A Charmed Life

My Little Town

I love my little town. Today we had the Memorial Day celebration, a big tradition. Can you pick out the flags flying all the way down our street? There's a parade, made up of the town veterans, the fire department, the police, and all the Scout troops. People dress up in red, white, and blu and bring their dogs and kids down to the main street to watch, wave, and cheer. It takes all of 20 minutes, if that, to view the entire thing. We live close to the center of town, so it's a short walk down to the festivities.

There's Meredith marching!

After the parade, we walk over to the town cemetary where there is a brief program--recitation of the Gettysburg address and In Flanders Field by some of the high school students and short speeches--and then we decorate the graves.

 

 

And then we all walk back to the town green where we decorate the monuments to the wars and sing the national anthem.

I've grown more cynical over the years, but I'm still patriotic, and when that flag goes up and everyone is singing with their hands over their hearts, it brings tears to my eyes and goosebumps on my arms.

After chatting with friends on the common, we walked the block home. I still get a rush when I see our house, especially when it's decked out for a holiday.

Am I Dreaming?

 

I dreamed last night I was reliving the late '70s. Harrison Ford was big box office. The energy crisis was making everyone look for "earth friendly" solutions. Gasoline prices were going through the roof, and people were ditching their big, gas guzzling cars for smaller wheels with higher miles to the gallon. Embroidering and embellishing denim was a hot fashion trend, and cork wedgies were popular, too. The president of the US was playing fast and loose with the Constitution, and we were increasingly worried about anti-American sentiment in Iran.

And then...I didn't wake up.

Happy Mother's Day

And all these things I feel and more

My mother's mother felt, and hers before

A chain of life begun upon the shore

Of some dark sea has reached me

And now I can see the chain extending

My child is next in a line that has no ending

And here I am, full of life

Her child will feel when I'm long gone

And thus it is, our story goes on

And on and on and on

And on and on and on and on.

Our Story Goes On

 

This is my favorite picture. If the house were on fire and I knew my family and pets were safe and I had time to grab just one thing, this would be it. Of the three people in it, I'm the only one left.

That's me in the middle, age 5, with my mother and her mother. To be honest, we were never the most photogenic lot. In most family pictures, someone always has her eyes closed, or her mouth is caught in a funny shape, or the shine on her nose reflects off the camera, or we are having a bad hair day (usually that's me). But in this picture, to me, we are perfect--perfectly happy, and perfect-looking, with every bit of our beauty, inside and out, shining through. Each one of us looks serene, happy, and completely natural; the fact that we are all captured together this way seems miraculous to me.

The setting, too, is perfect: This photo was taken at "the cottage," the little bungalow on what seemed like acres and acres of land, but which was probably far less than that, where my grandmother's brother, Theo Christo, and his wife, Thea Thespina lived. If someone said, "We're going to The Cottage," there was no doubt as to which cottage. It was situated on a lake, out in the country, down a tree-lined lane. It was exactly what people today aspire to have when they talk about "cottage style": dormered rooms, genuine barkcloth drapes, a white enamel stove on top of which a pie was always cooling. (One exception: My great-aunt and uncle raised four children there, threw wonderful parties for Christmases and graduations, and never once did anyone think their tiny galley kitchen need to be expanded to 20' x 30', unlike today.)

My cousins and I all had fond memories of The Cottage: there was a green and red striped swing on the back porch overlooking the lake; the adults--our parents and their parents--would send us out to the porch to amuse ourselves while they played cards (mostly Knock and Pinochle) until we nearly rocked the porch with our swinging, and then they would beg us to stop before we broke something (on our bodies or the swing, I never knew). There were always cats and kittens to play with, fruit trees from which my grandmother and great-aunt made jam, flowers to collect in bouquets, and lots of time and space to explore, with one exception: we were forbidden to go down to the lake without an adult.

When I look at this picture, I remember the sunlight off the water peeking through the trees, the picnics outside with the "old" Greek aunts (who were "aunts" even if not actually blood-related and probably younger then than I am now) who wore print dresses and aprons every day if their husbands were alive and black from head to toe ever after if they weren't. I remember everyone making a fuss over me, giving me big, bosomy embraces, pinching my cheeks, teaching me to say "I love you" in Greek and Turkish, and feeding me watermelon and Greek butter cookies called koulourakia.

My  uncle Spero, a gifted photographer, took this picture. He calls it one of his "soul pictures," where the image he has captured transcends the visual to illuminate the subject's inner spirit. He and I don't always agree, but I have to say on this subject we are in complete accord. In this one picture, he has captured the soul of my childhood, and the deep connection between mother and daughter and granddaughter.

That's for Thoughts

You know I love my vintage tablecloths. I'm most drawn to the ones with bold purpley blues, reds, pinks and aqua greens. I love complementary colors: my living room is painted "Pink Mix" (aka Tequila Sunrise) and the adjoining hall is Muscari. The kitchen is Blue Room with accents of deep cherry red.

I often admire all-white rooms in magazines. And I can go into the home of someone who decorates minimally, with off-white walls, a few well-placed pieces of good art, and streamlined furniture--and not only admire their taste, but feel so calm and relaxed there that I vow to go home, paint the walls pale yellow or beige, strip the rooms of every unnecessary item, and decorate with white tulips. But I never do. I like change, variety, and lots of color. It's just my personality. I'm more of a double pink peony than white tulips. I love white tulips, but they're not me.

I do have several white-tulip friends, however. My friend Ann, is one. Simple, tasteful style. And my friend Wendy, too. Not bland by any means. At Ann's home the first thing you notice are her books and fresh flowers from her garden. At Wendy's, it her wonderful collection of artwork, much of it by her own hand, or through her camera lens.

When I decided to sell a few of my treasures a couple of weeks ago, one of the items I decided I could part with was a vintage tablecloth with a pale yellow, white, and silvery gray design of birch bark. Now, I love birch bark--it reminds me of Michigan where I grew up, and I could just see that tablecloth on a picnic table or in the kitchen of little cabin in the woods. It's a simple, elegant design. But it's not me. So I put it up for auction. For several days I watched the numbers tick up on all my other items up for auction, but no bids on that tablecloth--no one had even put it on their watch list. I began to regret even putting it in the auction, as it might just go for the minimum amount--if at all.

Then, suddenly, a bid and a few watchers. In the end, it went for twice as much as the other cloth I had up for bid. I sent off my congratulations and request for payment, and the winner immediately paid and e-mailed me a note: "Surprise, it's me!" The winner was Wendy! I was definitely surprised and pleased on so many levels: that the cloth was going to a good home, that Wendy would care enough to buy it, and that I would get to see it again at her summer cabin up in Vermont.

If you would like to see some samples of Wendy's simply elegant work, look here.

Here's my book!

This is the description:

Featuring artwork from a wide range of contributors, this resource explores creative self-portraits through fun and easy exercises and essays that instruct and inspire artists working in all media. Examples of collage, fiber arts, and mixed media artwork offer visual inspiration while essays throughout the book act as a guide to personal and artistic self-discovery. Step-by-step techniques and creative prompts are used to direct artists through different approaches to creating self-portraits while exercises utilizing collage, drawing, photography, and stitching will jumpstart the creative process and get ideas flowing on paper and fabric, encouraging artists to express themselves in new ways.

It will be available Sept. 1 in stores and is available for pre-order now on Amazon and soon at quiltingarts.com at a special discount.

The Porch is Now Officially Open

We've finally had some perfect weather here: sunshine, 70s, low humidity. So I decided to "open" the porch for the season. Friday afternoon I e-vited a few friends to stop by anytime between 1:30 and 3 for lemonade and cookies.

Olivia helped me sweep and clean. We put fresh cushions on the chairs and decorated with some vintage linens. I made shortbread hearts from my favorite Silver Palate recipe. Do you recognize the plate from this post?

I also put out a basket filled with magazines and beach reads, for browsing or borrowing, and a welcoming satchel of flowers.

I did NOT fuss over cleaning the house (other than the powder room) or press linen napkins or make several different kinds of treats, or even make the lemonade from scratch. (I made the cookies from scratch, isn't that enough?) I let the vintage linens and my grandmother's etched glassware bring the "special." The idea was to be spontaneous and have a pleasant, relaxing time.

At 1:30, Janet, Carol, and Sandy arrived. Janet brought a box of goodies from the local bakery, which was quite unnecessary, but appreciated. We sat and chatted about our kids, town politics, books, schools, vacations, and what a pleasure it is to sit on the porch and enjoy the day. They stayed until 5! Not one of us felt guilty about not using the afternoon to do housework, rake the lawn, or otherwise do something we "should." Everyone had at least two cookies and no one talked about diets. It was suggested we do this every week, possibly with cocktails.

That's fine by me. Saturdays at 1:30 you'll find me on the porch with a beverage and a magazine. Stop by and join me.

Time

Meredith and I have spent a lot of time together this week. She has been ill with a fever high enough to keep her prostrate for the first two days and much of the third. She's slept a lot, too, and has hardly eaten. I've read to her, brought cooling towels for her head, doled out medication, tried not to let her see my alarm as her temp soared over 103 (not high for a child, I know, but scary nonetheless), read to her, kept her shivering body warm with blankets and flannel, rubbed her back, and tried to amuse her when she's awake.

That's my job of course; I'm her mom. But with my husband out of town, our teen busy will all things teen-like (homework, Facebook, a boy, after school activities) and even cooking her own meals and doing her own laundry, and me without the hustle and bustle of going to the office, Meredith and I have been alone together a lot this week, and I've felt a heightened sense of mothering.

When your children get to the age that mine are, 11 and 15, "mothering" seems less about cuddiling and caretaking and more like being a combination drill sargeant/chauffeur/psychologist/traffic cop while delivering endless supplies of food. Whole days seems to pass when I see Olivia only through bleary pre-caffeine eyes in the morning as I drop her off to school and weary, computer screen-reddened eyes as she kisses me goodnight. A lot of the time I watch her slip up the back stairs like a stealth daughter, coming in from one activity and racing to get to another, and I want to say, "Wait, come back here. I need to see you again before you grow up." And then there are times when she comes in my room after 11 p.m. and wants to talk endlessly about the minutia of her day--which is so typical of her age--and I have to force my tired self to listen, nod, and muster up some sage advice. If I don't listen now, I may never get the chance again.

Meredith is at the age, and of the temperament, where battles erupt out of nowhere. She's never wrong, it's not her fault, and she always has to have the last word. (Yes, I do realize she is just like me. Mom, wherever you are, I know you are smirking.) She always "needs" something, and getting it never seems to be enough. The rest of the time, she smart, sweet, funny, cuddly and beautiful. But she can turn on a dime. It's exhausting.

This week has been a break from all that. And it has reminded me of when she was a baby. She was the easiest baby in the world, as opposed to Olivia who screamed if you put her down and refused to sleep. From the moment she was born, Olivia was on to the next thing. Go, go, go. The word we heard the most about her from other people was "alert." Meredith was a gentle, quiet baby. The word we heard about her was "sweet." Though affectionate, Olivia rejected anything confining. The Snugli was out of the question. Meredith, on the other hand, slept contendedly against my chest while I wrote freelance articles.

Though I wish she were not ill, and I am trying not to think of the tasks that my coworkers are doing in my stead, this week with Meredith has been a throwback to those baby days, when it was just the two of us for hours on end, and I've enjoyed it. Yesterday, when she was feeling better and had come to sit beside me while I typed, I looked over at her beautiful, sweet self, on the verge of leaving childhood and navigating the journey toward womanhood, and I snapped this picture.

Another Wedding

Aren't they sweet? I love this little wedding party, but it's time for someone else to enjoy them. This set, handpainted in Germany, is also listed on eBay. The pieces are just 2" high, at the most! If you know of someone who is getting married, or if you are throwing a celebration for them, or if you just collect wedding-themed items or miniatures, please take a look.

I am also listing some vintage tablecloths:

Why so industrious?

I am home today with Miss Meredith who has a fever. I suspected she would not be well enough to go to school today last night, when she refused dessert. A sure sign in her (as with me), that something is amiss. I'm sorry she's not well (she was actually sad not to go to school today as she has an important band practice and some fun activities planned for after school), and goodness knows I have work to do, too, at the office. But it's a nice day, so I'm hoping to springify the outside decor a bit, removing the plaid, flannel covers from the porch cushions and festooning the entry with forsythia.

Garden Wedding

Not me, silly! Or my daughters. No, this is a miniature wedding set that I have had for many years, and in my great clearing out of everything, have decided to sell it. You'll find it on eBay. It's so adorable--what a great centerpiece it would make for the wedding or a shower. The little knife and server on the cake table, the candelabra and presents on the gift table. So sweet, so retro.

It's so sweet, I hate to part with it. But I'm too far away from my own girls' weddings, and as one of them wants to jump out of an airplane for her wedding, I'm thinking there's very little chance of using it. So, if you know of anyone who loves miniatures or who has a wedding in the near future, please pass this along.