Fond Remembrances

 

Walking on the walls of Canterbury,
I paused with a smile and watched two boys taking turns on a rope swing.

They offered me, with generous grins and boyish boasts, a turn.

I didn't see the cathedral that day, to me the entrance fee was too dear,
but my hair felt the wind and my toes pointed toward heaven

On the wall, inside the city, on the wall, inside the city, on the wall.

Starlings Cinema Presents

 Last Friday we strung a sheet between the trees, borrowed a projector,

 Moved all the furniture out on the porch, popped popcorn, invited all the neighbors,

And watched a movie.

A neighbor said that from across the street it looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting - if there had been home movie projectors then.

Mission accomplished.

I only wish that it got darker earlier in the summer and we could do this all the time.

Even Then I knew

I was 11 year s old in 1989. I remember thinking at the time how amazing it was that I was seeing this unbelievable thing happen. The Berlin Wall was coming down. There were Germans now, not "East" and "West Germans" but just Germans and they were on top of the wall rejoicing. I knew that I would remember 1989 forever. It was also the year that this happened
I was watching the clips on YouTube of people escaping their communist countries and they are running, running to freedom. Here is 5 minute documentary.


Here is a video with groovy 80's music:


And a Taylor Swift song which is very appropriate


And raw footage of the wall falling.



Choose your tearjerker. And remember how those people were running to freedom and make sure our children never have to do the same. We want them to have freedom already.

In Which Moose Finds Himself Permanently Moved to the Dog House

My sisters and I planned a little bit of fun this vacation. Trying on our wedding dresses 10 and 7 years later, respectively. The Lovely Mrs. Moss couldn't bring hers, and Super Nanny doesn't have hers yet so she tried on her prom dress.When Weenie walked out in her dress her husband looked at us like we were insane and then walked over and gave her a kiss.
Moose, on the other hand, glared at me from across the room with an unimpressed look that bordered on disgust. Eventually he came over to me and said "Why are we doing this?"
"Because it is fun." I retorted.
"Where did it come from?"
"It's my wedding dress."
"Really?"
"Umm...yeah." I point to the picture of our wedding day that was hanging over my head.
"Oh, it doesn't look as good."

Thanks.
Later he insisted that my dress was sleeveless (on what planet would I wear a sleeveless dress?) and that he thought I picked the dress up while I was antiquing that morning.
I might be biased but somehow I don't think my dress is very forgettable.

Some notes: It seems a common thing that one out grows their wedding dress in the ribcage area.
Next time we hope to have 5 wedding dresses and we will do our hair and makeup too.

Remembering

Today has been an especially uplifting Sabbath. To be honest, Sunday wears me out and I generally come home from church exhausted and on the verge of tears - not uplifted. Today was fabulous.

I finally gave my talk on service. I tweaked it a bit so that it wasn't about Christmas, just service. I think the changes made it even better. It went over well. Kristin took my talk literally and brought me a note and plate of cookies this evening.

Sunday School reminded me that Church History is the history of my family and the history of the world. I was reminded that the gospel is woven into the fiber of my being and I would be so very different without it. I was inspired to make the gospel so much a part of my life that it is apparent to everyone who I am. I will study gospel history more diligently.

Relief Society reminded me of the importance of prayer and the simplicity of the gospel. I plan on savoring Elder Bednar's talk over and over again.

To top it off Mommy Bee reminded me of a conversation years ago about spanking. No, I haven't started spanking my children but I don't think that I ask myself if I am parenting as Christ would as often as I used to and not nearly as often as I should. Thanks for the reminder.


"I am satisfied that such punishment in most instances does more damage than good. Children don’t need beating. They need love and encouragement. They need fathers to whom they can look with respect rather than fear. Above all, they need example.”

- Gordon B. Hinckley

The House Where Samurai Mom Grew Up.

This is the house where Samurai Mom Grew up (well sort of, yes, I did grow up in this house but it was much smaller and way less cool when I lived here.)
This is the living room that I did not grow up watching TV in, this used to be our yard and deck. But now it is a large and fabulous room for having one's friends over to visit in. Note the balcony and hard wood floors and how the rooms flow so freely. We had tiny little boxes unfit for company.This is not the kitchen I learned to cook in. The original kitchen was as wide as a hallway and as long as a bathroom. It was tiny and had a cut out that looked into the living room.
This is the Living room that I did grow up watching TV in, it had pink carpet, there was a door where the china cabinet is.This is the Piano that belongs to me but lives at my parent's house. Since I don't play, I don't miss it too much, but I do love it. There used to be a wood stove and brick hearth in the corner on the left. That stove kept the house so warm that sometimes we would have to open the doors in the winter because it was so hot.
This is the bedroom I slept in from 5-8 years and 14-17 years. It used to have a dark 80's trim window that I would sometimes imagine was ebony. That is the vanity that was in my room and It is one of my favorite pieces of furniture, there is a matching dresser and bed, but the bed has structural issues. Yes that is a massage table in there. Don't ask.
This is the bedroom that I slept in from 8-14 years. My dad and the missionaries built it for my eighth birthday. (Those are my snowflake toes.)
It used to be pink with a fantastic old fashioned blue and plaster ceiling, not pictured here because it has been painted over because no one around here respects tradition. The plaster on the ceiling made little pictures that you could look up and imagine stories about - like finding shapes in the clouds.
That is the little window that was all the natural light for the room, and the fire escape. Nice.
This is the laundry chute in the bathroom. It is a hole my dad cut in the floor of the bathroom closet. I am sure a few children went down it, (never me - definitely Mr. Moss) we were always being told to keep the door shut so the current baby would not fall down it. Now there is no door and grandbabies are free to fall down the hole at will.
These are some of Boss Moss' cowboy hats. To the right you can see the sleeves of his band uniforms...Remind me to tell you about Boss Moss' musical talents some day.

This is a new addition to one of the walls in the house, a huge framed map of Montana, I am jade green with envy, my mom will not give it to me and Moose says I can't bring it home.

I hope you enjoyed this little tour of my childhood home. I meant to publish this in December but the pictures wouldn't load and then ...I forgot.

Defining Grade School Memories

When I think back on my school days at good old F.M.E. (Fair-Mont-Egan School K-8) there are some memories that I always remember about certain events and people.

1st grade - Luke Kenall's 7 older brothers daring me to kiss Luke and I chased him around the school and did.
Also concerning Luke, he was a great artist and I gave up thinking I was good at art because I didn't draw like he did. I regret that.

Second grade - There was a question "What is the longest river in the world?" It was a contest to see who could guess it and then you won. Well I kept writing "Mississippi" over and over again - I kept thinking it was wrong because I was misspelling it. The correct answer is" The Nile."

Timmy Erfle fell off the slide at recess one winter. Every year after that the slide was closed in the winter. Also when Timmy came back to school he wore glasses - totally unrelated I assume but I still threaten my kids with that story when they are on good old fashioned dangerous playground equipment.
3rd grade - I was standing near a chart with each student's name written on it. Suddenly the etymology of Sommer Whitehead's last name hit me and I said aloud "Whitehead - it's like a white head." Sommer was right next to me and did not find it interesting at all - I think she thought I was being mean. I have always been really embarassed about that.

First day of 4th grade- Mr. Benke, the new principle, tells us that our favorite teacher Mrs. Javorka has been fired. I, at the tender age of 8 realize that this was a poor choice of words and it was not very diplomatic of him to say "fired." He should have said she "Will not be teaching here anymore," or the more likely scenario "She decided to stay home and take care of her new baby." Since those fateful introductory words there was a seed of contempt for Mr. Benke (who also liked to drink orange juice and eat tootsie rolls together as a child) planted deep in my heart.

One year we got together and raised money to save and acre of the rainforest by buying it. I wonder about that acre, where is it, can we go hang out there? Is it still "safe." Was it all a scam to wheedle money out of middle school kids?

In the locker room in 6th or 7th grade and Allison Quigley had a long scar or scab on her shin and we learned she had gotten it while shaving - that still makes me weak.

The time Kurt and Sabin collided while playing foot ball and soemone's braces went through their lip and the other guy's cheek.

And the penultimate defining moment of my F.M.E experience was when I was on the basketball team. Both years. Why was I allowed on the basket ball team????
There are many horrible memories from Basketball like the over and back violation - who knew that was even a rule?
I don't recall if I ever scored a point in any game in either season.

So, one game I had a free throw (I could not make a free throw if my child's life depended on it) and Tom Kurdy whose joy in life was to torment and make fun of me shouted from the stands - "Do a granny shot!" I knew I might actually have a better chance of making a basket with a granny shot. So I did it. It was not a point. Everyone asked why I did it. Bad decision.

And while we are on the topic of Tom Kurdy- he was so mean to me; and one blessed Christmas season he and his perfect complexion got a big red zit on the end of his nose.
I was not a cruel kid and I never teased people but I am sure God sent this zit just for me and to give Tom some of his own medicine. So I got people in the class to sing Tommy the Red-Nosed Reindeer to him all the time. Revenge was sweet.

A Motley Crew and a Terrifying Tale

These are our Thanksgiving pies, a sad display, I know. We were a sight to behold, Moose strumming on the guitar, Boss Moss teasing Nutmeg, Commander C stirring the lemon Pudding at the stove, Boba Fett stirring the pecan pie, Grandma Whitehouse making the meringue and Samurai Mom getting ingredients for two pies at once. Mom put the crusts in the pans so they looked much nicer than when I do it and I thought that was an auspicious start. But alas it was not to be.
The pumpkin had this funny bubble in it that split and then sunk, the lemon meringue has questionable pudding and a flat split meringue. And the Chocolate pecan, well it boiled over in the oven making the pie look very sad indeed and in smoking up the kitchen right now and the corn syrup burn on the bottom of the oven as the turkey roasts.

Let us hope that they taste good and that the smoke alarm does not go off.

Before I tell the terrifying tale I will mention that I made a Chocolate Pecan for the ward pie contest this year and I was robbed. First, I looked at my pie after the judging and there is NO WAY 3 judges tasted the pie, there was a half teaspoon sized bite taken out, that is all. Secondly, the judges were all men and the winners were all fruit pies, obviously they were not qualified to judge a chocolate pie. I had sufficient praise from others however. Now, on to my tale.

It was Thanksgiving 1997, London.
Our abroad program was an American school, with American students and British instructors.
Happily, the director of the program arranged a Thanksgiving day feast at a small French restaurant. We all convened and while the dinner was not quite a traditional feast the basics were there and it was acceptable. Then it was time for desert. The servers went around the room taking orders apple or pumpkin pie. Some ordered the apple but most drooled at the prospect of some pumpkin pie and ordered that in their southern drawl (most of the girls at Hollins abroad were from the south.) The instructors did likewise on our recommendation. The pies arrived and those who had ordered pumpkin were a bit perplexed. The pumpkin was not a custard pie but a pie like an apple pie, with little slices of pumpkin in a syrupy filling! I am not joking people! We were appalled but tasted the pie with trepidation followed by disappointment, it was gross. No rich velvety delight for us. We vehemently declared to our British Instructors that THIS was not pumpkin pie and tried to explain it though none of us knew enough about baking one to do it accurately.
Ironic that in England we could not get a custard pie.

(Proof I was there at the infamous Thanksgiving feast, I have no idea who these people are, but the woman in the center was our Shakespeare instructor and the man sitting was her partner. I thought that was SO shocking and metropolitan.)

They don't make them like they used to...

Just a few observations about my trip to the sewing machine repair shop today.

The thing about sewing machine repair shops is that they are really the pharmaceutical company reps of the sewing machine world. They aren't in the business of fixing beloved ancient sewing machines they are in the business of selling outlandishly priced, sleek, shiny computerized machines that do everything but play music while you sew.

So when I arrive at the shop of course I have to try to guide in a 2 year old and open the door while holding a bajillion pound sewing machine. (I don't know how much it weighs - but it is all steel.) Then once I get in (this has happened more than once) there is no one to help me so I put my machine on the desk by the door, remember this is a heavy machine. Sooner or later some middle aged lady hustles up to me and says "Oh, don't put the machines on the glass!" Ummm, where am I supposed to put it? It weighs a bajillion pounds. You would think that instead of a little sign on the desk that you can't see when you are lifting a vintage sewing machine, maybe they should put a small table out specifically for resting your machine????

Then said middle aged lady takes me and my machine to the back of the shop and proceeds to say with a heavy sigh. "I don't know if he can fix it. It is SO old." with the subtext of "You are so stupid, why don't you buy one of our fancy, sleek, plastic machines?" When I brought Violet in for her fist check up I got the same attitude "Why would you buy such an old machine?" Hmmm let me think $50, style, tons of functions made of steel so it is more durable than ....well anything but a determined 2 year old in a messy sewing room, no computer parts to freak out on you....

I miss the little man that used to run the shop, he was nice. He seemed to like old machines and he would take pictures of the kids with a Polaroid camera for the kids to take home. They used to sell used machines back then. I miss you old man who used to run the sewing machine repair shop.
Anyone know of a sewing machine repair place in Portland that does not discriminate against old machines?
I think once Violet's remains are safely back in my possession I will send this post to them anonymously.

Bowling while Babywearing

This is one of my favorite babywearing memories. We were bowling and Nutmeg was asleep. It was a little difficult to bowl with her foot getting in the way, but I am terrible bowler anyhow so it didn't make a difference.
This website is having a fun babywearing photo contest. Do you think I will win?

International Babywearing Week

I have been feeling some sadness lately that the things that defined me as a young mother have gone. I am still the same mother but the seasons has passed. I find it strange that people who are meeting me for the first time don't know that I am a babywearing, EC'ing, homebirthing, lactivist, attachment parenting, crunchy mama.

Nutmeg is almost 3 and it is no longer remarkable that she doesn't wear diapers. I never have occasion to strap her on my back - she would rather be running. I no longer make enough milk to feed the world and grow the chubbiest baby that you have ever seen. My "Got Breastmilk?" bumper sticker is somewhere in the pile of stuff that I never look at. I don't speak up during labor discussions because it hardly seems relevant NOW that I gave birth to my babies upstairs on my own bed in this very house. That Nutmeg's birth was the single most glorious achievement of my life.

So when Mommy Bee reminded me that it is International Babywearing Week I felt compelled to make a statement saying this is one of the defining activities of my life. Babywearing made me the mother I am. Babywearing created income, identity and some of the most precious moments of my life. Through babywearing I have taught others how to connect with their precious children. Baby wearing inspired me to make art.

Through babywearing I have lost weight, made friends and been the object of curiosity. I was so used to people staring at me for having a baby strapped to my back that I hadn't noticed that they don't stare anymore, I am just another mother with 3 adorable moderately behaved children. Unremarkable.

When I received my first sling I put it on with a sack of potatoes to practice before the baby came, I have never, ever looked back.
I went everywhere with my baby on my back from hiking up a slippery muddy slope in search of a view to jumping on a trampoline.

This is a compilation of art I have created about babywearing, others have made for my babywearing business, and photos of me, my children and my baby carriers (all homemade.) The slide show is crude- I have no idea how to do this properly.

Thanks to the lady at the Breastfeeding Class for introducing me to slings, to Tracy for insisting that I try a wrap and to my babies for riding around for 7 years.

Eureka! (or more appropriately) Tiffin!

The date: October 12, 1997. The setting: the Bath Autumn Fayre. The cast: Myself (many years younger and dumpier) Katherine (just as lovely as always) and the ladies who hosted the Bath Autumn Fayre. The objects purchased: a hand knit (and in retrospect ugly) knit wool cap and a delightful confection that I immediately forgot the name of and have not been able to recall these 11 years.

I have found it and it is called Tiffin, here is a recipe. Digestive biscuits are a key ingredient. Digestive biscuits are a delight. Digestive biscuits are how I kept my baby fat and Freshman 15 (or so) while walking several miles a day. Digestive biscuits and Cadbury Dairy milk with caramel.

My favorite part of Bath apart from the Autumn Fayre is the bridge in the picture. There are shops all along the bridge and if you go downstairs in the shops you find yourself inside the bridge itself looking out the window.

New Baby Quandry

When someone in the ward has a baby I try to give them a little space to adjust to the new baby before calling of dropping by to see the baby. In fact I usually drop off my gift and peek quickly at the baby and leave, not wanting to be an imposition. Often I don't drop by at all just wait until the baby shows up at church. I really, desperately want to see the baby and offer my congratulations but I am afraid of overstaying my welcome and adding another care to the new mom.
I was thinking about the ongoing baby explosion in our ward and I realized that I might be wrong in this approach. When I had my babies I LOVED visitors, I craved visitors, I wanted to show off my baby to the whole world. When in the hospital with Commander C I was so touched by the people who came all the way to the hospital to visit. I felt like they really cared about me. With Boba Fett and Nutmeg I was so proud of having them at home that after the first 24 hours I was ready to have an open hosue. I remember everyone who came for a visit, I remember feeling a little sad that people I thought were my friends did not come by.

So, I put the question to you gentle reader, do you appreciate visits after you have a baby or want people to give you your space? I am adding a poll to the right of this post and welcome comments as well.

London Town

It is difficult to speak adequately, or justly, of London. It is not a pleasant place; it is not agreeable, or easy, or exempt from reproach. It is only magnificent. - Henry James
I found this blog today and it made me so nostalgic for London. This man does what I did in London, but for a living. He watches plays. There is nothing quite like living in London even if it is only for a term. There is nothing like having seen 28 shows in 3 months. There is nothing like tossing roasted chestnuts into the Thames because they are not tasty.

Since I don't have any of my pictures of London in digital form (though I did once see a digital camera while in London) I present a picture of my favorite bridge in London. Thoroughly unremarkable Waterloo Bride to me represents the embankment and delightful evenings walking along the embankment zig-zaging the river as we crossed each bridge. Waterloo must have held my favorite view.