I'm still so busy... No time for Xanga. Well, I've had a bit of time to quickly read a bit, but no time to leave any comments. Oh Bother.

I am elbows deep with my quilting project. Everything is pieced, layered, and pinned waiting for me.I've begun to quilt the tops of the placemats and have 4 more of those to go and a table runner.  After that is the binding and viola... done. I have 10 days left to finish, wrap and pack and send it off to my daughter in Hawaii. My BIL is going to carry it with him as he goes to visit her. I will post pictures after I am sure that she has recieved them and has had the opportunity to see them first. So, MK, be sure to let me know when you open the package.

My DIL has asked me to join her in a joint garage, car boot sale. I don't know when or where I am going to snatch the time from in order to get my stuff ready. It was to originally be this Saturday but we have decided to push it forward to the next weekend. We are going to be getting some leftover hurricane weather so it's for the best. We will sort and tag everything this Saturday however. Perhaps son will help to drag some of my stuff out of the loft. I'm obligated to come up some items so I'll grab an hour or two on Friday to go in search of my junk, your treasure stuff. Wish me luck.

My sister T, is scheduled to compete in Boston in a fitness/ shape competion in about 7 weeks. In the meantime, she has asked (begged) me to tailor her posing suits. I agreed, after all she is my little sis and she hardly ever asks me to help. I have had to construct her suit from scratch using photos and her verbal descriptions as my only guide. I wish I had seen what she wanted before I said yes. Oh my goodness, I've seen hankies with more material. This was a complete surprise because she never ever is scantily dressed otherwise. I'm flabbergasted.

Now my dilemma. My first constuct and fitting went so well that she told me that I could earn a lot, as in great bunches of money, making these suits. Apparently there is not another seamstress/tailor making these suits for great distances. Many of the girls have had to drive five to six hours to find someone who can make these suits. It's that or spend up to 1200.00 dollars for a fully decorated and perfectly tailored suit. I have not done any sewing for outside strangers in years and years and to be absolutely frank, I do not relish the thought of nearly naked strangers in my sewing room. However, I have a real need for the income and it was the easiest sewing I've done in ages. (The secret is getting the pattern right) I'd rather do this then put up with the "shorten this" and "take in this" crowd. Been there, done that. It's impossible to satisfy some people and they pay peanuts.

These suits would give me the opportunity to work at home for more than minimun wage. As in $150 to $200 for a day's work. Who Knew!!! I'll have to think long and hard on this one.

I've not posted in at least a week. I'm not sure why that is. So this is plausibly a forced entry, off the cuff mostly.

I've been thinking about my time here on Xanga. I joined unbeknownst to me in August of 2006. That was a surprise to me. I didn't realize that I had joined. That is, if I had been fully aware of the step I was taking, do you seriously think I would have chosen tkperito as my screen name. Get real. Anybody with a modicum of sense can figure out in a New York Minute where that came from. Boring. Blase. Ugh. Frankly all I thought I had done was to register for viewing and commenting on the blog my daughter had begun. I probably would have chosen something like.... In The Moment.... or maybe It Takes a Cracked Pot (nope too long). Or how about... Joy in the Morning (taken I'm sure). Who Knew.  I was so naive that I didn't know what a blog was. Seriously. I was amazed! Look at all that stuff; pictures, videos, games, gidgets, gadgets, widgets and even a little square that gives you the up to date weather. Gee wil-a-kers, was I a rube or what?

I think it was about May of 2007 when MK asked why I didn't have a profile picture. Hmmm, ok, I thought. So a person should have a picture to go along with the comment.... Must be the way they can tell who left the comment at a glance. Ten hours later I finally managed to plop a picture of myself and my young grandson up on that 'registration' page, so I thought. I thought wrong. I had simply added a pic to a blog entry. Who Knew. Not me!!! It wasn't until November of '07 that MK was able to open my eyes to what was really going on.

She informed me that I indeed had a blog and that I was quite remiss in my posting. My what? Mom needed to get with the program. I learned where that pesky profile pic really went. And I learned how to post an entry. I consider January of 2008 as my true debut. That was about the time that themed pages were becoming more popular and somehow I learned how to modify a predesigned page. Granted I can not create my own from scratch, yet, but I will someday.

But my little blog was lonely. I, frankly, did not understand or see the compulsion that is purported to consume bloggers. Then I went exploring. Somehow I found an item called 'Blogrings' and my life changed. The first group I explored was Gardening -The Love of Flowers. Suddenly my eyes were opened to the lives and joys and crisis of other women across the world. I then joined several others and have begun to realize that even in our individual differences we are all mostly the same most of the time. As I wandered about and visited others, they returned to visit me. Wow. I discovered.... I like to write. Yeah.

So this is Xanga; Men, Women, Youngins sharing bits and pieces of their hearts. Daily requests to share my joy, to pray for my pain, to see my point of view; my pictures and videos, my rants and raves find a home in my inbox. These caring individuals generously post their favorite recipes, gorgeous and innovative photos, inspirational poems and verse, introspective musings on the meaning of life in general, gregarious advice and, always, comment with a genuine concern and encouragement for those experiencing trials and chronic illness or catastrophic and unexpected challenges.

I thank you. I thank you for letting me peek into your varied lives, hurt with your pain, pray for you in your times of darkness and dance with you in your times of triumph. I thank you for your comments and candor when dispensing advice. And I thank you for connecting your world with mine no matter how many time zones separate our homes.

I found it today, at the back of a workbench drawer.

Not much to look at…

no flash, no bling

Nothing to indicate its unique worth

So non-descript; ordinary

Yet extraordinary.

A child’s favorite toy clothed

In the mundane.

She loved this so much,

Those many years ago.

A constant companion when

No other would be found.

Discovery wrapped on a spool,

Pranks wound about its core,

Creations that defied explanation.

Tuesday is my morning out. I go to a quilting class (?) at a local senior center. I say questionable because it appears that none of the sweet ladies there know how to quilt, including the appointed leader of the group. So funny. I was hoping to get help in perfecting my points but will have to face the fact that hoping is about as far as I will get for now.

Anyways, this week the director of the senior center guided our little group to the Arts room where were shown a recent donation of fabric and quilting books. These were not ‘trash’ as one would expect. However, the fabric does need to be folded, sorted, color coded and organized. The books still need to be catalogued into the center’s library. But who am I to ‘dis’ a real gem of a gift.

There are also three sewing machines in the Art room for our use. Two are nondescript models snatched from a fate closely linked to a dumpster and the other is a genuine, pedal powered Singer in its original cabinet. All are alleged to have been serviced and in workable condition.  The ladies were not impressed and I was downright frightened.

We were invited to take advantage of coffee or tea from the courtesy trolley but even I know better than to challenge two octogenarians with canes and an attitude by trespassing into their territory. It was the men’s coffee hour and only Mae West on a Hover Round could have wrangled a cup of joe out of the depths of that cloistered corner and back into our Art room unmolested. Hmmm, maybe I should reconsider my choice of words.

Almost shyly one of the ladies pulled two ‘squares’ from her bag. Square one was, well I don’t know the name of the pattern (I was there to learn, remember?), appliquéd stop sign shapes whipped stitched together and carefully applied the background. I wanted to cry when she quietly asked, “Can you tell me how I did this? I can’t remember anymore and I’d like to make more.” The other square was all diamond shapes set together like a starburst on the foundation. It was obvious that this dear lady was not going to be able to help me improve my points.

So, quietly, gently, on a beautiful Tuesday morning we spoke of yesterdays and tomorrows; children born and children buried; hopes cherished and hurts hoarded; fears conquered and dreams abandoned; the uncertainty of life and the sureness of death. And we spoke of aloneness. Even though surrounded by their fellow seniors and friends… these beautiful ladies spoke of how aloneness was defined by the loss of family and loved ones.

In the end not one stitch was sewn, not one pattern traced, not one color chosen. But I know without a doubt that comfort was given and received. And life was precious if only for one more day.

I took a cue from suzyQ_darnit and entrusted my camera to the hands of g'son Joseph. I made sure to wrap the safety strap securely around his little wrist. No dropping allowed.

His first stop is his pumpkin patch, and his mommy.

After that I (who am not his mommy) retreated around one side of the garage and he took off down the other.

Here is my interpretation of his short pictorial journal.

First stop; a picture of the neighbors fence and maybe a quick peek through the slats.

Then a shot down the side of the garage, at an obvious run.

Now stop and a shot of the clapboards at the front of the garage.

Pop up Camper, nearly 30 feet when fully opened. Joseph loves it. If you look closely you can see Ce Ce on the back landing steps

Finally the garage entrance. I only had one bay open that day. During the summer we dedicate one side exclusively for toys and joys.

Piles of pool stuff.

Pop Pop's Ride. G'ma's neglected secondary transportation unit is housed in the second bay.

Another shot of Pop Pop's Joy and Toy. He took several more before rushing back into the yard. The flash is evident in several of these shots

It's had to tell by these photos but the garage is Pop Pop's habitat. Within it's environs lurks his motorcycle, table saw, lawn mower, snow blower, 2 ton of hard wood pellets and all his 'good' lumber safely stored in the rafters. No warping allowed here. Hubby-love likes to age his pellets, so next year's supply is already in and tucked away in his domain. All his favorite ladders are carefully hung. Several cabinets house his tools and other sundry equipment. Also not shown are the stairs to the garage loft. That space is so convienent and lovingly coveted. You could easily convert that space into a studio or whatever because it is full story in depth and height. The disarray and 'dirty' clutter caused by our summer fun has him on constant OCD edge and reaching continually for a broom. I know it is not apparent from these photos but this man-den has a footprint only two feet smaller than our home. The garage is his pride and joy and will promptly be returned to his exacting standards the moment our 'ghetto' pool is down and stored for the winter.

Pop Pop's feet. Joe caught him napping.

Coiled hose with wand attached. He had helped water the flower beds earlier.

All done! Grandma's poor excuse for a lawn.

Not bad for a 5 year old's first try. There were more but nobody needs to see 6 more pictures of Pop Pop's feet and legs, and another four more of Pop Pop sticking his tongue out after realizing what the youngin was up to. What? I'm going to try this again some time soon.

~Ode To Chocolate ~

Chocolate is a lovely thing

it's sweet and dark and yummy

and never have I found its like

to satisfy my tummy.

 There are treats which taste okay

when chocolate can't be had

but nothing else can cheer me up

when I feel down and sad.

 When love has left me all alone

and wond'ring what to do

a Reece's Peanut Butter Cup

will make me good as new.

 And give me peanut M & M's

when money's getting tight

they're cheap, and good, and do the trick

at making life alright.

 If  I've a little spending change

a-jingling in my purse

I will not waste it buying gas,

I'll buy a Kit-Kat first.

 And Oreos--ah, Oreos--

the rapture never ends...

a dunk in milk, I'm good to go;

I'll even share with friends.

 And give me s'mores around the fire

out in the wilderness

don't even bother asking, for

my answer will be "YES!!!"

 If I am ever lost at sea

you know that I'll survive.

If I've a case of Hershey bars

they'll keep this girl alive.

 Philosophers and sages say

Simplicity brings bliss

I disagree, for this I know :

it takes a Hershey's kiss!!

Ode To Chocolate © Margaret Griswold-Scheiding

Poor Me…        

It’s been at least a week since I have spent any time with my g’babies. This in of itself is unusual. It is not the lack of contact that has me agitated. It is my turbulent state of my mind today.  DIL called and was going to drop the darlings off early this morning while she went to the gym. A similar plan fell through earlier this week due to my g’son’s illness.  No biggie.

She had to cancel again. She was quick to add that she would be over in awhile after the kids had breakfast etc. Ok, good with me. However it is now 2 pm in the afternoon and still no kids.  I’m somewhat amazed at the level of my disappointment. Then a little birdie on my shoulder whispered… Imagine how the people in hospital and in nursing homes feel. Imagine how it would be to have to sit alone in a senior convenience apartment; waiting, waiting, waiting. 

 And I was ashamed. I was ashamed because I remember the  times I did not visit my g’ma and great-aunt. I remembered the times I breezed into their hospital rooms as a duty anticipating the soonest opportunity to leave and get on with my life. I was ashamed because I was annoyed at the times I was compelled to keep g’pa company in a stark darkened parlor as he mourned my g’ma’s death.  I was ashamed at the remembrance of the times I avoided breaking the monotony of a loved one’s waiting alone on God.  I am ashamed at the many times I chose to be aggravated instead of peaceful, abrupt instead of patient, antagonistic instead of merciful.

And now I know the cost of growing up. Where such matters meant little in those days, I find that they matter much now. The difference the realization of indifference is going to make in my life from now on…. I don’t know. I do know that I’ve been given a lot to think about.

Warning this is a repost

DISCLAIMER

This is a nearly factual (fictional) rendition (fairy tale) of several conversations between myself and my medical providers that happened over time, quite some time ago. Some of the facts (lies) have been modified (fudged) to protect the innocent (not me, he he). Let me assure my dear DIL that everything is copacetic and was straightened out and cleared up long, long ago. No need to call the doc's office as the personell has changed several times since then and they will definately (think you are nuts) not have a single clue about what you speak.

Not too long ago I had the opportunity to contact my primary care physican in regards to updating my insurance info. I've been a client of this particular group of doctors for at least 20 years. Now, my doc, is great. He knows my name and face and always has his facts up front and correct. Not so much with the support staff. It's not all their fault. It's not as if I've made it easy for them to keep track of me. Firstly, I only cross their threshold on my own behalf once every two years or so. What can I say? I'm healthy for the most part. So I'm not surprised that the merry go round of techies, clerks and reception staff have absolutely no idea of who I am.

It's bad enough when you're in the office, It's a real nightmare when on the phone. Why? Well it could be because DIL and I have the same name, front and back so to say. She even had the same address for two years when she first arrived in the US from England. The scenario is complicated because medical choices can be somewhat limited in small town USA. So we 'share' a bunch of the same providers. Occasionally one or the other of us will be completely unaware of the overlap. Thankfully, I make the rounds rarely... you know... the normal lady stuff. DIL, however, is in the childbearing years and in the process of doing her duty and providing me with my two beautiful g'babies. She has had mulitiple visits and more regular appointments. So maybe it's because her file is upfront, or maybe it's because the filing system is mucked up or maybe it's because the staff uses the glance and grab meathod of file retrieval; whatever the reason we, DIL and I, have learned the hard way to always verify that the right file is in the right hand.  

Case in point

Me: Hi, this is Gotta Be Crazy. I need to update some info in my file.

Office: Great, how do you spell Grazy...

M:   Ka ray zy     C  R  A  Z  Y

O: Got it.  So what do you need to fix?

M: Could you please tell me the birthdate on the file?

O:  Well....huh...HEPA regs....

M: Tell you what. I'll tell you.  545 BC

O: Yeah, ok

M: You're sure?

O: Yeah.

M: Great. Please change the insurance info to NVP, Nev'a Bett'a Providers.

O: No problem. Do you want me to change that for your daughter too?

M: My daughter?     No, my daughter is living in Hawai'i and is no longer here.

O:  Ok...Do you want me to change your husbands address then.

M: What? No. He lives here with me.

O: If he's there with you, what's your two year daughter doing alone in Hawai'i?

M: Two?  Thirtytwo....

O: Well, I have a copy of your ultra sound and delivery report from two years ago....

M: Perhaps you should check the birthdate on that.

O: Ok!    May 2006

M: Not the babies... the MOTHER'S!!! (frustration begins to take over)

O: oh!   OOOOHHHHHH (finally she wakes up)

They can't file; I swear they can't file, they can't read, they definately can't think!!!! I remember when the office called to confirm the Ultra Sound Appointment. I had thought we had resolved that issue then. Apparently, not.

Later that day, I'm having a little conversation with the g'son. I used this story to emphasize the importance of careful listening and instruction following; two biggies when dealing with a five year old. He thought it was really funny. Oh, g'mama...they thought Ce Ce was your baby. I agreed with him. It was funny. After a thoughtful pause he said, "Boy I'm glad you don't have a Ce Ce, too. One girl in the house is all I can take!"

Did I mention that Honey and Son both use the same primary physician? Did I also mention that sonny boy is a Junior? 

A friend from another space passed this little award on to me recently. I was not going to post it because I do not normally blow my own horn. But today is not normal and I could really use a pat on the back. So from me to me on a day when I really need me; Brilliant.

Ok, now go mow the lawn.  LOL.