Shadow Box Memories

About twenty years ago when my husband and I became by default the oldest generation in our family, I found myself with a plethora of memorabilia. Some I gave to any of the younger generation who showed interest (which is why I have only one of my grandmother's wedding slippers,) some is displayed on walls and cabinets, some is filed away in trunks (three wedding dresses -- mine, my mother's, my grandmother's - what madness is this?)

This shadow box is one result of my trying to find things to do with this wealth of material -- it combines things from my family and John's family.

The eyeglasses and cameo were my grandmother's, as was the little crescent moon pin. ((I think she told me she bought it with money from her first paycheck.) And the stern-looking lady in the brass frame is her grandmother -- Eliza Horn, circa 1850.

My favorite thing is the letter in the lower left corner. It was written by John's grandfather on August 30, 1913 to Miss Fay Parker. Evidently her family had taken her to the beach for a "rest cure" and had forbidden Gene to visit, though family members could -- including a young male cousin who may have aspired to Fay's hand as well. In the inside of the letter, Gene mentions this cousin and says he may have to introduce him to "Sweetlips" -- Gene's name for his shotgun.

However the family may have felt about Gene, who was only two years out of high school, the fact is, as the wedding invitation shows, he and his 'Fairy' were married on October 21 of the same year.

And John and I attended their fiftieth anniversary party!

There's a picture of my grandmother with my mother in her lap, my grandmother's silver thimble, a snap of my grandparents in a rented buggy, a locket, a little book that belonged to Fay, a tin type (daguerreotype?) of her father, and many more bits and pieces. (Click on the pictures to "biggify" for a closer look.)

And on the back of the shadowbox I put an envelope with a description of the various artifacts -- an aid to memory.

A good thing because I had to use it to write this post.

A Roving Eye . . . and a Winner!

looking for pictures . . .






















ivy, green and pink beneath the snow . . .















. . . a cardinal posing in a triangle of grapevine . . .

Extreme patina and archival ties . . . last worn . . . when?

Gaudy pepper . . .

less gaudy lady cardinal . . .

A long exposure and less than steady hand turn the Christmas lights into a flight of shining doves . . .

The woodpile -- all-important these days -- has a rhythmic beauty of its own . . .

and an attempt to capture the moon, again with a long exposure and wobbly hand, produced this dramatic burst of light . . .

. . . looking for pictures . . .

As promised back on December 26, I've drawn two names to receive copies of The Day of Small Things when at last it's published in September.

And the winners are . . . (drumroll) . . . Vagabonde, Pat Weaver, and Nancy Meadows.

Okay, three winners, as Pat and Nancy's slips were stuck together. I'll need snail mail addresses and you all will need patience -- unless you'd rather have one of my earlier books.

Selling the Broom

Some years ago, John was talking with a local store owner -- a man who also owned a great deal of property in the little community around the store. The store had belonged to his daddy before him, the man said, and it was due to his daddy's good business sense that the family was so well off.

And he did it all by selling a broom.

It was during the Depression, when it was common practice for a farmer to buy on credit and settle up, as best he could, when the crops were sold. Folks would come in to the store and make their few purchases -- salt, baking powder, coffee, maybe some wheat flour -- and the storekeeper would total them up and put the total in his books.

And there was always a charge for a broom.

This was the scam. The enterprising storekeeper kept a broom leaning up against the counter. He always added it into the total. Usually the shopper just signed the tab or made his mark without noticing the extra sum on the ticket. On the rare occasion that it was noticed, the shopkeeper merely said, "Oh, sorry, I thought you wanted that," and scratched off the charge.

"I don't know how many time Daddy must of sold that broom," the son told John, chuckling at the memory. "But I'll tell you one thing -- when he died, we found a shoebox stuffed full of deeds."

Because, of course, when the farmer's crop failed, as they sometime did, the next step was to offer his farm as security against the ever-growing debt he had to the village store-keeper.

I wonder how many brooms it took to bankrupt a farmer?

And I wonder how the son could think it was a funny story.

Counting Crows

One for sorrow, two for mirth,

Three for a wedding, four for a birth,

Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret not to be told.
Eight for heaven, nine for hell,
And ten for the devil's own sel'.

Counting Rhyme (from The Folklore of Birds, by Laura C. Martin, 1993)

The Long View

Another cold day, temperatures in the teens.
Morning snow gave way to blue skies;
By afternoon the clouds were rolling eastward.

Masses of pearly clouds mimicked
The snow-covered slopes . . .

And both blushed in the light of the setting sun.

Handmade

We've always been fond of handmade gifts -- for giving or receiving. This year, alas, I had no time to make anything but John stepped in and turned (pun intended) out these beautiful wine stoppers from an array of exotic woods . . .

along with some elegant bowls and tiny little kaleidoscopes (not pictured.)

Claui surprised us with a lovely set of hand-embroidered napkins. She worked on them, she told me, during the power outage, by means of a head lamp. I love it!

And Justin presented us with an elaborate drawing of our extended family . . . (He was quite kind to some of us in his depiction of body shape.)

John and I are standing in the front door with Maggie between us and a tangle of dogs in front of us -- Molly and the Border boys, Jack and Dan.

Then going counter-clockwise, Ali Ali is in a rocking chair, next, our friend Josie, Claui, with William trying to climb into her lap, and Justin (looking pretty pleased with himself.)

Next is Otis the pit bull, sulking under the little table. Our friend Kasie is pouring wine, while Cory is taking a picture of Miss Susie Hutchins. Ethan and Aileen and their dogs are next. (Ethan is dashing in a frock coat, such as he wore at his wedding) and Big Eddie is stretching on the railing.

Handmade and heartwarming!

A New Year's Wish

I wish you a New Year like a new day, full of promise and unlimited possibility . . .

I wish you Spring, the sweet freshness of daffodils and the birds, singing for joy . . .

I wish you Summer and the smell of cut grass and wind-dried sheets. . .

I wish you Autumn, with blazing trees and crisp nights and the whiff of woodsmoke in the air . . .















I wish you Winter and its glowing nights and magic dawns . . .

And with each season and on every path you walk, I wish you Beauty and Happiness.