Letting go . . .

When our son, Karl, was five years old he imparted to me a bit of wisdom that will serve me all my days on earth.  We were out walking, and we saw a baby robin hopping on the grass.  Karl commented, “If I ‘ketched’ a little bird, I would not put it in a cage.  I’d hold it for awhile, and then let it go.”

Life is an ongoing exercise in holding for awhile, then letting go.  Currently I am letting go of a beloved young family:  our grandson, Joshua, his wife, Kelly, and their precious children—Ethan, Cole, and Ella.  These Valentines (that is their last name!) are moving to California, where Josh has accepted a new job. 

Josh and his family have been our neighbors for the last two plus years, here in the northern reaches of our county.  They are the kind of people who show up and sit quietly by your side when you have been rushed to Emergency.   We’ve stashed away a treasure trove of memories with these young people—pizza outings, birthday celebrations, strolls in the park, and lots of ice cream occasions.  I have shed tears over losing this family, and I’ll undoubtedly shed more tears.  Yet I smile to think of Kelly enjoying San Diego.  Kelly and I are alike; we love warm weather!

I often reflect on how radical it was back in the 1800s when Easterners went West, facing incredible hardships and dangers.  Even more life changing was the uprooting of millions of immigrant families who came to our land from other continents, for a fresh start and the hope of a better life—or, as in the case of most of my ancestors, for religious freedom.  We can concentrate on thinking with all we have, yet we cannot begin to comprehend what those early settlers experienced—let alone the courage they displayed.

So California is not that far away, and it is not inaccessible!  A few hours by air.  Yet it sounds like the other end of the world to me, now that flying is no longer one of my favorite things!  I would relish a long trip on the Amtrak, but sitting on a train is not Joe’s idea of fun.  We’ll see what we can dream up.  Meanwhile our loved ones will be back to visit, with so much family in Wisconsin.

 ↑ Ethan (in front), Joshua holding Cole, Kelly holding Ella 

Letting go!

Margaret L. Been, ©2012

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Sparkling snow and seasonal ceremonies . . .

At last, winter has dumped its trademark on our Northern land.  The world around our country condo and quiet park is heaped in the quiet beauty of winter.  Our little patio is heaped.  I love the charming top hats on the bird feeder and saxophone-playing frog—leaning against the feeder as if he were a bit inebriated.  Against the patio door you will see a five dollar poinsettia plant (fake of course) wearing a dusting of snow.  Soon the Christmas plant will be replaced by other fake blooms, until next December.

Now our local ski trials are being groomed for the cross country crowd.  ”Downhillers” who long ago exhausted the limited thrills of Midwest runs will throng into airports and board for the high country.  I no longer ski, and I never was intrepid in the high country, although the Colorado Rockies are like a second home and I love to experience their beauty in any season.  While the rest of my family skiied in Colorado, my favorite sport was just sitting outside the lodge in that glorious Western sun and clear, dry air—while savoring a natural Rocky Mountain High.  But there is another winter sport that, in my mind, beats all:  the ceremonial indoor change to spring. 

Here is how it goes around the year.  Late every August I stash my Russel Wright IROQUOIS® dishes, Vaseline Glass pieces, and lemon yellow Depression Glass in a cupboard so that we can adorn our dining table and buffet with Carnival Glass pitchers and bowls, and a harvest-motif set of English china decorated with baskets of luscious autumn produce.  In mid-November, the harvest dishes yield to English Transferware in red and white—paired with ruby red Depression Glass.  Sometimes the red dominance remains in view until after Valentine’s Day, but not this year.  As of today, our village of Nashotah boasts 18 minutes more daylight than we had at the winter solstice.  I’m feeling those minutes.  Extra daylight, winter sun on fresh powder, and the joie de vivre have catapulted me into the new year in celebration of the sparkling season on hand and anticipation of glorious days ahead.

So last evening at dusk we made a seasonal change from red transferware and ruby red Depression Glass—to toothpick holders* and other accent pieces of Vaseline Glass, our lemon yellow Depression Glass sugar and creamer, and (once again) the Russel Wright IROQUOIS® Casual China in soft hues of yellow, green, blue, and pink.  Included in the dining table setting (pictured below), is the Prince Albert MOONLIGHT ROSES® teapot which Joe and I brought home from Cornwall in 1993.  A MOONLIGHT ROSES® cup and saucer accompany the teapot. 

The cliché “What goes around comes around” certainly fits!  Joe and I woke up this morning to sparkling snow outside, and a breath of springtime within—thanks to my passion for, and perennial delight in, seasonal ceremonies.

Margaret L. Been, ©2012

Note:  My parents gave me their gorgeous collection of toothpick holders, many of which are very old.  For years at other homes, we kept the entire collection on glass shelves in large windows.  Now I simply rotate these treasures around the seasons, color-coordinating the glassware with the time of year.

I often reflect on the toothpick holders.  Within my memory are many years before TV, cell phones, and Daytimer agenda books—when folks had time to sit around the dining room table, picking their teeth to remove those shreds of leg of lamb or pork tenderloin. 

Along with fostering a leisurely quality of life, toothpick holders and toothpicks were probably a substitute for flossing.  Certainly a Vaseline Glass toothpick holder and toothpick afford a lot more ambience than could ever be found in that yucky floss which dentists and hygienists badger (no, order!) their patients to use!

As I enjoy the toothpick holders and all the other lovely old glass collections in our home, it is also fun to reflect on how American glass manufacturers produced such exquisite wares during the heyday of art glass—due to special sands and soils in places like Ohio and West Virginia, and the amazing skills of the glass-artisans who immigrated from Eastern Europe.  We have a special cultural history, here in the USA!  MB

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The merits of Achey-Bakey, and reflections on American history . . .

For Christmas in 2005, our daughter-in-law Rosemary gave me a wonderful handcrafted gift:  a microwave-able flannel bag filled with corn to provide comforting heat for an aching back (or whatever else might be hurting).  This treasure was called “achey-bakey”, and I have personified it by calling it a “him” with capital letters:  Achey-Bakey.  Most every night Joe goes through the ritual of heating up Achey-Bakey, and bringing “him” as a love offering for me and my degenerating spine.

After five years of receiving comfort nearly every night, I suddenly discovered corn in the bed.  Achey-Bakey had sprung not one but many leaks, as the flannel had begun to disintegrate under the frequent onslaught of heat—four minutes on high power.

I had a nine-patch square on hand, left over from a quilting project.  I added a back piece and fashioned a new pillow for Achey-Bakey—or rather for his corn filling.  My art mania has taken up so much available space in our Southern Wisconsin home, that there is no room at present for my sewing machine to be permanently set up, so I stitched the pillow by hand. 

While stitching, I couldn’t help but reflect on the time-honored art of quilting—and the centuries of comfort and beauty created by women with their needles.  In recent years I’ve read a lot of fiction and non-fiction based on 19th century pioneers and the settling of the American West—an interest shared by many in our nation, and mirrored in the ongoing popularity of quilting as a hobby as well as a tribute to the past. 

Whether handmade from scratch, or machine pieced and quilted by hand (or that fabulous long arm machine), there is a poignancy about pieces of fabric designed and quilted.  Historically many women needed to make most of the clothing, linens, and bedding for their families.  People needed warm blankets and these could have been simply assembled out of two large fabric squares or rectangles filled with a wool batt, sewed at the sides, and secured with tufts of yarn throughout.  Many good comforters were (and still are) made that way.  But the arduous art of quilting pieces of fabric fashioned into a design spoke of another need, less basic yet perhaps more profound—the need for beauty! 

Here is where the poignancy comes in.  I think of the raw realities faced by pioneer families moving west—the constant toil of the trip, the potential famine and/or death from disease along the way, and the dangers of Indian raids.  Women could transport very few objects of beauty with them in a covered wagon.  Perhaps some pretty dishes (if they actually had any) were stashed in barrels of flour or cornmeal.  Only a few homey objects of furniture could be crammed into the family wagon.  Nearly every material object had to be useful. 

Migrating west was a process of paring life to the bone.  In the face of daily fatigue and stress, these women had one recourse—one outlet where they could feed their hunger for beauty, and that outlet consisted of fabric, needles, and thread.  Only in fabric could a pioneer woman indulge in flights of fancy and the luxury of creating beauty.

The popular art of quilting celebrates our nation’s past and the age-old efficacy of women’s hands—ever striving to fill a functional necessity, while expressing that deeper need of creating beauty.  The expression of beauty can even include a bag of heat for aching bones!

Margaret L. Been, ©2011

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