Story Telling

As summer is drawing to a close, my thoughts turn inward... not philosophically, but rather to the inside of my house. I don't do spring cleaning, I do fall cleaning, and much of the change inside my house occurs in September and October, before the holidays. As I was wandering through my house this morning, tablet in hand, taking notes on ideas I have, I was reminded of this article I wrote for the now retired blog, One Generation to Another. It was first published November 27, 2007. Hope you enjoy! 

            I have been accused (accused, hmmmm, sounds so harsh) ok, it’s been suggested that I do not handle change well. Truth be told, I normally have to be dragged kicking and screaming into change. It’s not that I’m dissatisfied with end results, case in point, THE INTERNET, but that’s a whole ‘nother story, it’s just that I cringe at the process of changing. Although I can be impulsive, spontaneous, and rather fickle, I put a lot of effort into fine tuning and tweaking my decisions, and once I do, I settle into them and see little reason to go through the process again.

            Perhaps the only place in my life where this does not hold true is in decorating. I view houses as living, breathing, organic entities that must continuously evolve or face extinction. Let’s face it. We’ve all been in prehistoric houses, often our grandparents. (Hmmm, must remember I’m a grandmother when I say things like that!) They decorated their houses 30 years ago, and other than removing the protective plastic sofa cover, they’ve changed little. Repainting means finding a shade that most closely resembles the color already on the walls, and their new furniture must fit into the dimples already created in the carpet from previous furniture. Over the years they’ve added their children’s graduation pictures to the walls, and the shelf above the couch holds a growing collection of souvenirs from their road trips, but nothing significant changes, ever.

            I, on the other hand, am ALWAYS in the throes of decorating. You know how some people feel about a new car smell, to the point of buying “new car” potpourri when the original smell has worn off? Well, that’s how I feel about the smell of fresh paint or recently sawed wood. It’s intoxicating! Once that freshly decorated smell goes away, I get the wanderlust for a new project! And it’s not decorating for the sake of decorating. Oh NO, far from it! It’s more like listening to your house and responding to its needs. A couch says, “I’m tired of looking at the fireplace. Let me look out the window for awhile. ” A wall screams for a splash of color. And the laundry room is pleading with you to restore order by installing cubbies. In my opinion, you would be heartless to ignore their needs.

            I realize it takes practice to learn how to speak “house”. Just like new parents need to learn to interpret their infant’s nonverbal cues, so must a homeowner learn to listen to their house. So, grab a cup of coffee, herbal tea, or favorite libation and take a “day trip” through your house. Visit each room and sit in a variety of locations. It’s amazing how different a room looks from different vantages. Start a home journal. I like to use an 8” x 11” sketch book that you can write, draw and paste in. Record your ideas and possible changes. You can use the journal to collect photos and ideas when looking through magazines or surfing the net. Then use the journal to record your changes, including pictures and info for future reference. One of the biggest secrets to decorating is learning to separate the screams from the whimpers. Just like parents know the difference between their child’s whine for a superfluous unfulfilled desire and the scream of pain, our house’s needs vary in intensity. Don’t get overwhelmed by everything you want to do. Prioritize and realize that decorating is an ongoing process, and to the chagrin of everyone I’ve ever lived with, never complete!

            Obviously, budgets are a large factor when planning any change; however, many alterations are relatively inexpensive or free and produce dramatic results. Rearranging your living room to create an intimate “chat corner” costs nothing more than a few sore muscles. Bringing color into a room through freshly painted walls or a new wall hanging can be worked into most budgets. Just remember, there’s no way you would be happy wearing the same outfit day in and day out, neither does your house. Change, gulp, is good, at least where your house is concerned. Consult it frequently and listen when it speaks! 

I use sketch books for the house and garden. Over the years they’ve gotten banged around and often abused…case in point, one fall I needed to get a shipment of plants in the ground before a trip, so I was out working in the garden, in a steady drizzle, with my trusty sketch book haphazardly wrapped in plastic while providing the blueprint for planting. Not only do journals become a great resource of collected info and plans, but a wonderful diary of the life of your house and garden.

Anyone who knows me well, knows I NEVER make "just enough" food for dinner. When I make chicken soup, you would think I planned to feed the villagers... and, in fact, sometimes I do :) But here is my philosophy... it really doesn't take that much more time to make a pot of soup for 20 as it does for 6. Then, after we have dinner, and eaten to sate our appetites, I'm on easy street for the next few days. I now have enough cooked chicken to make chicken casserole, chicken cacciatore, chicken salad sandwiches, and... well, you catch my drift. And, I have something on hand to feed unexpected visitors AND the expected wee ones that grace my table on a regular basis. Some people might look at my dinner table and say "excessive". I look at it and say "brilliant" :)

Well... I have basically the same philosophy when it comes to designing and crafts. Why make a design you will only use once? If you put the time into designing something you like, look for other ways to make use of the design. Just makes sense! Example: take our basic gnome design. We've put that puppy through the paces. It's been featured in felt, woven fabric, wooden pegs, cut wood, and yarn. Today, I'm adding paper.

I had a copy of the pattern that I had used to make the Old World Wooden Gnomes sitting on my desk. While on the phone, I was doing my ubiquitous doodling. I colored the little gnome, when I thought, Hey, this would make a cute bookmark. So, I simply blew the design up 200%, and wah lah, a pattern for a bookmark. 

You can make the bookmarks out of heavy cardstock and color with pencils or markers. (You could you crayons but you do run the risk of smearing wax on your book.) I chose instead to do mine on 140 lb. watercolor paper. One 9" x 12" sheet will make 5 bookmarks if you lay them out close together. I then used watercolor pencils to color the gnomes, and then used water to paint over them. You could also use regular water colors. Here are the simple directions, using watercolor paper and watercolor pencils.

Make a copy of the pattern found HERE. Cover the pattern with packing tape and cut out the front and back pieces. The tape will make the gnome firm, making it easier to trace. And you can then use them as templates over and over again.

Trace on the FRONT of the watercolor paper. Note: It is very important to trace on the front of the paper... the bumpy side. This side will give the best results when you watercolor, and since you will be looking at the front more than the back, make the front side the nicest :) You should be able to get 5 gnomes per page if you place them close together and flip flop them, top, bottom, top, bottom, top.

Cut out the bookmarks. 

On the back side of your pattern pieces, rub pencil lead on the lines. Tip: hold the patterns against a sunlit window to see the designs through the paper.

Place the front template on top of the front side of the bookmark. Using a ball point pen or blunt, pointy object (knitting needles work great) trace the lines of the pattern. When you remove the template, there will be a light marking of the pattern on the bookmarker. These were made from the pencil lead you rubbed on back of the pattern. Do the same to the back of the bookmark.

Using a fine tipped, water proof marker, copy over the tracing lines. Do this to the front and back of the bookmark. Make sure the sign and date the back of the bookmark :) Then proceed to color the bookmark, front and back, using watercolor pencils. Use darker colors to highlight the design.



Then, using a brush and water, "paint" the bookmark, front and back.

To prevent the bookmark from curling, when the bookmark is partially dry, I place it between 2 pieces of clean paper and weight it down, and let them finish drying.

If you would like, you can cover the front and back of the bookmark with clear contact paper to make it more durable. I personally prefer to leave it natural.

Now, go find a good book, and get reading!

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Yesterday Pixie was busy drawing a picture. When she was done, she proudly showed it to me.
Gammy: Come sit on my lap and tell me about your picture.

Pixie: This is the grass, this is the sky, and this is the kitty.

Gammy: That looks like a very happy little kitty. (I made this assumption because of the smile on its face.)

Pixie: Oh, no, Gammy. It's a very sad kitty.

Gammy: Why is the kitty so sad?

Pixie: Because she lost her mommy and her daddy and she'll never see them again. They got lost and she can't find them anywhere.

Gammy: Well, with all her legs maybe she can zoom fast and run and find them. (On the word "zoom" I quickly "zoomed" the paper through the air.)

Pixie: (Taking the picture away from me.) There's no zoom, zoom. She's just a baby kitty. Baby kitties don't zoom, zoom.

Obviously THIS was NOT the ending Pixie had in mind!

Gammy: Well, if she's lost, why is she smiling?

Pixie: Because I found her. (With that she gave her picture a hug.)

Well, it's fine to hug a picture, but more fine to hug a stuffie! With the help of the photo copier and Pixie, we had her little kitty ready to be hug for real in no time!

Several years ago I began my blogging "career" as a love letter to my children. One Generation to Another was started to share family stories and bits of wisdom I'd collected over the years. I loved my weekly posts on One Gen. Sometimes they were humorous, sometimes very solemn, but they were always meant to be at least slightly didactic! Below is one of my favorite blogs.

To this day, if someone were to ask me what was the single greatest secret to being a good parent, I'd have to say... remember your youth. And not just WHAT you did, but WHY you did it, and HOW you felt. Then, when dealing with your children, give their trials and tribulations all the respect, consideration and validation you sought as a child. Do that, and you are well on your way to having a wonderful relationship with your children. Below is a blog first posted on January 15, 2008. I hope it speaks to you. 

Think back to your first kiss…your very first kiss from a potential suitor. (We’re not talking about Mommy or Daddy tuck-in kisses here!) Perhaps it was a stolen kiss on the playground, which you promptly wiped off with the back of your hand, or it was that long awaited first kiss, clumsily planted on your brace laden mouth at your first dance. Although the quality of the kiss varies, most of us remember it, and remember it well.

Mine came at the ripe age of 8. His name was Dennis. He was my brother’s best friend. Cute, brush cut, always got in trouble at school, even “flunked” a grade…my first bad boy! Anyway, I was madly in love with him. One day I was in his backyard playing with his sister. She was 4 years older than me, but would hang out with the younger kids if we let her play “Beauty Shop”. She had just gone into the house to get her supplies, and I was sitting on the picnic table awaiting her return. Enter Dennis…

Dennis: I just beat Keith at Buster Brown, and he said I could kiss you.

(Background…First, Keith was my older brother, and second, Buster Brown was a game played on a teeter-totter. The object was to get the other person up in the air so they couldn’t get down. When that happened, the suspended party chanted, “Buster Brown, let me down.” And the weightier participant responded, “What will you give me for me crown?” It was then the responsibility of the gravity impaired contestant to offer something suitable in exchange for his return to earth. Obviously, that day my brother the pimp, offered me!)

Me: He can’t give away my kisses. They’re mine, and I’m not giving you one!

Dennis: “Well, then I’ll just take one!”

At this point he wrestled me to the ground and while looking directly in the eyes…

Dennis: Now I’m going to kiss you.

He kissed me long and tenderly. Even at 8 years old I knew it was an incredible kiss. When he got up, I just laid there, staring up at the clouds, with my head whirling, and holding onto the grass so I wouldn’t fall off the earth! He started to run out of the yard.

Me: Wait! Where are you going?

Dennis: Back to the park to get another kiss!

After all these years I remember that kiss, but more importantly, I remember what it felt like to be “in love” at 8 years old. In the eyes of adults, childhood love is often reduced to trivial proportions, warranting nothing more than amused smirks and good natured teasing. When a child’s heart is broken, consolation often comes in the form of trite platitudes…

“It’s only puppy love.”

“You’ll get over it soon.”

“You didn’t really love him, it was just a crush.”

I will go on record of saying I think the most important secret to effective parenting is to truly remember how you felt while growing up. Love at 8, 12, or 16 is every bit as real, and inarguably purer, than love experienced at 23 or 46! Age is not a justifier of intense emotional conditions. And if, as a parent, you truly wish to communicate with your child then validate their feelings, and REMEMBER what would have helped you.

I remember one New Year’s Eve, when my youngest was around 11 years old. He was going to a “lock-in” at our community’s roller rink. A few weeks before that, he had met a girl while skating. She was from a different school, so they would meet at the roller rink, skate together and began talking on the phone. She became his girlfriend. He had bought her a Christmas gift, and New Year’s Eve was his first opportunity to give it to her. He had put a great deal of thought, and allowance, into the gift. The emerging romantic had purchased a necklace and teddy bear. He placed the necklace around the teddy bear’s neck, put a bow on it, and set off from home with a gift that would have melted the heart of any grown woman!

We dropped him off at 11:00 p.m. with plans to pick him up at 7:00 a.m. the next morning. At 11:45 we got a call from my son asking to be picked up. His father and I went to collect him, and when I saw him, I knew something was very wrong. “Let’s walk”, I suggested. It was snowing heavily, but the two of us trudged through the mostly abandoned parking lot. His father followed along behind us in the car, shining his headlights on the path we were forging. After a while of walking in silence he told me that his girlfriend broke up with him…after he had given her his gift. He looked to me for explanations. Why had she broken up with him? Why did she call just hours before to make sure he’d be at the party? Why did she accept the gift if she was going to break up with him? And why were her and her friends so mean to him after she did? I couldn’t give him the answers he was seeking. All I could do was feel his pain. We walked for half an hour, all the while I held on to the invisible locket that hung from my neck, holding the photos of Dennis and every other boy I had ever loved and memories of countless childhood joys and sorrows. I told him I was sorry he was hurting. I told him I’ve been hurt like that before. And I told him I didn’t know why she behaved like she did. I didn’t tell him that he’d get over this soon, or that he’d find a new girlfriend, or that this was the first of many heartbreaks. That's not what he needed from me that evening; he needed someone with whom to share his profound sorrow.

Of course, he did get over it soon, but the point being, at the time, his feelings deserved to be validated. His pain was real, as was his affection for the girl. Over the years I would have many of these types of discussions with my children. At other times, they choose to keep their emotions tucked away, and my job was to give them room to decide on their own course of action, and to honor their privacy. Raising children is an opportunity to relive our own lives; to revisit the wondrous, and sometimes painful, experiences that helped mold our adult form. By staying in touch with our own childhood, we will be better prepared to help our children through their own.  

What do you keep in your invisible locket? Remember to wear it and open it often!

I am a functioning claustrophobic. Not only do I have trouble with tight places, I also have trouble with constrictive clothes, and God forbid if my ring gets stuck on my finger! But as I said, I am a FUNCTIONING claustrophobic, and I can usually avoid the situations that really set me off. When talking to a friend about it the other day, including possible origins, I shared this story with her that I had written for One Generation to Another March 4, 2008. The post was 1 part claustrophobia and 3 parts cleaning. Not only will it give you an insight into my phobias, it also shares my general philosophy on house cleaning. Hope it makes you smile :)  

When I was 7 years old I was “accidentally” locked in a closet. Actually, my older brother had a hand in it, but, hey, big brothers, right? Can’t live with them, can’t get out of the closet without them! Anyway, this event precipitated two unique outcomes…first, claustrophobia, and second, a life long aversion to housecleaning! The claustrophobia thing is a no brainer…trap a 7 year old in a 3 x 3 foot closet, crammed with snow gear for 4 children, assorted adult coats, extra grocery store bags, a vacuum cleaner, and, according to my brother, a vampire…then remove the knob so that your mom can’t even get you out, and the stage is set for a lifelong, debilitating disorder! The housecleaning thing is a little harder to understand. For those of you who know me, or have regularly read the blog, you know I have an acute sense of smell. While “calmly” waiting in the closet for the termination of my incarceration, yeah, right…the one smell that permeated the air was the musty odor of an engorged vacuum cleaner bag. You know the smell I’m talking about, right? It’s not exactly a bad smell, kinda like little kids socks at the end of the day, but not one you want forever associated with fear! Anyway, every time I smell a vacuum cleaner, my palms get sweaty, my heart races and I feel light headed. I can’t help associating it with the 3 days I spent in that closet…okay, so my mom said it was only half and hour…time enough to find someone in the neighbor with tools and the knowledge of how to pop hinge pins…but long enough to generate a repugnance for any activity associated with using a vacuum. Yeah, yeah, I know, there are other ways to “clean” besides using a vacuum, but that’s my story, uh, more like my excuse, and I’m sticking to it!

To make matters worse, my mom is some kind of household whiz. Next to her I feel like a genetic mutation! I can never, ever remember our house being messy. She had that Stepford Wife ability of maintaining a home that was a showplace, despite the fact that she was raising 4 children, while smiling! (I’ve always secretly hoped she was doing some illegal drugs that gave her super human strength and Pollyanna optimism! It would make my comparable ineptness much easier to endure!) Anyway, she insisted that we kept our things “picked up and put away”, and was in a constant state of “straightening up”. (I was always afraid when I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night that I’d return to a made bed!) When I was growing up, if you had snapped “before and after” cleaning pictures of our house, they would have looked remarkably alike. The only tell tale signs that the house was just cleaned was the new vacuum cleaner marks on the carpet and the renewed scent of Pine-Sol! I, on the other hand, especially when the kids were young, would start my cleaning by bringing in the snow shovel and forging a path down the middle of the room. When I cleaned, you would walk in and say, “Wow, I forgot there was wall to wall carpeting in this room!” It would not be greatly exaggerating my disposition to say I really dislike cleaning…even “loathing” may not be a hyperbole, however, I certainly appreciate and desire a clean house…a complex dichotomy that has been the bane of my existence!

After many years and numerous embarrassing situations with unexpected visitors, I finally stumbled upon a housekeeping system that seemed to work for me. I would “regularly” clean my house…my litmus test for knowing when to clean was when the kids began naming the fuzzy things that were growing in the shower…but allow the day-to-day mess to give our house, what I affectionately refer to as a “lived in” look. I was comfortable with the house if it remained just 30 minutes away from being “company ready”. If I got a phone call from someone saying they wanted to stop by, I could say, “Sure, just give me half an hour.” In half an hour I could FLUFF the house. Fluffing a house is totally different than cleaning a house. Fluffing involves no direct cleaning…it is picking up, throwing things in closets (actually, that’s not true…I usually kept my closets very organized…you never know when you might find yourself stuck in one…) putting pillows back on the couch, raking toys into a corner, and loading breakfast dishes into the dishwasher. (Okay, and sometimes last night’s dinner dishes, too!) It’s stacking the magazines and newspapers in a pile…my discussion of “piles” will be addressed another day…and it’s plugging in the “tart warmer”, if it wasn’t going already. Stick a pot of coffee on during this condensed housekeeping foray, and ta-dah…the house looked surprisingly presentable! The word “fluff” became a part of our family’s esoteric vernacular. I could say, “Hey, guys, we need to fluff,” and everyone took their stations. In a mad dash we ran around, fluffing and folding, stashing and storing…but in a short time the house felt organized and comfortable. I found it was much easier to get the kids involved in “fluffing” than cleaning. And, when the house was fluffed, it made it easier and faster when it was time to pull out, gulp, the vacuum, and actually clean.

In a perfect world I’d have a housekeeper who’d clean for me. Actually, there were brief moments in my life when I did, but I found you still needed to “fluff” between cleanings. I also found, with occasional “fluffings”, I could postpone full fledged cleaning, which, to my way of thinking, is highly desirable! And, although I find it mind boggling, I know that there are people out there who actually enjoy cleaning! I am envious and stand in awe of them given the fact that through early childhood trauma or some chromosome deficiency, cleaning has always been a challenge for me. Over the years “fluffing” has become a way of life. No, I’d never win an award for cleanest house, and if you look closely, even after a good “fluffing” you’ll still notice vagabond fur balls and a fugitive Lego here and there, but for the most part, a quality fluff is appropriate for most situations!

We all seem to have definite feelings about housecleaning, and these feelings are often emotionally charged. Perhaps, as a teenager of the “60s”, my avoidance of housecleaning is a latent rebellious commentary to my mother’s values. Perhaps it was the closet…or perhaps I’m just lazy! How would you classify your housekeeping dogma? Are you a fanatic, a slob, or content with mediocrity?