CHANGE

This summer my son and his family came to stay with us as they experienced some significant changes in their lives.  Naturally that meant some changes for us too.  We took everything out of the office/den that used to be his bedroom and emptied part of another room that seems to always be in a state of chaos because it is where things are made and piled and changed and moved - yes it is also my sewing/craft area.

 UCKY! Where did all that stuff come from?
and where should it go to? - maybe byebye!
*"I will think about that tomorrow," says Scarlett.*

(We had to find somewhere 'safe' to put some of it -
the 'some' that is files and mostly genealogy and family history journals and letters and albums and pictures and - A MESS - I am working on making order and use of it -slowly - but I am picking away at it).

It went to our room -
except for the 3 garbage bags and several bushel boxes that went to the garbage - WHAT?!? What is this doing in here? Why is this in this pile? Why is this kept at all?  4 filing cabinets and 6 bushel boxes/Rubbermaid tubs to look at every night was a BIG change that has changed my priorities and perspectives - again!

Having it 'in my face' every single day made me think about it.

I love history. I especially love family history.
So why have I been wasting my time going to work?
And not doing what I actually prefer to be doing?

Now it is time to change again.
They are gone.
The house feels so empty.
And we miss little Cyndi so much.

After I finished cleaning I sat on the floor in each empty room/place and took a trip through memory lane. If you know me at all you know I only sat down there for a break and to rest up before moving on ....

When my children were at home I read books they read, and listened to music they liked - not exclusively but enough to become aware of things entering their minds and perceptions. I would go to their room every now and again and sit where they often sat or lay down on their bed, look around, and ask myself, "what are they seeing/hearing - or not?" I often was quite surprised (and occasionally even shocked) by what they saw or could hear every day; so much so that I varied the times I went to their 'places' to see and hear and feel some of their perceptions.  I also gained greater love for and understanding of them.

Casey - you should have told me that the sun shone in your eyes at that end of the table - I never sit there - at least not at dinner time! Thank you for simply adjusting the blinds and not complaining. Thanks for all the ways you adjusted and did not expect me to!

Before they came the house felt overwhelmingly full, but of what?

Sometimes, perhaps, we have to empty the 'junk' to allow 'joy' -
in our hearts and homes as well as our houses.

HOLLYHOCK DOLLS

My mother taught me to make dolls with Hollyhock flowers. She says she learned it from her mother.

I made 2 this morning to see if I could show a granddaughter - she was delighted.

Years ago when I asked, my grandmother said, "everyone knows how to make them - anyone could have [taught me]."

my maternal grandparents in their yard

July 24 is a day of celebration and commemoration for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. It is commonly known and celebrated as Pioneer Day. We remember our ancestors and others that were pioneers in all contexts. Our family often spent it with my mother's parents.

Our family has many progenitors that came to North America from Europe seeking liberty and freedoms not readily available in their homelands in the 16th and 17th centuries. They settled along the east coast and as we study the founding history of the United States and Canada we find their names and deeds laced throughout our reading.

We find it fascinating!

Our heritage also threads through the history of the LDS church. Many of our 3rd and 4th great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers knew Joseph Smith and declared him an honorable, honest and noble man and joined their futures and fortunes to the church and its teachings. We have many of their journals, letters, photos and other documents (but no hollyhock doll instructions).

The lives of our ancestors consisted of work, hobbies and other pastimes that are becoming forgotten. Hollyhock dolls were a part of the play of many children of past centuries. This is my attempt to preserve a pleasure I took for granted. I remember helping my mother water the few flowers and shrubs near our home with buckets of water pumped by hand from a carefully primed well.

Every drop of water was precious and doled out with care. Hollyhocks grew near many pioneer cabins and dugout hovels because they survive with little water and, with the luxury of water left over from cleaning and mopping, they thrive.

Just a small aside here: liquids really could be scarce and were not wasted. Every edible liquid was used for meal preparation. Every bucket of water had many uses. After being used to wash dishes, water could be used to clean boots or scrub the floor. At bath time babies were bathed first, then ladies - just add another kettle to warm it up a bit, then children and lastly the caked-with-dirt-and-grime men; in the same tub of water! This 'bath' water also had many uses.  After water became 'almost mud' then the vegetables were watered and lastly the flowers.

Hollyhocks come in many colors, sizes and varieties. They can grow well over 6 feet or more in height.

Some people claim they can be eaten so children that are inclined to taste things or put them in their mouths will not be harmed by them. I think they are fairly tasteless except for the white part - it is said to be bitter. 

Many years have passed since I made these dolls but when my daughter asked about how to do it I decided to try to make some even though I only had a couple of smallish pink and darker reddish Hollyhock plants that summer. 

This would be called a 'skirt' - larger is better - after all we want a 'full' skirt - but if you want a more narrow skirt pick a bloom that is not opened so far - use your imagination.

In the upper right is a partially open bud - this could be a head/bonnet or you could use a smaller tighter bud like you will see in the next picture.

My first try was just to stick them together. Since I couldn't quite remember how that was accomplished I used what was at hand, cheated, picked up a rusty nail and punched a hole.

Here is the first doll -

I didn't think it looked right and I remembered having to peel some layers and not using a nail or anything to put a hole in it - seemed like there should be a hole or at least a weak point to push the stem through ...

so I picked a new bud - red so you can see the difference and a bit more open (notice it has 2 layers of green around the base of the flower just above the stem that is pointing at you)

and I begin to peel away the first layer of green

being very careful to not damage the bud or deeper layers - I don't want anything falling apart (not that anything ever did - don't worry so much - it won't)
-

and this is a close up so you can see it coming apart

- popped right off - with the guidance of a sharp fingernail

and this is where I expected to see the hole but nope - I did see a softer area so I tried it - wouldn't push in there so -

cheating again - use every resource at hand - still have that old nail left in the flower bed (from after the wind blew away part of our roof and it was replaced) - no matter how many I pick up there seems to always be one more.

and I plunge it in and make a hole,

and push in the stem of the 'skirt',

seat them together

and I have a new doll -

but I think this takes way more imagination than we use to use -

where are the little eyes that I remember, and why did we so aptly pretend it had a bonnet like a Spanish dancing lady ...

and I do not remember using any sticks or tools to make them or hold them together  ...

what if I took away the second layer of green?

what is under there?

not much besides what I already had but what if I go a bit deeper - just on the flat 'base' end circle part that kind of looks like it should give way ...

I scrape away a scrap of green still clinging and viola

there it is - there is a tiny little hole in there

- just like I remembered ...

and the pinky on the right flicks out a piece of debris in the way

as I position the stem of the 'skirt' to go up into the 'head' - but the curl won't push in so I shorten it a tiny bit and then it will - it had to be a bit stiffer I suppose

and push it in

all the way snug against each other

OHH! Look! a dolly with eyes and a huge headdress - no wonder we had so much fun with these - we'd make a bevy of beauties and then they would socialize and play - their dresses all unique - short green bustles, aprons and collars, sometimes many layers of parts added on or pinched off.

I loved the variegated edged ones and some blooms were considerably larger and therefore longer than these; also the buds could be 'bent' from funny growth into curious oddities that might give it more personality -

see the bustle of a leaf that hasn't separated? Imagination is the key ingredient here.

And really no cheating (with a nail to punch a hole or things to hold them together) is needed.

I was quite surprised too when I left them in the sun on the step but several hours later was showing off to a neighbor that came by and they were still looking quite fresh not wilted - when I tugged on them to show her how they were put together they were stuck fast and difficult to remove - like the sap was a seal - COOL!!!

Sometimes, as a child, I would make believe the top was the body and her arms were thrown up in the dance with a swirl that hid the 'head' inside - sure enough - look inside and see the fuzzy pollen head.

With bit of fern like plants or grasses etc many fanciful creatures were created. Give it a try. If you e-mail me [ liforames@gmail.com ] photos of your creations I will add them here for everyone to enjoy. HAPPY IMAGINING!

BABIES

As I transplanted zinnias and marigolds, calendulas and snapdragons this spring, my hands in the dirt and the required and repeated water sprinkled morning, noon and night (for several days) bade characterized images of my parents onto the stage of my mind.

Early spring on the farm always started with a crop of new babies – baby animals and plants.  New life of all kinds abounded. 

Some babies began life robust and seemingly invincible, but others seemed too small and fragile to ever withstand the inevitable rigors of existence.  Every litter seems to have a runt – the littlest one that gets pushed and stepped on or crawled over in the fierce competition for nursing - which often dies; and every garden seems to have a place where plants struggle for root or light, water or warmth.  

My father watched over all the animals each year but he took special notice of the littlest ones.   A significant part of my childhood memories about my father, see him descending stairs to an unfinished basement with carefully warmed milk for a calf or lamb or piglet. Permanently etched on my mind’s eye is the bright spot (from a heat lamp) with him but a shadow bent over the injured or ill animals, diligently feeding them every hour, on the hour.

He told me once that the smaller they are the more often they must be fed.  Their tummies are tiny and they can only take in small amounts, and when they are weak just swallowing the liquid takes a lot of effort.  He saved many a dying or motherless baby by dribbling liquid into its mouth forced open by his thumb and then holding its mouth closed so the liquid had no place to drip but down the throat. 

As soon as calves or lambs could stand on their own and suck he would take them back to the barn.  He had many strategies to ‘encourage’ a cow or a ewe to allow the stranger to suckle with (or instead of) their own baby.  I have seen two calves yoked together at the neck.  If one eats the other can also.  I have also seen the skin of a dead calf or lamb wrapped and tied onto a weak living calf or lamb placed into a pen with the mother whose baby died.  They usually will, eventually, accept that calf or lamb as their own and raise it.  This procedure also meant long hours supervising the newborn; placing it in the pen and taking it out, making sure it was dry and clean, and even using a tube to get vital medicine into its stomach. 

I also watched his bowed head and slumped shoulders when nothing helped and the animal died.  His sorrow wasn’t just for the money each represented in a stringent budget.  I felt and heard and saw his reverence for life. I also felt that consequence of illness or death keenly if some neglect or laziness on my part contributed to it.

My mother tended the house and garden.  The kittens and puppies were even tinier and by the way, cats will nurse dogs and dogs will nurse cats and care for them like their own sometimes. 

Mom’s image is very different from my father’s.  I can see her hair, tussled with the breeze and her shoulders silhouetted against a grey blue sky full with scudding white, puffy clouds.   She leans, imprinted laughing there in my thoughts, on a rake or hoe or shovel, surrounded by dirt and rocks and flowers and children. 

My mother taught me how to transplant things and showed me the seeds emerging from their husks as they poked up out of the ground unfurling leaves. She also showed me rocks to pick.  I often wondered – can rocks have babies?  No matter how many we graveled into the mud hole in the driveway there were always more each spring. 

Mother taught the delicate handling of kittens or pups with still shut eyes.  She taught that less handling is often more because of how fragile something may be: both animals and people.  From her I learned that seeds need water, that they may need cold and dark as well as sunlight and warmth, and that above all else diligence is required. You can plant a seed properly, get it to sprout and begin to grow AND miss one watering and have it visibly stunted or even die. 

Mom showed me detail: tiny emerging carrot seed feathers so easily crushed by rocks and clods - feet or dirt; fascinating soil textures – slick, sticky wet clay that hardened like rock and glittering bits of sand as well the black loam developed from manured years of toil and till; birds and buds in all their varied glory or color and sound; and even the rocks themselves, wet or dry, along with discarded broken bits of lives (ceramic, glass, china, and rusted metal  toys and tools) that surfaced continually. (Our garden occupied the former site of several homes that had been relocated as the village moved away).  

Each spring I learn again, and then add to, the childhood lessons of tenacity and tenderness, diversity and diligence instilled by loving parents.  Parents that lived the precepts they taught;  goodly parents;  parents with reverence and respect for all good things.  A mother AND a father, that showed not told and followed thorough instruction about work or sorrow, joy and laughter with accountability. Parents! 

   

MY BABIES

I have six children. Through them I have experienced the greatest happiness I have ever known. I sorrow that I have not been able to give life to more. I was so thrilled to become a mother. Even though, in the culture of the time, it seemed expected for women to marry and have a family, I hardly dared to even voice that as a career goal or life long ambition or aspiration - that was not a popular stance to take. I am grateful to the many wise women in my life that modeled being a mother to me.

My mother had 10 children. As a teenager, in a rebellious teenager sort of way, I decided I wanted at least 12! Perhaps it started just to tweak somebody that was, in my opinion, a pompous prig but (as most teens do) I then thought about it made up my own mind on the issue. I decided that would be totally 'cool'.

 It was popular at that time for many to spout the rhetoric that the world was overpopulated and that couples should limit the number of children they chose to have. 'What foolishness,' I thought. 'What utter nonsense!'

I still think that. Our homes and society are crumbling. When will people begin to see and believe the truths prophets teach? You, for example, and me - do I really believe what the prophets say? teach? Really? Even wise and prudent thinkers many generations ago have raised voices of warning about women leaving homes and family responsibilities to join the work force.




Governments are discussing incentives to increase the child bearing rate in their countries because the birthrate has declined to the extent that their population, economies and services can not anticipate sufficient workers to replace themselves. Even in China, where a one child rule had been enforced, problems are beginning to surface and have caused that rule to be changed.

Who started such silly heresy anyway? I think it is rubbish that the adversary of all happiness spreads, along with all the other misery possible to inflict on human beings.