I love snow, but hate winter in general. Living in the Piedmont of North Carolina, a good snow is rare. What is a good snow, compared to a bad one, you might ask? A good snow is enough snow to blanket the ground and streets so that school is closed. A bad snow is when you are confined to the house, and can't get to the grocery store (or the mall) when the need arises.
Since snow is rare here, our city/county budget doesn't require us to spend a fortune on snow-moving equipment, as is the case for our northern neighbors. When the weather forecast gives us the slightest promise of a few flakes, our citizens head out in droves--clearing grocery store shelves of Fruit Loops, Oreos, milk, and bread...you know, life's necessities in case of a natural disaster. If we actually get any snow, the local news stations will suspend coverage of all regularly scheduled programs to give us a play by play of the event, including standing in the middle of the street with a ruler to measure one-inch of snow. I know, it's pathetic! But there I'll sit, eating popcorn, watchng their minute-by-minute coverage.
So far this year, I haven't seen a single flake, zilch. Without the slightest encouragement of snow covering the brown ugliness of my January landscape, I am utterly miserable. Life isn't worth brushing my hair or getting out of my pajamas. Okay, that might be a bit of hyperbole, but you get the gist of my mid-winter mood.
Each year, I passionately await each tiny sign of spring. Once the calendar flips past December twenty-first, winter solstice, I note the sun comes up a few minutes earlier and goes down a few minutes later each day. I've already pushed my fingers under the pine needles to feel for the sprout of daffodils. When their sunny faces appear, and the forsythia buds burst open, we're on the backstretch of the race for spring.
This year we might not have a "good" snow, but when our city's abundant Bradford pear trees drop their snowy white petals in a warm spring breeze....it's the next best thing!
Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney
Monday, January 30, 2012
Monday, January 9, 2012
Mama's Sewing Machine
Mama would be so proud of me. Last night I pulled out the portable Brother sewing machine I was so excited to receive for Christmas two (or was it three?) years ago. I'm not admitting I'm mechanically challenged, but even after reading the instruction book (and I do know how to read), I couldn't figure out how to get the cover off the bobbin case. Yay...my "not" mechanically challenged husband figured it out in short order and I was on my way! But my frustration continued when the bobbin thread ran out and had to be reloaded, then the top thread broke repeatedly, and I had to rethread the machine. I must admit the spool of thread looks like it's been chewed on by a puppy. Since it's been a very long time since there has been a puppy in this house, therein might lie the problem...old and brittle thread.
My Mama was a great seamstress. I'm sure she learned the art out of necessity since she made her own clothes, and most of mine. She also made my brothers' school shirts when they were younger. I'm sure they probably laugh looking at those early elementary school pictures wearing their buffalo-check shirts with huge collars. But, every other boy their age was wearing the same style, so they didn't look out of place.
I have early memories of "helping" Mama cut out pattern pieces from the thin tissue paper. She would take the patterns and lay out her fabric on the kitchen table to cut out a new garment. She never followed the pattern for cutting, she always folded the fabric this way and that, making sure she used the least amount of fabric. I didn't realize at the time, but she was an engineering marvel. Sometimes she pinned patterns to the fabric, but usually she let me lay silverware on the pattern pieces to weight them down, then cut the fabric. I thought that was the "fun" way to do it. She would then take the pieces and carefully stack them for sewing.
Mama's sewing machine was a Singer cabinet model with gold scroll work. With Daddy's meager earnings, it must have been a sacrifice purchase. But, Mama could make that sewing machine sing, and the clothes she made with it were not only made from fabric, thread, and buttons...they were made with love.
Sadly, Mama never passed her sewing art down to me. My left-handedness got in the way. But I must confess, I took advantage of it more than once, when I didn't really care to learn something. Oh, if I could turn back the clock, I would have been more attentive. I'd love to have Mama stand over my shoulder today and show me how to thread this machine, and make garments out of love.
Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney
My Mama was a great seamstress. I'm sure she learned the art out of necessity since she made her own clothes, and most of mine. She also made my brothers' school shirts when they were younger. I'm sure they probably laugh looking at those early elementary school pictures wearing their buffalo-check shirts with huge collars. But, every other boy their age was wearing the same style, so they didn't look out of place.
I have early memories of "helping" Mama cut out pattern pieces from the thin tissue paper. She would take the patterns and lay out her fabric on the kitchen table to cut out a new garment. She never followed the pattern for cutting, she always folded the fabric this way and that, making sure she used the least amount of fabric. I didn't realize at the time, but she was an engineering marvel. Sometimes she pinned patterns to the fabric, but usually she let me lay silverware on the pattern pieces to weight them down, then cut the fabric. I thought that was the "fun" way to do it. She would then take the pieces and carefully stack them for sewing.
Mama's sewing machine was a Singer cabinet model with gold scroll work. With Daddy's meager earnings, it must have been a sacrifice purchase. But, Mama could make that sewing machine sing, and the clothes she made with it were not only made from fabric, thread, and buttons...they were made with love.
Sadly, Mama never passed her sewing art down to me. My left-handedness got in the way. But I must confess, I took advantage of it more than once, when I didn't really care to learn something. Oh, if I could turn back the clock, I would have been more attentive. I'd love to have Mama stand over my shoulder today and show me how to thread this machine, and make garments out of love.
Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Madi's Birthday Wish
Happy New Year everyone! Can you believe it's been 12 years since the panic of Y2K? The world didn't end and the first graders of 2000 will be graduating high school this year.
Where does the time go? I can hardly believe our granddaughter, Madi, will be six years old in February. Wasn't it only yesterday we were so excited about the birth of our first grandchild?
A few days ago Madi wanted to know the number of days until her birthday. Her parents checked, and told her there were fifty days left. She informed them she didn't need presents for her birthday this year. Since her parents are involved with the mission, Project 127, Madi knows $50 can feed a Nicaraguan family of four for a month. She told them she had an idea; if people gave her $1 a day until her birthday, she would have $50 to give to Project 127 for food, clothes, toys, and clean water for the children of Nicaragua. Pretty good math for a kindergartner, right?
Our son videoed her birthday wish and posted it on the website of the global fundraising platform, IndieGoGo. Like the biblical account of Jesus using the little boy's loaves and fishes to feed the multitude, within three days Madi's $50 birthday wish grew to over $500. More friends donated to her cause today at church, and this evening Charlotte's Fox News affilliate wants to interview her.
Who knows what the Lord will do with the simple wish of a child in the next 47 days? The need is great in the country of Nicaragua, but we have a big God. In the words of Isaiah the prophet, "....and a little child shall lead them." We may not be able to do everything, but we can do something to make a difference in 2012.
Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney
Where does the time go? I can hardly believe our granddaughter, Madi, will be six years old in February. Wasn't it only yesterday we were so excited about the birth of our first grandchild?
A few days ago Madi wanted to know the number of days until her birthday. Her parents checked, and told her there were fifty days left. She informed them she didn't need presents for her birthday this year. Since her parents are involved with the mission, Project 127, Madi knows $50 can feed a Nicaraguan family of four for a month. She told them she had an idea; if people gave her $1 a day until her birthday, she would have $50 to give to Project 127 for food, clothes, toys, and clean water for the children of Nicaragua. Pretty good math for a kindergartner, right?
Our son videoed her birthday wish and posted it on the website of the global fundraising platform, IndieGoGo. Like the biblical account of Jesus using the little boy's loaves and fishes to feed the multitude, within three days Madi's $50 birthday wish grew to over $500. More friends donated to her cause today at church, and this evening Charlotte's Fox News affilliate wants to interview her.
Who knows what the Lord will do with the simple wish of a child in the next 47 days? The need is great in the country of Nicaragua, but we have a big God. In the words of Isaiah the prophet, "....and a little child shall lead them." We may not be able to do everything, but we can do something to make a difference in 2012.
Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Daisy Was Her Name
Daisy Was Her Name Daisy was her name. My Grandma Mac was a tall woman with wiry white hair rolled into a bun. At least that's how I rem...
-
Last night the two oldest "littles" stayed overnight. They worked 4th of July word puzzles and coloring pages. Later, we made po... -
I think I'm getting acclimated to this July weather. We've had so many days with over 90 degree temperatures that this morning'... -
Daisy Was Her Name Daisy was her name. My Grandma Mac was a tall woman with wiry white hair rolled into a bun. At least that's how I rem...
