Soon Thanksgiving and the turkeys are just out

Pilgrims on the sideboard

This year I did not do my traditional busy work of decorating  for early fall, then Halloween and then Thanksgiving instead scaled down to only a fall decor. I have been otherwise busy trying to get the last of leaves raked and dumped down the hill ahead of the imminent storms and time dwindles.  Besides with only the two of us and no guests, it does not seem as important.  Still I have the decor and can only use it once a year and I do enjoy it.  So  this weekend I realized it was time to get the pilgrims out and the turkeys.  Not all of my collections and a few more went to Goodwill along with another box of big artificial floral decors that I no longer want.  When I decide these days to donate, get rid of anything it has to go immediately or else I will set it aside and  then keep it until?  That way I do not allow myself to keep stuff.  My attempts to down load and off load continue. 

Some of the living room  mantle decor

Downstairs window sill, TV room

 Recently an old friend mentioned by email that he, at age 83 has discontinued collecting anything and mentioned his former collections of matchbooks, lighters, etc.  I replied the same and yet, I miss going to estate sales, auctions, etc and scooping up the bargains.  But it is a time of life that I must stop and say, "what for, why, you have more than enough and someday someone will just dump it all  anyway." I have a hard time shedding stuff especially when I remember the story connected to it, how I acquired it or who gave it to me, or how it might have been used.  I think about my late aunt and uncle both of whose  homes I had to have cleared to sell and settle their estates.  Uncle Carl would go up to his upstairs and sit amidst so many of his  memories, photos, trophies from hunts, etc.  It gave him comfort remembering through the objects.  I do the same now.  Is it genetic?  I really wish that I had some one interested in taking some of these collections and appreciating them but things are different today.  Life did not  turn out the way I thought it would and so  adjustments and acceptance mean moving along as best we can with what we have.  Jerry has always thought I make too much work for myself with decorating for the seasons, but I suppose it is a hold over from days past when we used to entertain, host gatherings.  That no longer happens most all the relatives have died as have old friends and we no longer live near anyone.  Here people seldom just drop in so when I decorate it is just for us.  

I have inherited turkey salt and peppers from MIL and late aunts as well as some trinkets and ones I carefully purchased over the years.  Here in the collage are but a few.  They will be in place until this coming weekend after Thanksgiving when back in the box they go and back in the closet.  I am not ready to part with my turkeys, not yet, maybe not ever.  None of my collections are made in China, many are antique and several are hand painted.  MIL had the set top left in the collage and I remember their appearance at Thanksgiving tables when she cooked and we went to Riverside.  She did use them as salt and pepper shakers but I do not.  I merely display them, they are very worn, the paint is almost gone in parts, well used.  Imagine the tales they have hears and seen over so many years.  I know it is only stuff but to me it brings memories and so I get them out even for a short time and appreciate them.  

The path I chose made all the difference

My grandma, Baba Rose

In my drafts I found this I had written partially  back in 2012 after all my relatives had passed away.  Today clearing drafts I decided to tune it up and post it here.  Life does take its turns and yet if we have faith and can see thru, we can navigate those twisty windy roads and emerge onto the straight a-ways.  Hindsight is indeed more than 20 20 and if we could look into the effect our current decisions would have on our futures, would we be as rash?  Who knows.  So I am posting this pondering here and kind of a tribute in a way to my grandma Rose.  Today I wear her crystal cross necklace that she received as a young girl, how I wish I had more photos of her when she came to CA but we did not take many pictures then, the cost of developing film and all.  It was 1965. She was 70 at the time, and today I am 73, she looked so much older but most grandmas did back then. So anyway, here we go......
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   I do not know if this blog site that I reference is in existence today and I have long ago lost touch with that person, but I keep it here for reference.  Rosaria, over at 65 Now What pondered  "What I did for Love" You can read it at her blog, http://sixtyfivewhatnow.blogspot.com/2012/04/what-i-did-for-love.html    . 

I  replied " As we journey through life when we pause to look back over our shoulders, the past changes shape. I have had many of the same thoughts you expressed here as we prepare to go to PA next week, my old home, not as far as Italy, but with no more family, some distant cousins who are off on their own lives. I joke that when I want to see my relatives, I go to the cemetery, but that is telling and chilling. But lately I find my mind meandering, oh what if I had not gone to CA, if I had stayed in PA. It is so true that the choices we make when we are young make our worlds different and our paths diverge. Hindsight....should'a's...oh my."

1958 PA me with Baba and two cousins visiting from CA
I was the big girl 

And it seems a mouthful.  Much good has come from my life that I was fortunate to be able to rebuild in CA. But even that I could not have done without the help of my late maternal grandma, Baba as I always called her,  Polish for grandma.  Finding myself a single mother in CA but employed, she was determined to help me. She road the train cross country to come stay with me and babysit while I worked and got some money set aside. I regret to this day that  I never thanked her enough, I could not have made it without her and when I pray for her soul I pray she knows how very dear she always was to me.  She really did  raise me as Mom was working, not common back then, but my Mom did.  

There were many reasons or justifications for my decision, most having to do with the impetuous rebellious nature or spell I felt at the time. I wished often that I could have talked with someone, my grandma, my Mom, my aunt somebody who could have rescued me from what would create the curvy twist on my life road.  At odds with my Mom, ours was a rough relationship through my adolescence, today I know she wanted better for me than what her life had been, but I so resented her.  To say we did not get along would put it mildly.  How much was my rebelliousness and how much was her innate ability to try to control me I will never resolve.  I only know that I had no intention of getting married to that guy, no intention of running off as I did, but I was so tired of Mom nagging and sneaking around finding out where I was, with whom, etc.  So to the surprise of everyone including myself as soon as the spell wore off, I eloped with him, impetuous rash dumb decision but at 18 I thought I was so smart,  Rocky road to be on, regretted it very soon, but I was young enough to think it could work and it would get me to CA,  destination of my dreams as a young gal growing up in western PA. 

One morning after arriving in CA,  I woke up across the country in CA with the man I could not stand, and thought, "What the hell am I doing here, I belong back on the Allegheny campus!"  But a stubborn soul who could not admit a wrong choice caused my perseverance and after all it was CA, the Golden State.  From that mistake,and after shedding him, I decided to stay out west where Jerry and I met and well here all these years down the road it has been a good thing.

But like Rosaria, I wonder about my family ties.  These become more important now or is it that I think more about that with the frequent trips to PA and the impending trip this coming week?  Sometimes we know it is not beneficial to entertain our own thoughts to an extreme--persevere and onward.  Somewhere in the Bible and literature those powerful themes recur.

Greenwood cemetery, PA where I visit all my family.

And when I say visit the cemetery I realize I am continuing a ritual from my ancestry; I remember going to the graves with my grandmother and her sisters.  It made not much sense to a child, but to me today long into adulthood it makes all the sense, a time to reconnect, reminisce and remember.  Remembering is important--just ask those who care for  the demented who have lost memories. 

2018--1988--1928

Sorting continues 

Thirty, sixty, ninety year spans or some other combination is what I spent some time on yesterday, continuing through the wonderful box of cards, letters that I mentioned in a January post.  Yesterday I found a letter Jerry's mother wrote to us in 1988 when we all lived in CA, we in Newcastle, they in Riverside.  I was surprised to find it and have no idea why or how it went into the box which held other letters from aunts cross country and lots of cards, birthday, anniversary, etc, greetings from from my Mom and aunt.  I have not completed going through the box yet, taking time and enjoying the memories,  but I have been clearing lots of other accumulated clutter out of our study.  

Bags full of papers have gone the way of the recycle bin and stacks of various books have gone to the local library sale and some to Goodwill.  A binder filled with clippings about books I might want to read someday,  entire literary review sections of newspapers some date in the 1990's.

Bottom shelves were cleared, this is a pic before purging

Remember when Sunday newspapers had literary review sections, at least our did. Here was a massive 3 ring binder, filled beyond capacity,over 9 inches thick. Apparently I started it long ago in CA,   and have no idea why I added to it and then absolutely forgot about it, left to gather dust.  So that cleared a nice space on the bottom of one  bookcase.  I noticed I had indeed read some of those books, but the others, not a concern.  There are so many books waiting on my shelf  and loaded on my kindle app for reading, and there is always another book recently released to catch my attention.

 But here was a 1988 letter from Florence, that was so coincidental I thought it worth recording on the blog. We ultimately ended up being her overseers, care takers.  Yet over the years at least my relationship with her was not always positive, sometimes it was downright frustrating, contentious even, she could be a very difficult person. But reflection of memory is a strange thing, in that once someone is gone, we, or I at least, forget the less joyful moments and remember the good. In 1988 we did not have cell phones, email,Facebook, or texting, all preferred methods of communication today.  For me today, there is nothing like texting and Facebook, I can be in touch instantly with friends/family all over the country and world,  I do not have to log in nor do others have to sign in. But enough digression as I tie the coincidental span of these years.   

Easily it starts, it is 2018 now and  Florence, aka MIL, passed in 2013 at age 96, her birthday was January 30th and she'd have been 101 this year.  But in 1988 she was only 60, younger than I am now and she was reminiscing about a Christmas program in which she participated as a young girl.  In this first paragraph of the 4 page letter she tells about the program, her part, and mentions Mr. and Mrs.Cass.  Wow,  our home was built by LaVerne Cass, the son of the carpenter she mentions.  It is a wonderful home, sturdy, first class construction, over 4800 sq. feet, many features we enjoy, and we love it. 

Part of front, our home, built by LaVerne and Marilyn Cass

Coincidentally LaVerne recently passed away here at age 92.  He  had remembered Jerry from when Jerry was a young boy here in LaCrescent and he had regretted selling this home to the other neighbor from whom we purchased it  back in 2002 when we knew we would leave CA when I retired. LaVerne said if he had known we were looking he would have sold directly to us, but that is another long story.  In 1988, we never considered  that we would relocate to MN. I still say, "If anyone had ever told me I would be not living in CA I would have said they had rocks in their head."  Back then we had no intention to ever leave CA.One reason why we relocated to MN  was where ever we moved we had to move Florence too and she was willing to move back here to her hometown and had a sister still alive here at the time.   So much has happened  between 2018  and 1988, enough to fill a book and then some, but let's move along to the other curious events, the gist of this long tale.. 

Florence Christmas 1928, program rehearsal

Staying home this winter has allowed me plenty of time to do long neglected projects,  I have been tossing papers and photos.  Some photos I scan and then post onto our Ancestry web site to preserve the tales of genealogy, future descendants, might be researching their ancestry might be interested just as I was tracing so much of my own and Jerry's.  Right now there is no one in our direct family with the slightest interest so most of the stuff is tossed.  I send some photos, along to Jerry's younger sister who can decide to toss or keep.  Her two daughters  have some interests and memories of the family, so they can share the mementos. 

1928 Florence Christmas tree rehearsal

1928 Florence

I had been clearing thru an old photo album from Jerry's late aunt Marie, Florence's sister. Unfortunately she used one of those awful albums that adhered to the photos and then covered them with a clear film. It was not archive worthy, which would never have concerned her so many of the oldest photos have disintegrated, faded into uselessness.  

 But there in the album dated Christmas 1928 were 3 photos of Florence in a Christmas program garment.  What are the odds, that I would have kept and now found a letter from Florence about that same event?  These are the coincidences that boggle me, cause a sense of  wonder, how intertwined life can be and where one event can lead forward or backward. 

Part of fron , page 1 of the 1988 letter

Perhaps  I have the luxury of too much time to notice and wonder about such things. I had just scanned and  posted these photos to Ancestry I recognized the story right away.  Several things struck me,  it was almost Christmas here and there was no snow on the ground in the photos taken on the old farm, nor was she  heavily bundled up in 1928.  Must have been a mild winter. Take that you global warming alarmists, weather can and does change and fluctuate, hah!  She describes in her letter that she was on the platform and was about 10 years old, she would have been 11 in the photos. We cannot imagine why the Christmas tree would have been outside and decorated on the old farm.  

All thoughts from the letter and there were more, I was reminded that Jerry bought my first diamond ring band in 1988 to celebrate our 25th anniversary, replacing the plain gold band we had for our wedding.  I also recalled that would have been the year we bought the spa in CA, which I enjoyed until we left, nothing like soaking in there with a glass of wine, especially after a day of heavy gardening and pruning. And that's how 2018 and 1988 and 1928 all weave into one story. 

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RIP Sandy

Me with Sandy October 14, 2015

My heart tore off another piece of itself yesterday, after Jennie's phone call, "I have sad news."  My reply, "Yes, I have been expecting this."  My last very close friend in California died Friday evening, April 8.  She had not been well for years. I am thankful we were able to visit for a bit when we were in CA in October.  This picture is me with Sandy at her home in Woodland.  As we left to drive back to  our motor home I told Jerry, "She's not going to last long.  I will never see her alive again."  He agreed.  And yet, she looked better than I was expecting, but I knew in my heart where we know beyond doubt. 
She was 78 years old if I am correct and had she made lifestyle changes years ago along the way, I would not be writing this today.  

 In our lives, we meet many people, some we call friends but those who really become friends take time to grow the relationships from acquaintance into full "framily", my word for those closer than family to me, very dear friends.    These are the rare ones  of life.  Once I was blessed with 3 now there is only me.  She was a sister I never had. 

Sandy was never one I could have foreseen becoming so close to.  I met her at the CA State Employment Development Department (EDD)  in career days,  in 1991 when I was managing the establishment of a group to guide quality improvement through the entire behemoth organization.  We were interviewing candidates to work with on a team that would be known as Leading the Quality Team.  That effort would take multiple pages to explain, suffice that it was new and daring, in an overly bureaucratic traditional state agency as was EDD.  In came our next candidate, a white haired "old lady" I thought, when I first saw Sandy who was only 6 years older than me, but she had lived hard and large and was a devoted EDD staff person venturing up  from one of their field offices into headquarters.  It was not a typical interview because we wanted extra ordinary staff.  Sandy blew us away with her demonstration removing any doubt I had that she had the stuff to "train" and present to management above her pay level.  We hired her and that began in what I never expected to happen, the growth of a deep friendship for the rest of our lives.  

Here is just a bit  from a letter I wrote to surprise her on her embracing the faith and taking the Walk to Emmaus in 2007, I frequently think of all the spiritual activities that you are now so fully embracing and am more than amazed.  Sometimes I feel like a proud mama.  Sometimes I feel like a teacher whose student has far surpassed expectations.  Sometimes I feel like I helped create a Frankenstein!   But overall I am so thankful that God placed me in your life or you in my life.  What a joy to have played a small part in your journey back to the God who never left you even when you didn’t pay much attention to Him!  From your joining the Woodland church to your studies and your Emmaus walk, you are growing in faith and learning more and more about our amazing God and Jesus.     

I recall that white haired lady who had the nerve to interview to be a facilitator back those many years ago at EDD. (Well that’s the note I made on my interview sheet “white haired lady” to distinguish you from the rest!  Back then I thought I might not remember you from the rest of the crowd!)  Little did I suspect that through many years, miles, tears and smiles you would become a dearest friend, an extra ordinary link in my life.  It’s been a long time since ’91. 

I recall that same white haired lady who took her sewing machine along to Santa Rosa training; I thought that was an odd thing to bring. For me who was far more interested in clothes and matching shoes with outfits I couldn’t imagine what would a person do with a sewing machine and how/why carry such a thing around?  Little did I know then of your passion for art and quilting.  I learned how you would retreat within yourself while stitching away and recharge your spirit. 

 Sandy "found religion" at my and her sister, Jennie's example as Methodists", and then Sandy became almost addicted to that for years taking every class she could, questioning and researching.  We were friends through thick and thin, past retirement which she began and enjoyed ahead of me, and with me in the tragedy of my life, the loss of our son Steve, with me even though we moved from CA to MN.  We talked on the phone almost daily for years. She  thought she would come to visit us for several weeks, I would take her around this area to different quilt shops,  and she would take in the Midwest,  but that never happened, her illnesses began to prohibit any travel, it became a pipe dream.

Sandy was an accomplished

Our "Salute of Roses" quilt by Sandy.  

artistic quilter  beyond excellence and  adored fabrics and working them into designs.  We have a beautiful handmade quilt on an antique bed.  It is a true interstate quilt, she worked on it in Woodland, CA, her renowned quilter friend in Washington designed the templates for her,  I sent her fabric from Wisconsin, she ordered fabric and batting from Paducah, Kentucky and it graces this patriotic bedroom on an antique sleigh bed in our home in MN today.  Sandy set about making this quilt when she knew I would inherit that bed and it was the last quilt she would make, as illnesses brought frailties to her.  It took over 2 years from the idea to the finality.  Here is  an excerpt from Sandy's documentation letter to me in 2010 upon its completion:  Date: Wed, 28 Jul 2010 11:11:31 EDT

Subject: Quilt related Info

Finally here is the letter I had penciled out on the 22nd!!!!!

Dear Pat, Well, the label is on. I had asked my friend Joan Mack in Sequim, WA( Sn award winning quilter and use to be neighbor) to make the label and her equipment couldn't do it, so she asked her friend in Seattle, WA to make it! Walla, a label was born! Just another wonderful reward of having friends during this earthly journey.

 As you know "Salute of Roses" went in to the big floor frame for hand quilting in March, 2008 after several months of searching for the perfect fabrics. It was the beginning of a new journey I was super excited to start. Since we had decided the fabrics were perfect via snail mail and telephone from CA to MN I prayed for perfection of my hands and needles.

But this is not about the quilt which could consume this posting, instead, I am saying farewell to my friend, Sandy.  As she  began to fail and suffered through hospitalizations and nursing home stays her world got  smaller and smaller.  She  spent her last few years rather confined to her home and was on oxygen 24/7.  The last year I noticed her dementia that she joked about was increasing, she repeated herself more and more she didn't remember.  I worried about her living alone, although she had an adult son who lived in what had been a garage and then her quilt  studio, under the guise of helping her, but how much help is a 50+ year old dependent unemployed. That is another tragic tale, his alcoholism, rehabilitation and  continued slip back into addiction and Sandy's enabling of the situation.  

Sandy 2010

In better days, Sandy had a bit of latent Phyllis Diller in her, the same coarse laughter, a consistent positive trait diffusing a remark with humor sometimes to the point of the macabre, Sandy enjoyed my writing and nagged me beyond belief to publish, it was her way to encourage, to nag.  She especially was fond on my blog and one reason why I started writing here. She scolded me for not keeping it up but I have substituted physical activity. 

I knew the time was coming but not when.  Her last bout with pneumonia would hospitalize her and then send her to the nursing home. This time like her other  SNF times I was sure she would not get out.  But she would prove me wrong, she would eventually return to her home and her isolation, if only briefly.  As she refused to eat she weighed only 86 pounds when she died, significantly less than her 130's pounds in her prime.  She refused therapy.  She  went back  again to smoking heavily on her porch.    I close with one last picture of Sandy from 2010, far better days in her life on this earth.  

Goodbye 'old friend, see you someday on the flip side.Later, much later, who knows?. 

Recipe reverie, blogger acts out

Yesterday's all day snow coating more with continuous whiteness added another  four inches to what has been steadily accumulating this winter.  It  must have affected this blogspot where  I thought I posted this and  yet today I see it had been reverted to a draft...daft why? Blame it on the winter weather.   So here another attempt to publish, winter is getting the best of us and the cyber waves.  

All the descriptive adjectives--pretty, sparkling, fluffy have been exhausted this winter, enough already.  I feel like we are living in a shake 'em up snow globe, no sooner does it settle than Mama Nature sends another blast our way.   I am tired of white and annoyed when it sidelines my plans as it did, confining me to home and hearth.  I did not venture out to drive in the winds with limited visibility nor was I tempted as there were reports of the potential to slide along the roads if the plows had not already been through.. 

 It was a day to stay home and a good day to cook. It has been quite some time since I stuffed and roasted a chicken because for the two of us, it's preferable to stick with chicken parts, breasts or thighs and occasional drumsticks although wings are a great snack.  However the market had these chickens on sale, very cheap and with my purchase of two bottles of wine I got $2 off any poultry, bringing the cost to $1.  So I picked up a whole chicken Friday intending to do something with it over the weekend.  Those intentions did not materialize but Monday's snow day  was an opportune time to stuff and roast this bird.  Jerry is not a fan of what he refers to as "sea gull" although he grudgingly eats the day's menu; I am a big fan of chicken, amd roasting filled the house with wonderful scents.  

My bargain chicken stuffed and ready to roast

As I prepared  thestuffing with lots of sage, big bread hunks, broth, butter, sauteed onions and celery I thought about my maternal grandmother Rose, my Polish Baba, with whom I spent a lot of time and stayed most weekends.    I have written about her  many times on this blog. Roast chicken was one of her special favorite Sunday afternoon meals, with all the fixings after we went to morning mass.  She had none of the kitchen conveniences like deep freezers nor microwaves and she did insist on fresh chickens; she did not want those from the  grocery market that would have been sitting for "you don't know how long."  No,  Rose insisted chickens must they be just bled, fresh; , to her that was the only way to ensure a tasty chicken, kill , drain and cook.  They lived in town so while she did not raise her own chickens, she did walk to the local  butcher for a fresh just killed bird on Saturdays.  It was Sarniac's, the  Polish butcher shop where  my grandpap hung out, helped make Polish sausage and played cards and they knew to have a fresh chicken ready for Rose. Sometimes it would still have it's feet attached but she would tell them to leave the feet, which she would remove at home, herself. 

Baba, my grandma Rose about mid 1940"s

Once she brought it home, the ordeal of cleaning it meticulously began, I cannot remember how many times she rinsed and rinsed that chicken and then soaked it in a brine though it seems that hours and hours were involved. I once remarked in childlike wonder that it was clean already to which she said, "oh no Patty, we don't want any dirt or feathers.  Chickens are dirty and you don't want to eat anything like that."  Finally by late Saturday afternoon, she had her fresh chicken ready for  Sunday roasting.  Her oven had no timer so that bird did not get into the oven to begin until after we returned from church and then she would carefully watch and baste it from time to time.  I wish I had a picture of those feasts, they were a meal which she served with pride and a smile.  So today stuffing and roasting a cheap chicken brought the reverie of childhood.  And I thought of how I will not buy  frozen chicken parts in mass bags, and certainly not  those that are processed in Asia.  My chicken choice is fresh, locally Amish grown and processed....I am Rose's grand daughter after all.  It's my legacy, You don't want a chicken that's been sitting around for you don't know how long."  Recipes can stir up our memories..