A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember

A friend of mine does this every Friday and I think it is a good idea. 

Dictionary.com defines chutzpah as unmitigated effrontery or impudence, gall, audacity or nerve.  If you were to ask my relations they would agree that it is a good adjective to apply to me.  The first time that I ever heard the word my grandmother was using it on me.  I believe I was in the library across the street from her apartment and I strode up to a woman who was reaching for a book that I wanted to borrow and had the nerve to inform her that she had plenty and I wanted that particular volume.  She surrendered the book to me out of sheer shock I think. 

This week my chutzpah took a different turn.  Since my father was diagnosed with cancer I have occasionally driven up the road where the house that I grew up in is located.  Since it is on a dead end (right at the dead end as a matter of fact) I cannot exactly drive by it.  I actually have to turn around in the driveway when I get there so I am sure that the owners, after a few times of my doing that, got the feeling that this person wasn't just randomly turning around in their driveway.  Yesterday the homeowner stepped out and asked me if he could help me.  I rolled down the window and explained that I was just looking at the house and that I had grown up there.  He invited me in to look at the place but explained that he was sure plenty of things were different since I had lived there.

He told me that he and his wife were the fourth owners since my parents had sold it. They had bought it as a result of the previous owners defaulting on their mortgage.  When they took possession the place had been literally trashed.  (I saw the pictures!)  He has been living there for 3 years now and has been slowly recovering the place and though it was difficult to reconcile the changes with my memories of my childhood home, he was doing a nice job. 

My only real curiosity about the place was the existence of a table that my dad had built to fit in the kitchen.  It was a triangle with two of the corners flattened.  I remember distinctly the night that dad had put the formica on the top of that table.  I also remember many meals when my legs got tired of not being able to reach the floor and so I rested them on the cross piece that supported the legs of the table.  The table is still there and in beautiful condition.  The current owner had refinished the bottom and restored it to it's former glory trying to match the original stain.

I was also astonished when he asked me if I wanted to see what they had done to the two basements of the house.  I looked at him in confusion saying that there was only one basement under that house and the cistern under the kitchen but that we had never been able to excavate into it because the walls were too thick.  He took me down and showed me that the cistern was indeed opened up for use and he had a nice exercise room under the kitchen with access from the back laundry room which has since been completely insulated and opened to the kitchen.

After driving away I felt thankful that this nice gentleman had allowed me to see my family home once more and also that the changes to it have helped me to let go of it and it is now just another house in my mind.

  Layn had come into our lives.  A child, a baby, a new life and new hope all rolled into one.  That is how I have always felt about babies.  When I look into their faces I always imagine I see the face of God.  Innocence and wisdom both dwell in the same vessel of clay.  Those who know me know how compelling a small child is for me.  I lose what little dignity I might have had (not much) and am inclined to make a fool of myself just to get a smile or a giggle out of a little one.  I don't talk down to older kids but I try to find what and where they are and then to connect with them.  Most of all I like to listen to them.  There is great wisdom in the things they say.  But I digress, here was Layn in our lives.  It had been five years since a small one had lived in this house.  Each of us deals with grief and tragedy in our own way and mine was to put a distance between myself and the imagined cause of my pain; infants.  Sure I still smiled at them and admired them but the desire to hold them and really connect with them was suppressed.  It hurt, why go there, that was my policy.

I couldn't avoid Layn.  He lives here, his mom needed my help and my family was very aware of the unusual restraint in my attitude toward him.  So I stopped trying to create and spent myself on Layn.  There is a certain power that denial has, it is like a drug.  It can lull you into a false sense of well being that is deadly.  Shortly after Layn was born my grand-niece was born also.  Why not create something unique and special for her since she was the first great-granddaughter in the family?  After all Layn has been here for two months already and I seem to be doing fine.  I no longer prowl his room during naps to make sure that he is still breathing and I can sleep through most nights without listening for him to wake up to nurse.  High on the drug of denial I convinced myself that everything was ok.

I remember the afternoon well.  Melissa went off to work, Layn went down for a nap, and I proceeded to press and cut fabric for a gift for Anna Grace.  By the time I realized the cause and what I was doing, I must have made a dozen trips up and down the stairs to check on him and had accomplished nothing.  My head was pounding and my stomach was so sick that the thought of food was enough to send me running for the bathroom.  This wasn't going to work.

I will spare everyone the details of the months that followed, some of them I am not really sure of, suffice it to say I am free at last!  I really don't know exactly how this all came about but Sunday morning I stood in the shower thinking about a dress and bonnet set that I have to deliver and I suddenly became aware of the lack of fear.  I stood there in wonder at the lack of the usual feelings of inadequacy, fear, and sickness wondering if the client was really going to like what I had made. 

This is the set that I am referring to.  Granted there is nothing really special about these garments except the fact that they were designed and produced with very little effort is what is significant.

There were no frustrating mistakes born of lack of confidence or vascillating over what goes together and what looks nice.

From that set quickly and easily flowed these others.

The yellow binding and trim was handmade by me instead of relying on purchased binding that is usually close but not exactly what I want.

This little yellow sundress I think was truly inspired.  It is fully lined (which I would never have done when I lacked the confidence) and the green gingham trim was custom made.

This little apron is a mom and me pattern and one that I whipped out in 1 1/2 hours.

I have even been trying my had at clothing for little boys.  You can't see it (since I am no photographer) but the top is piped with bright red piping and there is snap tape in the crotch to help when changing diapers.

It seems to me that the flood-gates have been opened and the satisfaction and joy that I was always able to derive from this kind of expression is back.  The difference is that I am changed.  I have learned to fully appreciate what I once thought was something that was a part of my make-up.  I know now that it can so easily be lost.  Each garment that I have produced in the past week has an element of gratitude sewn into it as well as my own stamp of creativity.

I'm free at last....as long as it lasts.  Thanks be to God I'm free at last.

Turn the clock ahead twelve years.  I'll spare you the horrid details except to say, guess what I was intent on doing when tragedy struck again in this house.  It wasn't my fault, I am not to blame, but it is sure funny how the human mind works or how my mind works or whatever.  This time the door slammed shut tight and was latched and double barred and any other metaphor that can be used to describe what happened in my heart.  The skills were still there, the need was more than there and so was the drive but the ability to let go and immerse myself was gone.  It was all replaced by fear and uncertainty. 

Whereas before I would take on just about any project, even those I had never tried before, having the audacity to learn on the job.  Now I wouldn't even volunteer to sew a button on a shirt.  Sure the mending got done around here, when there was really no choice anymore.  Gifts got made but there was not the usual flair and extra something that marked them as uniquely my own creation.  The largest insult was that if one of my kids asked for advice or help I was often gripped with overwhelming feelings of inadequacy.  I was just not sure anymore. 

Then to add insult to injury Layn came along last year.  I was being forced to face what had become my biggest fear.  I am of course expected to do some sewing for the baby who had come to live in our home, what could be more natural for me than that?  Little did those around me know that not only was I unable to sew anything remotely creative but having a baby in the house while I was sewing was a paralyzing thought.

Before I go much further, to those of you who have seen pictures of my work.  The difference between what I have done in the past 18 years and what I used to be able to do is vastly different.  The effort that it takes for me to create now is often exhausting and frought with feelings of inadequacy.  Prior to this odyssey into mental  instability nothing could or would stop my creative juices.  There was no effort involved in anything that I did and everything was pure pleasure.

Around 40 years ago my mother taught me to sew.  Actually she taught me to run a sewing machine, how to read a pattern, and then kind of let me loose.  Ever since then sewing has been my form of expression.  Like an artist uses paints and paper to translate the world for himself, I use fabric and my sewing maching to reveal what is best inside of myself.  I don't think that there has been any type of sewing that I haven't tried although I prefer making quilts and clothing for young children.

Not only has sewing been my form of self-expression it has also served other purposes in my life.  Practically speaking if it wasn't for my sewing machine and skill my daughter wouldn't have had the beautiful wardrobe that she enjoyed for a lot of her growing up years.  I have also used my skills and talent to earn income so that my kids could have piano and violin lessons, Christmas gifts, and the little extra things that come up in the everyday lives of kids.  Sewing has been for me, most of all therapeutic.  Whenever there were times that I was troubled or needed to think, deeply, I turned to the escape of my creativity to ease my mind and soul.  Thanks be to God that I have a husband who may not always have understood but who has always nurtured and encouraged that outlet in me.

Eighteen years ago I was pregnant with our youngest daughter.  Due to complications that I had suffered with the birth of Matthew I was placed on bedrest to hopefully avoid a repetition of the same complications.  I rested, as much as a mother of six can rest.  But I made one exception, I still sewed.  No big deal anyone who didn't know me would be thinking, after all how stressful can that be.  Stressful, not at all mentally, but physically more than for the average person.  There was my mistake.  When I have a project going or an idea that I want to execute I am like the proverbial dog with a bone.  I have been known to sew without regard for what is going on around me. 

Fast forward about a year and all of the trauma of the birth and death of my daughter has passed and life has settled into a relatively normal routine.  The first indication of a problem is when my mom asks me to make a quilt for her to put on the bed in the spare bedroom.  Quilting, one of my favorite things to do!  The fabrics are chosen and what could be better, the color scheme is greens, my favorites!  There the materials sat for the longest time.  I could not do it.  I couldn't cut, I couldn't even turn a machine on.  My mom was very patient and when I finally was able to put that quilt together I felt as if I had climbed the highest mountain. 

There was so much guilt and pain sewn into that quilt that it is a wonder that it isn't tainted. Not that I believe in such things.  The power was back and the outlet was once again there for me to express myself.  Or so it seemed.  I had the power but there was always a certain constraint attached to sewing.  Something was wrong but it was no longer as wrong as it had been before I had finished that quilt.  I should have taken the time to appreciate the release, to step back and examine what had cause the problem.  Instead I simply went about my old ways.

Outside my window....I haven't a clue since it is still dark (it is usually that way at this hour of the morning).  The thermometet says 37 and I have no reason to doubt it.  Yesterday was a beautiful day, I very much hope that today is equally as lovely.

I am thinking...much deepness of thought.  This night has been a night for deep thought since it hasn't been a night for sleeping.  I have been thinking about lessons learned and learning lessons.  I have found that the presence of a baby in the house, watching his daily progress, puts me in mind to notice my own daily progress.  It is a good thing to occasionally contemplate the parallels between the growth and development of a child and that of a so-called adult.

I am thankful for....the abundance of blessings that the good Lord continues to bestow upon my unworthy person.  I am thankful for the gift of the trip to New York last week.  My friend Mary and I had a good time together and it was nice to relax and spend friend time together. I am also thankful for the coming home to my family afterward.  Being away always give a new appreciation to everyone.

From the schoolroom....Mary-Kate completed her mid-terms last week so she is winding her way down to the end of this semester.  Matthew is finishing up his physics book and has a research paper to write.

From the kitchen....I think that Rueben casserole is going to be on the menu.  I have some corned beef brisket that has to come out of the brine and some sourkraut that has to come out of the jar so it seems like a logical meal to prepare for tonight.

I am wearing....nice warm jammies.  Way too early to think about getting my day going. 

I am creating....completion.  I have found the bottom of the basket that holds all the hand sewing.  The next project to takle is the pile of jeans that need patching and hopefully the basket that holds the ironing will be emptied today.

I am going....nowhere today.  Not on Monday.  Mount washmore is calling to me as well as this sorely neglected house.  This place is suffering from a bad case of nice weather.

I am reading.....Jesus of Nazareth by Pope Benedict XVI

I am hoping....that the weather continues to be nice for the rest of the week.  I would like to get peas and potatoes into the ground by week's end.

I am hearing....the sounds of the sleeping house.  There is a clock ticking behind me, periodically Layn will rustle in his crib in the other room, and the house will sigh and creak as it settles on its foundation.  Otherwise all is quiet as the rest of the family slumbers away.

Around the house....ugh! I don't even want to look.  The weather was so nice this weekend that even the basics in picking up got neglected.  The only room in the house that isn't a disaster is the kitchen because I won't allow that.  That is okay though.  Life happened around here and I love the sound and the smell of it.  If I stand in each room and close my eyes I can imagine each activity that took place.  I hear Matthew telling everyone about what went on during his lifeguard training over the weekend.  I can see Ian gesturing as he and Doug discuss the disposition of the old hay racks and the lumber in the shop.  Behind both is the murmuring of MK and Melissa as they discuss favors, decorations, and invitations as they plan the wedding.  That is the pulse and life of this house.

One of my favorite things....toddlers!!!! Layn is walking, most of the time, but when he wants to really get there he drops onto all fours and he is off like a shot.  He discovered his voice in earnest this weekend.  All day yesterday he kept up a running commentary to himself and anyone who would listen to him.  He went for his first ride in his red wagon and managed to take a face plant out of it.  Guess he learned that you don't stand in a wheeled vehicle.  He has also found that rocks are great toys but taste awful.  I love the world of toddlers.

A few plans for the rest of the week.....shovel myself out from underneath the pile of work today (hopefully).  I have to take some pictures of some kids modeling my latest so that I can get them posted for sale.  Two holy hours this week and a class to teach along with keeping this place together.  Boy do I love my life.

Here is a picture thought that I am sharing with you....

Layn is learning to feed himself.  Tomato slices are some of his favorite things to eat.  He and grandma like to sit and have toasted cheese with tomato on it.

Taking a ride in his red wagon.  This is after the dive out.  He knows grandpa doesn't like stones where they don't belong so he was helping to pick them up out of the grass.  Besides they make great play things.