Her Mighty Throne

Not the toilet, get your minds out of the gutter - oh, was I the only one thinking that?  I am talking about my grandmother's chair.  This is the chair which supported the backside of the matriarch of our family while she did things like sew six granddaughters matching Christmas dresses, or my cousins' first communion gowns, or jackets that went with our prom dresses, or hem oodles of choir robes. 

She was kind of amazing on the sewing machine - not because of intricacy but because of practicality.  She could make almost anything that was needed.  My mom tells stories of her brothers and dad dressed in matching dress shirts that Grandma had made.  There is a photo of my uncle dressed in a little man suit that Grandma had made out of Grandpa's old one.  She was re-purposing  long before it was hip.  Oh, Grandma, you clever woman, you. 

Sometime in the 1970s my grandmother received, as a gift from my mother, this glorious chair.  This particular chair is a sewist's dream.  Originally it had quite a cushion and the seat flips up to reveal a compartment for stowing all your notions.  Need a button?  Look in your chair.  Broke a needle?  Look in your chair.  Measuring tape? Chair.  And though I am seldom organized, I love the idea of organization like this.  Everything you need right under your butt!

Moving to my own sewing space I found that I didn't have the advantage of the chairs I used at the dining room table.  Since I haven't mastered sewing standing up, I set out to look for a sewing chair.  I thought about Grandma's chair and where I might get one of those, and it dawned on me, uh, ask Grandma for hers.  This would be huge!  To have Grandma's chair here - a little piece of her (ADDers frequently assign serious sentimentality to things).  She was happy to pass down the chair to me, sending it along with my Mom when she road tripped to TX at Christmas.  And here I sit, in Grandma's chair, making it my backside now that is firmly placed on the sewing throne. 

(A P.S. on the over-sentimentalizing things:  I don't over sentimentalize dates as I noted in a previous post - usually because for ADD mind time is categorized as "now" or "not now" therefore negating a reason to sentimentalize it.  However, THINGS!  Oh things, how you get us in trouble.  Usually things remind us of a person and if we got rid of the thing it would be like getting rid of that loved one.  We are worried we will forget them without a physical reminder - just like we forget our wallets, keys, gift card for the store we are going to, diaper bags, checkbook, phone, or anything else we might daily misplace.  I am glad to report that I still have my Grandma so if I want to remember her I could just go visit.  But having her chair was something I thought about for a long time because I knew if I received it, I would keep it forever.)

Unfinished Business

This is my workspace in my fabulous sewing room.  I realize the desk is a mess, don't judge.  This is not what we are discussing today anyway.

When I moved up to the guest room for my full time sewing space I had the pleasure of going through all of my sewing things.  What I discovered was a plethora of projects I had almost finished.  I actually found 5 bibs for a boy - made long before I even had our bib wearing boy - that only needed snaps.  I found blankets I finished but didn't give away.  I found pot holders I had quilted but never bound.  I found jammy pants that I had cut out but never made up.  I found two pairs of shorts for the big boy that only needed a bottom hem and elastic put in.  This is the way I roll, people.  Lots of awesomeness, mostly unfinished. 

Currently I have two major projects that I got almost all of the way through and then left for the "Sarah Miller black hole of unfinished projects".  One is a quilt for my in-laws and another is a quilt for my sister-in-law, both were intended as Christmas presents.  Uh, Happy Valentine's Day?  I hope...

My goal is to finish - completely finish these two projects this weekend.  Those with ADD can relate - things rarely get finished when your brain changes channels too often.  By the time I get almost all the way done with something, I am bored.  The last few details are painful to complete.  This is why my most complicated and beautiful quilts are often given away with tiny threads to be trimmed.  My dear sister, thank goodness, understands this and gratefully trims her own threads.  Perhaps these two quilts will be given away with the same caveat.  You will receive something handmade and heartfelt from me, if you are willing to trim your own threads.  Work with me, here. 

Game On! Progress

I am totally rocking the Game On! diet.  I have had mostly 100 point days, which is the best you can have.  The only thing I didn't rock so much is the whole lose tons of weight thing.  I lost a pound.  A pound.  Really.  Whatever.  My teammates are attempting to convince me that it will all magically shed this week.  They had better be right.

The best part about this whole Game On! thing is that you play against your friends and there is this trash talk element that I thrive on.  Competitiveness is coursing through my veins and these PTA moms are all like, "No big deal, tomorrow is a new day, you can do it, rah rah rah."  So today when the enemy was talking about her completely bad habit day and the other ladies were all, "Oh, you can do it," I sent out an email.  It read, "And this is why we will win! Love ya, suckers!!"  I was so proud of myself.  That is what this is all about, right?  COMPETITION. I mean it even says that this is how the game is played in the book!

Uh, I am thinking that the PTA moms were a little put off by this.  Another, "You can do it!" email followed that one about how we all win, blah blah, blah.  Um, no, we do not all win.  Yes, there is that whole, "You are a better person now," thing.  But really in a game like this, there is only one winner.  And in this case, it's going to be me.

Yee Haw!

Don't you wish you had a cowboy?  I took this stunning picture (edited by the cowboy himself) during our fall visit up to West Texas where my cousins own a farm.  Besides, of course, the wedding which we were there to attend, the horses were the hit of the weekend.  Each of the kids got on a horse even though Jacob initially protested with howling that rivaled coyotes.  The girls shared a horse, delighted with these giant four legged creatures, they laughed and held on tight the entire time - hair blowing in the breeze.  I had visions of equestrian lessons in our near future.  The baby even took a short ride with his sister.  My horse sat in park for almost the entire time.  Apparently he was crushing on the horse that was tied up.  The love of a horse is no match for my reigns. 

The absolute shocker of the entire trip was my husband.  This is the man that swore up and down that he was terrified of horses - hated them, in fact.  He was absolutely not going to ride.  At some point I gave up on getting my horse out of park and went inside.  I came out to discover the man was doing barrel runs!  And the pole thingies, what are those called?  I don't know because my horse sat in park, remember?  Anyhow, the point is, my husband can ride.  What the heck?  I know we moved to Texas and all, but when did he go all cowboy on me?  Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining.  Cowboy suits him.  Just check out the hat!

Complacency

That word keeps weighing on my heart.  Complacency.  I had to go to ole' Mr Webster (via Google - of course) to get the definition as I felt a little hazy on the actual meaning.

Main Entry: com·pla·cen·cy

Pronunciation: \-s^ən(t)-sē\

Function: noun

Inflected Form(s): plural com·pla·cen·cies

Date: 1650

1 : self-satisfaction especially when accompanied by unawareness of actual dangers or deficiencies
2 : an instance of complacency

Uh huh.  Still not too sure about that.  Checking myself.  Have I become complacent?  Surely my unawareness is a sign. 

Exercise

Well, that's an unpopular post title.  But that is exactly what I have been doing since I started that Game On! diet.  I will not be bested by the PTA moms!  So, I have been faithfully on my elliptical every night this week.  The first night was alright.  The second night was killer.  The third night was ridiculous and I was positive that this crack pot diet business was going to kill me.  By tonight (a good 6 days into the game) I actually was eager to get on the machine....  I know, it stunned me too.

After all of my body's initial protesting, I found I was actually craving the movement.  I had forgotten what it felt like to push myself - granted there is a whole lot more of me these days to push - but in the end I felt accomplishment.  My sore muscles are a sign to me that I did something good for me, not a warning to never do such an idiotic thing again.  You know what this means?  Crap!  It means I should keep exercising.

I am only going to mention as a P.S. here that I used to (as in way way long ago) run a minimum of 3 miles daily just to feel normal.  As I began to know myself better and ultimately get a diagnosis of ADHD I realized that this exercise in my high-school years is what kept me focused.  The times I did best in school were when I was running and playing at least one other sport.  Perhaps my rekindled love affair with exercise will also help me regain my brain.  Hey, it's worth a shot.  I'll let you know how that goes.  I am also wondering if exercise will help me keep my house clean and do all my unfinished projects too.  Asking too much?

The letter

My paternal grandmother was nothing short of a Renaissance woman. She was athletic, playing golf (and usually beating the men - pre-Women's PGA) and bowling. She was a great cook. She was a gifted artist, usually trying one medium after another, brilliant in whatever she attempted. I still keep a knitted blanket made by her on rocking chair in my room. She sewed, painted china, made dolls, and ultimately she sculpted, a craft that allowed us to finally really know her.

About the time I was in middle school my sisters and I started going to grandma's house for craft hour. We would paint pre-made figurines and she would fire them in her kiln. As we got older we started working with clay and making our own sculptures. Her sculptures were clearly more refined than ours but she had a gift for making us feel like we were brilliant artists as well. We would drink fruit punch, eat frozen pound cake, and she would listen to our stories. I can still picture her hands and her wrists - always wearing a bracelet. They were not unlike my own wrists - not skinny, like my sister's.

At some point during this time Grandma started experiencing health problems - mysterious symptoms that put her through test after test after test. The final miserable reality was that Grandma had ALS - better known as Lou Gehrig's disease. Tuesdays With Morrie paints a vivid picture of what dying from ALS is like. Though her body began to fail her, her mind was still in tact. Within, what I remember as about two years from the onset of symptoms, she was gone. Poof. I was sixteen. She was sixty two.

Today, nearly fifteen years later, cleaning my room and going through an old journal, I happened upon an envelope addressed in script to "Sarah". Deep breath. The letter.

My Dear Sarah,
My first perfect granddaughter. How I've loved you from the first day of your life. I'm so proud of you. You have given me so much joy.

Keep on enjoying your art and your sports. The more things you have fun doing the better life is.

I'll be going away on a trip but will be with you always.

Love you,
Grandma Bette

Her handwriting was already labored by the time she wrote this. It was her only means of communication at that point. Her voice was gone and her face couldn't show any expression. Her written words move me to tears to this day. If only everyone had the forethought or time to write a letter like this.

The grief is still there. The pain is still real. We lost her too young. But lately I have been thinking of her - and reading the letter again heals me a little more.

For my other incredible grandmother see here.