New Hobby - Origami

Folding paper is relaxing.
I remember seeing my mom take her knitting along to do on long trips.
I take paper.

Steep Roofs

Beaverdale houses have steep roofs.  Well, not all of them. But steep roof lines and rounded doors are some of the charm of a Beaverdale house.  One of the first things we did when we moved into our house was reshingle the back of the house.  Just the back.  It was in terrible shape.  The previous owner had new shingles put on the front of the house a few years ago.  Just the front. "How odd," we thought.  "Why would you replace the shingles on one half of such a small house?"  We figured it must me a cost saving measure.  He was an old man, probably on a fixed income. The shingles in the back of the house are slightly different...as they couldn't find a perfect match.  Not that anyone one would notice.

These steep roofs take a beating way up there.  Ice jams, wind, rain, so I was not surprised that I noticed that the front of the house may need some roof attention in a couple of years.  But just the front.  Maybe we could do something really cool...just in the front.

It makes me laugh. The cycle continues.  Some day a future owner will scratch his head, wondering why these crazy people only shingle one half of the roof at a time.

Tiny Castle Books is back in publishing mode

Etsy Shop for Tiny Castle Books

Biking Area - Getting there

Project Two - Biking Area

Intense weekend project - enclose storage shelf with cabinet doors and wainscoting.

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Project One - Biking Area

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Intense weekend project.  Enclose storage with cabinet doors and wainscoting.

Project 1

First paint the steps

Paint a wall

Turn old bifold doors into barn doors (they're upside down)

Hang a picture of Cal's next biking goal. Going to the Sun in Montana.
(This wall will be a painted a dark gray later.)

The Woman Has Tools

Many years ago, as we started out on the bike tour across United States, I gleefully announced, "the woman has maps." I suppose that meant that I was powerful and could navigate myself around the United States. And maybe a little adventurous.... who knew where I might want to take myself next?

 Well, today I have a new announcement to make.  The woman has tools.

This is nothing new. We've had a basement full of nice tools ever since we moved to our Beaverdale Brick in Des Moines and found out that we weren't as handy as we thought we were.  But we did try. As least, Cal did.

The basement is not a pleasant place. It is 80 years old, and water oozes through its pores, poor dear. I have never had any hope for it to be other than it was, but I knew it could be BETTER. A little better.

 You CAN stand up in it although because of its mazes of the pipes and vents and 80 years of wiring. it will never have a ceiling. There IS good storage down there, with a little help from a dehumidifier. Cal bikes in the winter time down there. The washer and dryer are down there.  And all those lovely, lovely tools.

So I decided to take the basement under my wing and turn it into something a little bit more user-friendly, and that means that I have to learn to use the tools - pretty much. Cal has no interest in my little project so I am on my own. Yesterday I mastered the table saw. When I say "mastered"' I merely mean that I was able to use it with the desired outcome and not kill myself. So far I have "mastered" the miter saw, scroll saw, electric drill, the sander, and I am up to a nail gun. I also am becoming well-versed in the properties of different kinds of paint.

The learning curve is huge. HUG. That means that I spend days and days in the basement, only coming up for fresh air when my lungs have their full capacity of old saw dust, mold, and and other chemicals that will shorten my life.

But you know,

I have a growing affection for the old basement, and for all my tools. Yes, they are MY tools now. I am starting to develop my own private stock pile of wood.  And screws, all kinds of screws, a myriad of rainy day screws that I laughed at my father for keeping when we cleaned his basement. (I promise you I will throw them out before I die.)

 And so the woman has tools. I guess that means that I am more powerful, more self-sufficient and and maybe even a little… dangerous.

Autographs

After pouring through my mom's photograph album from 1936 through her years at Calvin College, looking for interesting pictures to paint, I went up into the attic and pulled her autograph books from junior high out of my keepsake trunk.

Merry Christmas to Sadie from Genevieve December 25, 1931
Dear Sadie,
When you get old and drink black tea, burn your tongue and think of me.
your sister, Genevieve B

December 29, 1931
Dear Sadie,
When the golden sun is sinking and your heart from cares be free,
while o're a thousand things you are thinking,
will you sometimes think of me.
Your Aunt Hatty

January 13, 1932
Dearest Sadie,
When you are standing on the stump,
 think of me before you jump.
Your loving cousin, Clarissa

January 6, 1932
Dear Sadie,
Some write for honor, some write for fame, but I'll just write to sign my name.
Your cousin,
Jennet B
Never be the color of this page  (blue)


  Autograph books are so much fun, I wish they'd come back into style.

Dear Sadie,
"May I print a kiss on your lips?" he asked.
She nodded her sweet permission.
They went to press, and I rather guess,
They printed a large edition.
Always your friend,
Ann

March 28, 1933
Dear Sadie,
When you grow old and ugly as most old people do,
Remember you have a friend
that's old and ugly too.
Your friend,
Ruth

Feb 25, 1936
Dear Saie,
If days were always perfect,
And skies were ever blue.
If friends were always clever,
And every joke was new.
If everything we wanted,
Had prices we could afford,
Life would be almost perfect,
But wouldn't we be bored.
Your friend,
Beatrice

Of course there are the ones who choose special pages to make their mark.
In the back of the books...

March 29, 1933 
Way back here
Way out of sight,
I scribble my name with all my might.
Your schoolmate,
Gloria

on the last page...

July 3.1933
By hook
by crook,
I'm the last one to write
in this book.

(I wonder what young Sadie would think if she knew that exactly 23 years later-to that date, her 4th daughter would be born.)

On a green page, in green ink....

This ink is green
And so is the page
Don't forget me,
in your old age.
Russell

Written upside down...

Jan29,1939
Remember the girl in the city,
Remember the girl in the town,
Remember the girl who spoiled your book,
by writing in it upside down.
Your friend,
Eleanor

Adults and Teachers wishing her the very best with good advise.

Dear Sadie,
I've just found out,
perhaps you knew it,
That work's just play
when you love to do it.
Miss Allen

Dear little Friend,
I am hoping you will be as noble a woman as you are a little girl.
Prayerfully,
Mary Brown

Dear Sadie:
The one who workes hard, tries hard and does his very best is the one who is the happiest.
Sinderely
E. Gierke

Simple little verses with the classmates name, that's all. No pressure, no wondering what to say, just funny little rhymes.  Some, strangely touching when you realize that probably everyone who wrote their name in this little books is gone.

August 22, 1936
Dear Sadie,
When the golden sun is setting,
When your path no more be trod,
My your name in gold be written,
In the autograph of God,
Your cousin, 
Bernadine

Best Grandma in the World (Color Enhanced)

Painting Photographs

This has been the most beautiful winter ever. The cold, the snow, just the perfect amount of each. And now it is February. The icicles are dripping like rain. If you didn't know they were icicles you would think it was raining outside the window. I am wondering, I am hoping, I am dreaming of an early spring. But unlike last winter, I don't feel bone weary of winter. I can handle another month or two.

Today I spent some time with my mother's photograph album. I was delighted with the pictures of her past life. I wish my mother was here to tell me about them. I would write everything down. There are pictures of the farm my mother lived on when she was growing up. There are pictures of her away at college, pictures of her friends, pictures of her mother and father, pictures of her sister, Genevieve and her children, and of her cousins. They are all pictures before my mother met my father. I carefully lifted each one trying to find some information on the back of the photos. There was little to help me, just the occasional date. Perhaps my sisters remember more than I do.

Earlier this week I spent some time painting a picture of my mother when she was about five or six years old. If I remember correctly she was the youngest person chosen to be in the school program because the teachers could trust her to remember her lines. She always was a good little scholar. It seems like she told me that the bloomers she is wearing are made out of dotted Swiss. Why do I remember that? I don't even know if it's true. Maybe I am making this all up.

Anyway, here's the picture. It was very enjoyable. I think I would like to paint some more photographs.

There's Something About Chickadees

Look up

Look down

Turn Around

Smile

Profile

Mejeur Christmas 2014 - Kalamazoo

Christmas at my sister's house in Kalamazoo.  Wanted to experiment with the video capabilities on my ipad.  This is my first video.

Happy 97th Christmas Dad!

Hug?

My 21/2 grandson has developed a wonderful way of telling people when he needs to be comforted.   He uses it when he is tired or overwhelmed.  He asks for hugs.  Grandpa, hug?  Mama, hug? Daddy, hug?  I am so glad he has learned this skill.  I wish I had learned it.
 

God, hug?

Who says all angels are white?

Snow Angels

Aubrey Decorates a Tree (Photo Journalism)

           

New Camera Catches Evening Snow

A Long Sad Story with a Happy Ending (Illustrated and Annotated)

Fantastic Picture

I confess - I didn't appreciate my old expensive camera.

It was heavy, awkward, complicated... and took fantastic pictures. It had more attachments than my vacuum cleaner and when I took it on vacation with me, it needed its own suitcase.

I'll admit it. I resented that. (But that was not a motive for what happened.) After all, going to Italy with one personal suitcase and a backpack (thanks to Rick Steves) taught me that less is more, especially if you have to carry it.  But then I had Cal to carry the prized camera on his lap the whole way.  My own camera butler.

In Italy (taken by Bishop Gruss)

Lovely Picture

Fun Picture

When I met Cal in college, photography drew us together.  He was photographer for the year book and had his own expensive SLR camera. (We still have that one - in a glass case.)  I would go on photo shoots with him which was a cheap and uncomplicated date for a hippie (I think they call them "hipsters" now) from Kansas and a homesick-for-trees transfer student from Michigan.  After the shoot, we would develop the b/w film in the college darkroom.  (I can hear the jokes now.  That's not all that developed, tee-hee.)

I got interested in photography when SLR cameras became digital. The Canon Rebel was a present from Cal in 2004. I wasn't a great photographer, but with a little help from Photoshop, I spent many happy hours turning my mistakes into something not quite a mistake. And occasionally, something quite lovely.  Or fun.

Savannah

This spring I flew to Savannah with my sister-in-law, Pam, (Phil's wife) for a week in the warmth and didn't take my camera butler along. As I am known for breaking things, (see post 9/27/14) I have often been warned and scolded by Cal to take better care of my camera. (literary foreshadowing)

Getting ready to fly back to Atlanta, with the the taxi honking outside to take us to the airport, I quickly wrapped the Canon in some of my clothes and thrust it into the suitcase. (Pam, don't change my story.)  In the rush I also lost my electric toothbrush but that loss paled in comparison with the state of my camera when I opened my suitcase the next day.

I'd seen the baggage guys handle luggage at the airport and I should have known better. So, once more with the coffee cup fresh in my mind, (see post 9/27/14) I had to face Cal AGAIN with something I had broken that was dear to his heart. Smashed. Shattered. Kaput.

I didn't think I would miss my good camera.  After all, doesn't everybody and everything take pictures these days?  Something smaller maybe?  Lighter? Easier?  Less demanding?  Something I could fit in my pocket? After all, it was just a hobby.  And I still had Photoshop...

I didn't realize that you have to start out in a good quality picture to make it better. You need all the pixels and depth and clarity of a good camera to really play with a picture. It would take a better person than I to be able to add pixels to a photo or smooth the graininess without losing sharpness.

 It is just plain difficult to take a really good, sharp, clear pictures without a good camera.

I missed my camera for the closeups of my TinyCastleBooks for my Etsy Shop.

I missed it at family gatherings.

I missed it for photographing my new grandson.

I missed playing god and improving on nature.

Finally, I just stopped taking pictures.

I would look at an object begging to have it's picture taken and just sigh and turn my head away. I lapsed into a kind of Photobiotic depression.

Creepy Photobiotic Depression

And now for the Happy Ending.

Cal came home with a new Rebel yesterday,  It is no smaller, but maybe a touch lighter and less cumbersome.  And it takes FANTASTIC pictures.

My Hero.

The End

Early Christmas Thoughts

Early Christmas

There are years when Christmas seems to come to me in a rush.

And suddenly, I am shivering with Elizabeth or transfixed with Mary.

Carols start to play and wrapping paper litters the floor.

I didn't plan this, I say shamefaced.

And its cry is incessant until I wrap it in my arms and sing softly.

And some years, Christmas is left on my doorstep.

Neglected, cold, and silent,

a note pinned to it's blanket. I am here.  That's all.

No more than a stray and I let it in reluctanly, if at all.

Sometimes it grows on me like a crabby child

whose heart I suddenly understand.

The most beautiful of all because it is unexpected

And it is love.

It comes when it comes. Early, late, on time.

Welcome all the same.

Don't Waste The Miracle

“Don’t waste the miracle.”

These are the words that decorated my favorite coffee cup for years.  I didn't really know what it meant - but I felt blessed by those words; they would help me see each day in a new way. (Since then, I have seen these words as the title of a rather typical Christmas poem, but for some reason I have been unwilling to give a concrete meaning to them and in doing so limit their possibilities.)   To be blessed  by something I don’t ascertain logically (although maybe I might understand it intuitively) demonstrates to me of the amazing power of words to bring experience to the surface. And be changed by it.

In college, I learned to look for layers of meaning, to analyze words, to recognize patterns, to catalog human experience, but the power of words really explodes in their transcendent meaning: the meaning that triggers a response that is beyond than the concrete and deeper than the conscious. It is this meaning that we recognize, we receive, and our eyes grow big.

 In an article entitled the other side of reason, Madelaine L’engle  talks about a child who read A Wrinkle in Time when she was eight or nine. The then now woman says about the book, “I didn’t understand it, but I knew what it was about”.  L'engle says as long as we know what it’s about, then we can have the courage to go wherever we are asked to go even if we fear that the road may take us through danger and pain."  That is transcendent power. 

The first chapter of John explodes with the potential of transcendent power. It gives us the experience of creation and incarnation without a single detail of the event, and yet we know that the Word has come to earth “full of grace and truth.”  We know that Love has come. We know what it’s about.  Transcendent meaning increases our ability to believe.

Transcendent meaning implies both a bigger meaning and a smaller meaning.  It is bigger in that it recognizes a universal truth might be experienced by all, and a smaller meaning in that it is a personal truth that is instrumental in personal formation and transformation. “Don’t waste the miracle.”  I know these simple four words can hold a universal truth, but also will speak this truth differently to each person that reads them.

It also reminds me not to underestimate the power of symbol, metaphor, and ritual, or ability of humankind (including children) to experience transcendent meaning, even if it isn't something they can put into words.

Hmmm. Words may trigger meaning that you may not have words for...Ironic, isn't it.