

New Coffee Table:  Ranger Rick, Highlights, Lego sculpture, 2-day-old sippy cup of milk, half eaten Ritz cracker and a small pair of dirty socks.

Wednesday I was honored to speak to an amazing group of young moms and chat with them about seeking joy on this astonishingly beautiful, difficult, precious, absurd journey that is motherhood.  I went to offer encouragement but I believe that I left with more than I brought.  I get to speak to another group of moms this coming week on the same topic and I’m very much looking forward to it.

Monday, I’ve got a super awesome give away from the PhotoWorks.com people, some spending money with them, just in time for Valentine’s Day.  So you might want to go there and snoop around and see what you might like to have.  Check back in on Monday to see what hoops I’m going to make you jump through for that.  I love it when in the interest of winning something, y’all reveal something of yourselves to me because you guys are fascinating and always make me laugh.

And finally, I will leave you with this story, a rare golden moment in parenting when I think I got it right. And all because I kept my mouth shut.

Yesterday, my friend Shelly invited Sean over after school to play with her little boy Max.  When I picked Sean up, he and Max were having a great time playing outside with the garden hose and he had obviously had a very good time.

On the way home, he mentioned that Max has all kinds of cool stuff.

“He’s got a really big play room with lots and lots of really big toys,” he said with a tinge of envy in his voice, “And he also has a big swing set with a fort. And a swimming pool. Max has everything.”

Sidebar: Yet, they were outside playing with the garden hose and some plastic cups.

I had my speech all ready to go, you know the one:  There will always be people who have more than you, but there will always be a lot more people who have a whole lot less than you. I would remind him of how blessed he is and of how much he has for which to be thankful. I might even go so far as to tell him that some children don’t even have enough to eat.  Although the last time I used that line, he said they should just get their mom to go to the store.

But I didn’t. I didn’t say those things. I just kept my mouth shut and waited and watched his face in the rear view mirror.

“But, you know what?” he finally said, “I’ve got a lot of toys too. I’m lucky.”

Sometimes the truth is taught and other times it is discovered.

When we got to a stop light, I turned around and told him that he was an awesome little boy and I was so glad that I got to be his mom.

And if that was the only good thing that had happened all week, it would have been enough.

Have a great weekend y’all.

After I put up the post on the farm house last week, my cousin Jim emailed me with the back story on the house and I thought I’d share it with you if you are interested.

Jimmy got the low down on the house from his father who passed away a few years back, but lived to be almost 100. It turns out that AD and Jimmy’s granny knew the family that owned the house and often told stories about them.

According to Uncle Sewell, the road that originally went by the house was a horse and buggy trail that ran between Tuna and Podunk.  The road was wickedly crooked and was known as Looney Corner, partly after the Looney family who owned the property and maybe partly because of the many cars they found in their tank.  For you non-Texans, a tank is what the rest of the country calls a pond.  I grew up the Midwest where a tank is where you keep your tropical fish.

Anyway, in the days of horse and buggy, the curve of the road wasn’t so much of a problem, but after the automobile came along, those who had been to Tuna and partaken of the spirits offered there didn’t always make the corner and ended up in the tank.

Later the road was graveled and then expanded into a two-lane road and then the four-lane highway that it is today.  According to Cousin Jim, the house has been abandoned since about 1955.  A construction-related business bought all of the property but chose to preserve the farmstead.  There are rumors that the property could be sold again. And of course who knows what the new owners will have in mind.

“Time changes everything and so much history erodes with it,”  Jim writes.  “I can remember as a child riding in the car from Podunk to Tuna.  At one time that was a great house and only one of about five between the two towns.”

Also, it turns out that tarp that I Photoshopped out was the last remaining piece of tin on the roof. At one time, it had an all-tin roof and this one piece has managed to hang on through wind, weather and time – but not Photoshop.

Who knows what the rest of the story is for this house.  Maybe someone will come along and buy it and restore it to it’s former, long lost glory. Or maybe the earth will eventually reclaim it as it does all things that stand still for too long.

Not a solar panel or a tarp, but tin.

This is the box that my fotoflot came in. Sean immediately claimed it for his own and turned it into a lap top. What is it with boys and boxes?

If you look closely, you can see that he drew in all the keys on the keyboard, including the track pad and he even put in the palm trees screen saver, just like on Antique Daddy’s PC.

Order your fotoflot today (Wednesday 12/17) and get a free laptop, just like the one Sean has, and get it in time for Christmas. And because you are special? 10% off on all orders with coupon code Appreciate08.

Are y’all feeling the pinch of the economy and failed markets?  If so, what changes are you going to make?   Drastic or small?  Life style changes?  Less eating out?  Closer eye on grocery bill?  Just curious.

I was in downtown Tuna last weekend and one of the things I like to do when I am there is to browse the antique stores.   I’m always searching for a ceramic donkey planter.  I find aimlessly wandering in and out of the stores to be a very relaxing way to pass an afternoon.  And it’s just fun to see stuff – dishes, furniture, toys, etc. – that I recognize from my own childhood.  I’m not super big on antiques,  I like them and appreciate them, but by no means am I a collector.

One of things I find that I’m drawn to lately are antique linens, which kind of disgusts my mother-in-law Cleo.  She does not understand why I would pay good money for something someone else has blown their nose into. Yet I do.  Here are a few of the hankies I picked up recently.  Any ideas what I could do with them other than, um, stick’em in a drawer?

I guess I could have ironed them before photographing them.  I wish you could see them in person – very retro and very charming. You would love them, I know you would.

This blue and red hankie is one of my favorites. Love the color combo.  Would love to do a powder room in these colors and motif.

These are some aprons I picked up.  My Godmother Rose always wore aprons and maybe that’s why I love them so much. The apron on the far left looks stained, but it’s not – it’s actually perfectly starched.  Kind of makes me want to put on some pearls, high heels and get out the vacuum.  These aprons are much more charming in real life. I have to take the resolution of the photos down to 72 (from 300) so my blog will upload them and it seems to drop the charm factor as well.  Don’t know what to do with aprons either. Ideas?  No matter, it’s enough just to posess them.

I also like to collect the odd plate which I use, sometimes to display on a wall or in a cabinet or on a tiny easel, sometimes to hold a bar of pretty soap and sometimes, yes, sometimes even on the table. Because I am so very creative.  This is “Old Granite” by Johnson Brothers.

I fell in love with these two little pewter bunnies just waiting to hold up a candle. $5. Currently sitting in my kitchen window where I gaze upon it with affection.

I bought this little expandable Mexican box for the boy because I knew he would dig carrying it around and stashing stuff in it.  And he does.

And it came with about 12 big heavy duty plastic forks and spoons which will no doubt make their way out to the sandbox.  Which is better than my silverware, yes?

Do you antique/garage sale? What kind of stuff do you look for?  And what is the psychology behind what you buy?  Maybe we should do a carnival and show our wares.

Warning:  No real point to this post.  Your time might be better spent cleaning lint from your belly button.

Some days just seem to have a theme.  Have you noticed? Friday, the theme of the day was apparently doughnuts.

Friday morning, Antique Daddy and I went to our end-of-the-year parent-teacher conference.  I was nervous, but it went extremely well.  I was so proud of the things Ms. Carrie told me about my little boy — it brought tears to my eye. My mother used to leave my parent-teacher conferences weeping too, but for entirely different reasons.  The good nuns did not appreciate my creativity and outgoing nature.  Quirky is not a quality admired by the Catholics.

I digress. It’s what I do.

Anyway, beyond the fact that Sean has more than mastered all of the skills appropriate for his age, Ms. Carrie reported that he is well liked, respects the teachers, demonstrates self-control, is kind, and shares. And is quite funny.  Is there anything more a mom could want?  I think not.  

After the conference, AD and I celebrated by stopping by Starbucks and basking in the after glow of parental pride.  As I ordered my coffee, I spotted an old-fashioned glazed cake doughnut in the pastry case.  Intoxicated by Sean’s good report, I ordered the doughnut with reckless abandon and ate it in about three bites.  I could not resist.  Glazed cake doughnuts are the one thing I almost never allow myself because if I eat one then that’s all I will be able to think about for three weeks and I will then spend all my free time talking myself in and out of getting in the car to go buy doughnuts. 

Later that same day, I overheard on the news that a man tried to attack a woman in a doughnut shop.  I didn’t catch the entire story, but that seemed like a gross miscalculation on his part.  Bad move.  Never get in between a woman and her doughnut. Depending on the time of the month, all that might be left of you is a powdered sugar outline.

Then finally, that night, I was watching a little late night food channel and Paula Deen and her son were making homemade doughnuts out of biscuits.  I love how Paula can tease six syllables out of the word doughnut.  Anyway, Paula pulled a doughnut from the hot grease and bounced it around in a paper bag full of powdered sugar and then presented it to the audience.  And they applauded. For the doughnut.

Some food I would not applaud, say turnips or miniature corn.  But a doughnut I would definitely applaud.  I would go so far as to stand and shout Encore! for a doughnut.

See? I told you. Pointless. And you could have had a clean belly button.

This weekend, we went to Tuna to see Memaw and Papa George for Mother’s Day.  Sean really wanted to pack his own bag, so I let him.  When I checked his duffel bag, he had packed some favorite stuffed animals, several books and a Lightning McQueen diecast car.  But no underwear.  Everyone has their priorities.  Depending upon the trip, I might choose books over clean undies too.

When he was finished packing, he zipped up his bag and announced, “I got all my stuff in it!  But I’m going to call it a STUFFel bag!”  Totally cracked himself up.  And his mother too, who loves a good play on words.

With all due apologies to the town of Duffel, we like our name better and will henceforth refer to said bags as stuffel bags.

On the way back from Tuna, as we drove along the local super highway in the HOV lane, it occurred to me that High Occupancy Vehicle is not that accurate of a description because most of the cars you see only have two people in them.  In my view, two is not exactly a high rate of occupancy.

I think they should have named it the MOV lane for Multiple Occupancy Vehicle – a more accurate description, plus the marketing folks could sell it as the ”move” lane, playing off the idea that the lane is “supposed” to ”move” traffic.  TXDOT should really check with me on these things first.

Note:  Quotation marks in use to denote lame concept and implies eye roll. 

* * * * *

Does your family have any new and improved words?

Dear Husbands Across America,

If your wife is being self-deprecating, you are not allowed to join the party. It is not a bandwagon, do not jump on.

Thank you and have a pleasant tomorrow.

~ Antique Mommy

* * * * *

In the interest of equal opportunity:

Dear Wives Across America -

The art of being wife wise, is knowing what to overlook.

Thank you and have a pleasant tomorrow.

~ Antique Mommy

I don’t get to watch much television these days, but occasionally at the end of the day, after I’ve put Sean to bed, I’ll flip through the channels and end up watching part of an episode of What Not To Wear. Do y’all ever watch that show? Isn’t it fascinating? Two snotty condescending people insult you, throw your clothes away, make you cry and then force you to buy uncomfortable shoes. And inevitably they jump out from behind a rack of clothes at a department store and scare the puddin’ out of you. Fashion + Fear = Fun! 

I am fascinated by this show for many reasons, but mostly because I do not understand these people who are emotionally attached to their sorry clothes. I  don’t know how many times I’ve seen Stacy and some poor schmuck tearfully playing tug of war with a ratty sweater. My theory is that these people are the same kids who drug around their blankie until they were 11. I was not one of those kids. I never had a blankie. But then again, I may have attachment issues.  On the other hand, if a tornado came through and wiped out my entire collection of broom skirts and Brighton belts, I would be able to skip the grief counseling.

Anyway, I’m thinking about all of this because one recent Sunday morning, after I had tried on no less than four different outfits to wear to church, I was thinking about submitting my own application to What Not To Wear. Now before you go all holy roller on me, it’s not like I was trying to show off and dress to the nines or anything like that. I was aspiring to dress maybe to the twos which is one step above pajama bottoms and slippers. I am hopelessly out of step with the now generation (as evidenced by the fact that I just used the term “now generation”) and believe that you should at least be dressed to the twos when attending church – that means no pajama bottoms and no cleavage and I’m not really all that keen on blue jeans.

Anyway, like most Americans, I have a closet full of clothes. But all of my stuff a) doesn’t fit, b) is hopelessly out of date, c) was purchased when I was temporarily insane, d) is hideous, e) has been worn so much it is sad, sad, sad and f) all of the above.

So on that particular Sunday morning, I was in my closet, knee deep in a pile of a, b, c, d, e and f – and I was thinking that if Stacy London were in my closet, I would not be playing tug of war with her over a broom skirt. I would not be crying. No, I’d be standing in the trash can stomping it all down to make sure there was room for everything.

And then I’d kick her out of my closet and call in Big Mama who would preface her insults with “Bless your little ole heart” as all good southern women do.