New Life

Any time someone asks me where I'm from, I have to pause a bit before I answer. My handsome half doesn't have a problem answering, but I always feel as if I need to give a bit of explanation.

We're both SoCal kids. Thats where we were born and bred and even though our home state is a hot mess right now, I still claim it as my own. I've lived a lot of places, but have always answered "I live in --- but I'm FROM Southern California." We spent several years in various locales, and right now, we live in Ohio. But I'm not from here. No offense to the native buckeyes, but I'll always prefer sand between my toes all year round over experiencing the change of  seasons.

I always find it interesting that people claim to love the seasons in cold climates.  Basically, there are only two seasons where I live. Snow and road construction. One is bitterly cold and the other is pretty humid. Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining about the weather here. Just an observation in the context of preferring  the life and climate of a different location. And of course, the mindset. I don't think like a mid westerner, or like the natives of any of the other places we've lived for that matter. 

But one thing I've been able to experience from life spent outside of my home-place is a vivid appreciation for new life. Everything is pretty much dead and brown in October, and things don't get green again until late April. That's where we are right now. The new life all around me right now is stunning. 

 

 I'm not much of a purple person, except in the yard. It's all purples and blues and I love it.

 

 

 

Even the tacky yard art is fun outside in the spring!

This kind of new growth never really caught my attention when I lived in the southwest, because it looked this way all year round. But experiencing a real winter showed me what I had been missing. 

New life.

It's like getting a gift every spring. Even after the most bitter cold in winter, eventually we see this.

 

"Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!"

2 Corinthians 9:15

Beautiful rich colors.

 

"A woman named Lydia, from the city of Thyatira, a seller of purple fabrics, a worshiper of God, was listening; and the Lord opened her heart to respond..." 

Acts 16:14

   

And wildlife we haven't seen for months re-emerge. 

"But whoever drinks of the water that I will give him shall never thirst; but the water that I will give him will become in him a well of water 

springing up to eternal life." 

John 4:14

 

"Do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?" 

Matthew 6:25-26

  

"For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."

2 Corinthians 5:1

The purples and blues and whites will continue to cycle through our space for the next several weeks. I'll get used to being warm and seeing the bright colors outside the windows. But I'll never cease to be thankful for the vivid reminders all of this new growth affords. Thanks for stopping by.

"Therefore if anyone is in Christ, 

he is a new creature; 

the old things passed away; 

behold, new things have come."

2 Corinthians 5:17

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Saying Goodbye to a Friend

My dad was kind of a renaissance man, and liked to do a little bit of a lot of different kinds of things. He loved working with his hands, wasn't afraid to try anything, he loved music but also camping and doing other boy stuff. I think he came by that flexible mindset from his mother. 

My Grandma Genevieve was widowed at a young age, and managed to not only raise 6 children on her own but also ran the family business for a time after Grampa died. She was a tiny little woman that went through breast cancer twice (back when treatments were nothing short of barbaric) and finally pancreatic cancer which ultimately took her from us.  She was carrying her 7th child at the time of her husbands unexpected death, and while she lost that child,  she went on to see 29 grandchildren, and countless great grand children as well. 

 

Genevieve with my oldest daughter. She went on to be classically trained on
Gramma's piano, and plays beautifully today.

One of her God given talents was music. Specifically playing the piano. She always had one in her house, and played it all the time. I remember realizing as a child that she never had any music in front of her, but played "by ear" and did so beautifully even with hands that were twisted by arthritis.

Over the years, for one reason or another, several of her pianos passed through our home. One in particular was an upright grand that someone had upholstered with vinyl. I'd love to know what it looked like under that abomination!! As that one passed through my parents front door on it's way to a new home with one of my friends, the young men moving it dropped it onto one of my mom's prized Camilla bushes. oops. Piano 1 / Camilla bush 0, but the piano lived on! I replaced the bush, but it was never quite the same.

In the early 80's, I was blessed to receive one of her pianos. I think a move motivated her to get rid of this one, and I believe it was the last one she owned. She always picked them up used, and usually, slapped some white paint on them as soon as she got them through the door. This is a 1952 Gulbraunsen cottage height or spinet. It's small, and was really a great size for us as we knew several moves would be in our future and we never knew how much room we would have to house it. 

Daughter #1 before lessons started

Daughter #2 making her mark



Following Gramma's lead, I suppose, we had a friend refinish it soon after it arrived, and it went back to it's original light wood. The only thing missing was the decal which had to be sacrificed when it was stripped. He did a beautiful job, and the style that was all the rage when it was built is now solidly back in vogue as "Mid Century Modern". I didn't really care what it looked like. I just loved it's beautiful rich sound and the soft touch it afforded. It was perfect for Gramma's crippled hands, and our children and I have thoroughly enjoyed it for 35 years. 



It's been moved a lot. I don't know it's history before Gramma took possession, but we've moved it 8 times from coast to coast. It's also been played literally countless hours. For years in our home, there were 3 of us playing it, and sometimes it got a little frustrating to get some piano time. Our oldest daughter took lessons for 12 years, the youngest studied for a few years but then turned to vocal music. I'm just a hack, not nearly as talented as they are, but I have always enjoyed messing with it. 

Daughter #1 passing the time while she waited for her date to pick her up. It was the first time they went out, and he is now one of our favorite son in laws!

Our second daughter played for awhile, but she went on to be classically trained in voice. They weren't twins, but dressed as twins for a special high school event.

A famous duet.



This piano has enjoyed everything from the most talented at it's keys to little people that can barely reach it literally banging out their very own melody. It's had sticky keys from sticky fingers, pennies pushed through the crevices between the keys, babies playing with the pedals, and has been the place of honor for the lamp and the anniversary clock that handsome brought home from Japan, and the ever increasing collection of grandchildren's pictures. We never named it, but it's been an old friend, for sure.

The 3 Amigos. The oldest grandsons

The short people always enjoyed it.

Sticky keys weren't unusual

The fourth generation getting ready for lessons!



And now the time has come to say farewell to this piece of family history. We're taking our first definitive step toward downsizing, and I'm a little sad. There have been periods when the piano was played constantly, and other times when it sat silent for months at a time. But the next move it's making is out our front door to it's new home with another young family.  

And now a talented new family is enjoying my Gramma's wonderful gift.



I think Gramma would be happy to know that her precious gift has provided so many years of music in our family, and that it's legacy will continue.  

...When the trumpeters and the singers were to make themselves heard with one voice to praise and to glorify the Lord, 

and when they lifted up their voice accompanied by trumpets and cymbals and instruments of music, 

and when they praised the Lord saying, 

"He indeed is good for His lovingkindness is everlasting,"...

2 Chronicles 5:13 

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The Bootlegger

When little brother, Bunns, was born, it became evident to my folks that it was time to build on to the house. Bunns was bunked with me, and the novelty of it wore off the very first morning he was there when he chose to wake me from a sound sleep by dropping a glass baby bottle on my head. The new space didn't happen immediately, but eventually a second story took shape above the garage. It housed a family room, and a bedroom which big brother inhabited, so that little brother could move out of mine and into his old one. 

Our neighborhood was made up of ranch style houses and so any sounds that emanated from this new second story carried well. It provided a source of continuous entertainment to the neighbors as mom and dad engaged in  whatever happened to be on television. They both knew how to laugh, and just listening to them usually brought others  to laughter too. The folks never held back, and so their personalities made them quite the story tellers as well.

I grew up hearing tomes about their own upbringing, family facts and traditions, experiences, etc., and I heard the stories so often that I admit I quit listening early on. A story would come up that I had heard so often, I could probably tell it myself without a script and so I would tune out. Now, I wish I had not only listened better, but also recorded them and their words. They experienced some amazing things; from the story about dad scaling the face of George Washington on Mt. Rushmore with friends to retrieve a baseball cap that had blown away and caught on Georges nose, to their time in France while dad served in the Army. 

But one story that mom told again just recently on a day unclouded by an ongoing battle against dementia, had to do with her own dad. 

I never met my Grandpa Draut. He died before any of us were born, and I can't help but believe that I really missed out on not knowing him. My dad's father died when my dad was 14, and so I never enjoyed a living grandfather. But my dad took to the man that would become his father in law almost immediately after meeting him. I think he really needed a good man in his young life and God gave him Joseph Draut. 

My own dad was famous for nicknames which were always rooted in affection for the one being tagged. He often called me "barge bottom", or "flutter butt", which were both hysterical because I was such a skinny kid, and "Sarah heartburn". I trusted him and never took offense. He was a good guy who loved me without limits. 

He called my Grandpa Draut "Colonel". And evidently, Grandpa was always so honored. Little did he know that dad spelled his nickname a bit differently. "Kernel".  Like the center of a nut. 

These were the type of stories I grew up hearing. But I did a little math recently in connection to the one my mom told about her dad and was shocked at the result. Joseph Draut, worked in the oil fields in Long Beach, CA after moving his family west from Kansas.  He loved his new state and much to their chagrin, drug his transplanted family all over the place at every opportunity to explore their new home. They always lived hand to mouth, and one of his past times before leaving Kansas was brewing his own beer in the cellar. Mom tells of hearing the jugs explode on occasion when they weren't sealed properly, and how they grew up drinking beer with meals.

Not only did my venerable grandfather brew his own suds, he also used it to supplement the family income as he sold it out the back door during Prohibition.  I realized the Kernel was a bootlegger!! How many people can make that claim!? Priceless!

Listening to my folks tell their stories gave me reason to laugh especially when they went from the ridiculous to the sublime. And they're a part of what makes me who I am. Evidently, the granddaughter of a bootlegger. 

Honor your father and your mother, 

that your days may be prolonged in the land which the Lord your God gives you.

Ex. 20:12

"The Kernel"

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Wedding Gifts

Recently, our pastor reminded us to "Live our lives in a manner that would allow us to sell the family parrot to the town gossip". A great challenge with which we have a bit of experience.

My better looking half and I just celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary. I used to look at people that had been married that long and think... "They're so OLD!!" And while I wanted to stay married forever, together through thick and thin, I really never wrapped my head around what that would mean. Like, the better part of my whole life!! We've been married way longer than we were unmarried and you'll be happy to know that we're not near as old as people used to be when they were married that long!

But when we got married, it was kind of the beginning of wedding registries, and weddings weren't the ridiculously expensive affairs they are now. Ours  ended up being much bigger than we had planned, but I had a huge family, and ultimately we wanted those who were special to us to be included, so we just went with the flow. Even though large, we kept it pretty simple and enjoyed the day.

We experienced many of the wedding traumas that you hear about. 1/2 of our wedding pictures didn't turn out because evidently, the film (yes children, actual film) didn't wind up in the camera and when the photographer opened it up it kind of sproinged out like a joke can of peanuts.  All that were taken before the wedding were lost, so other than a couple of fuzzy photos that were snapped with an instamatic camera that one of the bridesmaids had, we don't have any leading up to it.

I was VERY late getting to the church, and my better half's grandmother was pacing and wringing her hands in fear that I wouldn't show. We had dated four long years waiting for this day and standing him up was the last thing on my mind. In my defense, it was a very long and busy day leading up to the ceremony, and I was ready to go on time. A friend of my dad's ended up driving me to the church, and in a very calm way, reminded me that nothing could start until I arrived. Sweet sweet man. 

The ceremony finally began and went off without a hitch. My better half wore his dress USAF uniform and on the cassette tape (the very best technology money could buy) you can hear people gasp when he came in. And while friends and family, bridesmaids in gold and yellow dresses wearing big sun hats and carrying baskets of flowers, and groomsmen in brown tuxedos with yellow ruffled shirts and velvet bow ties looked on, we finally tied the knot. 

 May 27, 1978

No one loved me enough to tell me that in later years, my color choices would bring uproarious laughter from my teenagers. It was popular. I just wanted to get married. What did I know?? The icing on the cake, so to speak, was the fountain that was a part of our wedding cake. I asked for yellow food coloring in the water to "match" the wedding. Again, no one loved me enough to question me. *insert laughing emoji here!*

The best and most fun part of the day came when we all trooped back to my folks house and actually opened the wedding gifts. An amazing creative and precious assortment provided by people who cared for us. Included was an awesome macrame wall hanging and a harvest gold hand mixer. I loved the 70's! But by far, the most unique gift we received was living and breathing.

A couple of my friends gave us a cockatiel, already finger trained and complete with a cage. Yes, folks, that would be a bird. Neither of us had ever had a bird. We named him "Hot Pongo" and he was a lot of fun. We taught him how to talk and he picked up some simple tunes. We even took him outside when we worked in the yard and he happily sat in a tree or bush and supervised. His wings were kept trimmed, but one time he did take flight and ended up at our neighbors house a few doors down before we caught up with him.

Hot Pongo loved Doritos and even though they gave him horrendous breath, we let him eat them. He also liked sitting on the edge of our cereal bowls to share breakfast. Anything shiny always caught his eye, and he decided that the diamond on my ring was intriguing so he bit it off. Yes, you read that right.

He spent his days with free run of wherever we happened to be living at the time, and his favorite place was always in front of a mirror, talking and singing happily. He discovered that if he put his head in a corner or in an enclosed space, it made his sounds really fun, so he experimented a lot with that. Hot Pongo was truly a gift that kept on giving. 

We had another cockatiel in later years, but she wasn't near as much fun as our first baby bird. 

Thankfully, we had nothing to be embarrassed about when we introduced our "parrot"... usually. Except when people found out that his favorite enclosed space to sing was actually into our mouths. Great acoustics, evidently.

May 27, 2018

Guard my soul and deliver me;

Do not let me be ashamed, 

for I take refuge in You.

Let integrity and uprightness preserve me,

For I wait for You. 

Psalm 23:20-21

Other Projects 

Resurrection Upcycle 

Why Cleaning Out My Closet Wasn't A Good Idea

I find myself engaged in the ever increasing struggle to control my closet. Yes, there are too many things in there, and while they all fit, they don't all "fit", you know? But the battle isn't against the size of my wardrobe.  I'm actually fighting against barreling down geezer road in there. 

 Elastic waists are so alluring. Fluffy pants are calling my name. Unstructured t-shirts and a full collection of "cruise wear" beckon me. 

I began a new decade on my last birthday, and it served to motivate me to take a critical look at the closet. I tossed all the dresses and pantyhose awhile ago and now I own a single pair of dress slacks, basic black, and everything else in there goes with jeans. 

In my earlier life, I pretty much lived in levi's and t's. And I find that for the most part, I've  gone back to the old reliable look. It's comfortable and familiar. The experts aren't ok with that. The experts say that you should never wear blue jeans after 53 years old. Yeah...

My jeans might be stretch denim, but they're not elastic waist and I try to stay stylish with my t's. A friend even made me one to match my bitmoji!! 

(Yeah. We'll call that stylish even though I'm sure the experts would not)

 

My grown daughters are my muses. I pay much closer attention than they realize to how they put outfits together and attempt age appropriate parroting. That usually works pretty well for me. 

I've also been considering doing the "Capsule Wardrobe" thing that's been so popular lately.  That would require some really heartless cleaning out.

With all of that in mind, I cleaned out the closet and drawers recently, and I actually got especially brutal with the scarves (which seem to accumulate because I live in cold weather) and socks. There were several things that I had been holding on to because I knew if I passed them along, I would need them. 

Even though all the experts say that if you haven't worn it in 5 minutes, it should be given away. 

But today, I found myself trying to get dressed for a somber occasion with a real problem, and realized

THOSE EXPERTS ARE WRONG!! 

About a week ago, I tossed those drawers and reveled in the spare look of them!! And guess what I needed this morning!! A pair of socks to go with the black dress slacks and shoes that had survived the cut. The socks had been purged. *sigh*

 

So that's why I ended up wearing Easter egg socks and a scarf that was totally inappropriate. 

I managed the look by bunching up the scarf and sitting in a way that didn't show the socks. 

Obviously, age has sucked all good taste and appropriateness out of me. 

If you need me, I'll be out shopping for socks.   

She makes linen garments and sells them,

And supplies belts to the tradesmen.

Strength and dignity are her clothing,

And she smiles at the future.

She opens her mouth in wisdom, 

And the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

Proverbs 31:24-26

Other Projects

Resurrection Upcycle