ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER

Golden sunlight reflects on the hillside during the storm

Recent temps hint that things are moving toward summer. Yesterday (Wednesday, April 29), it was 85 or so, and last night we had thunder, lightning, and rain. A close thunderclap at 1:15 a.m. jarred us awake, and today we have more rain.

Finished wood racks

Our plan was to return to the farm on Tuesday (April 28), but every day, something happens to keep us in town – a project, a meeting, a rescheduled appointment, delivery of a package, and now a motorcycle ride on Saturday. When not otherwise occupied with scheduled activities, Mike is making wood racks for the pickup and refurbishing an old rocking chair. 

A room cries for help

I think the stay in town is God’s way of telling me She really wants me to straighten up my sewing room, a project I can hardly face. Yes, it’s that bad. I’ve had to push many projects aside. It’s not so bad that I can’t do it, of course. It just forces me to make decisions, and I guess I have to be in the mood for that.  

“What about the early start with your spinach crop at the farm,” you ask. Well, I’ll still plant it, and if it doesn’t like it, I’ll just buy spinach. We’ve all done it, after all.

Mike’s Tuesday meeting was on Zoom, the videoconferencing app, now more familiar to the average person because of the pandemic. Even though this was Mike’s meeting, I became involved because he planned to use one of my devices, and I decided “we” needed more info. Daughter Hallie, who serves as my tech, said she could take the time to help me, so we set up Zoom on my iPad, which has camera and microphone. Mike’s participation didn’t exactly go off without a hitch, but we’re learning. He said the participants’ names showed as they spoke, but his said, “Kathy’s iPad.”

I shopped Albertsons again Wednesday morning. Yes, I know – I just went last week, but I had a list, and honestly, I’m not afraid of Albertsons – and they need me, too! Arriving at the store, I cleaned my hands, tied on my mask, and also cleaned a cart with a sanitizing wipe. The routine to enter the store is regimented but friendly.

Iris blooms in town

Mornings are quiet at Albertsons. Social distancing is not a problem. Several times I had to patiently stand back and wait while another shopper took her time making a decision. Crossing paths with other shoppers is an interesting experience. Some take it in stride while others glare. Some duck and look away; others chuckle and shrug. Stock is gradually being replenished, but now the meat shortage is obvious.

I would say 80% of shoppers wore masks. One shopper had gloves but no mask. Guess she didn’t get the memo about the gloves. I was glad to take my mask off when safely back in the car. Seems like this coronavirus is determined to keep us from breathing normally one way or the other. KW

WHEN PROJECTS COME TOGETHER

Basket o' Gold blooms in town

Here we sit in town. One thing has led to another – work on the old pickup, a meeting, packages coming, appointments. Meanwhile, it’s getting warmer, and I’m anxious to see what’s happening at the farm. That said, I’m the one that ordered yarn to be delivered here in town on Wednesday, but it has worked out all right. We're getting things done.

A couple of months ago, I finished a couple of t-shirts for Hazel. The “Chiefs” shirt was a special request from Hazel herself. Her family likes the Kansas City Chiefs, and could Aunt Kathy make a t-shirt? Yes, I could. I found this logo digitized by an Etsy seller. It was a little large, so I applied it to a wide-necked t-shirt. I made the black t-shirt to complement the plaid flannel skirt previously finished. In these photos, Shirley Anne is simply wrapped in a scrap of the plaid flannel for modesty’s sake. She complains that she has no clothes of her own, but she does it smilingly.

I’d like to work a lot faster than I do, but you know, it just takes time to pull a sewing / crafting project together. Even if I have the pattern picked out and ready, I still have to read the instructions, choose the fabric(s), and gather the supplies. Then I will inevitably over-think the project. Even though it doesn’t really matter, I will cogitate for hours. Once I’ve made a choice, I clean the kitchen counter so that I can cut the fabric. This all happens before I can sew a stitch.

A case in point is a project I have ready for Hazel – a duvet with cover and pillows. (For the most part, Hazel receives whatever I want to make.) With due deliberation (see above), I selected an off-white quilting cotton for the duvet and cut it to the suggested measurements, but before I began to stitch, I came upon two doll quilt panels and coordinating fabrics that have been lolling in my stash for at least five years. Instantly I saw that the quilt panels could become the duvet covers. All I had to do was re-cut the duvet according to the quilt measurements and stitch the quilts according to the directions for the duvet covers. Accessorizing pillows were included on the panels. So, now I have a nice informal bedroom set for Hazel.

Now I’m preparing to make an afghan, a simple design based on Pendleton’s Hudson Bay blanket. So many crochet patterns are built on the single and double crochet stitches, and that’s fine, but these can be blended into more intricate, prettier designs. I'm planning to make my afghan using the Star Stitch, also called the Daisy Stitch. The little doll afghan pictured here is my practice piece, and it’s good that I practiced. Now Hazel has an afghan to keep her warm, perhaps on camping trips. KW

THE HOME HAIR STYLIST

Boy, do I need a haircut! I was needing a haircut when the salons were ordered closed. At least my hair is graying naturally. My roots are “salt and pepper” just like the rest of my hair.

Mother and Me -- She did our hair.

As I was growing up in the ‘50s and ‘60s, my mother did my hair. She trimmed it, put it in braids or a ponytail, made ringlets, and later, rolled and permed it. My dad visited the barber regularly, but Mother did my hair, her own, and assisted my adult sisters with cuts and perms. The first time I visited a salon, I was in 8^th grade, and it seldom happened again until I was on my own in the big city. Then it happened regularly.

What about special occasions, you ask? What about them? Weddings, proms, photo shoots – we didn’t even think of having our hair done by a professional. In fact, I knew of only one salon in our little town. I think it was called “Bon Eve.” The sign on the door showed a woman with a wavy ‘30’s style. Old ladies wearing yesterday’s styles went there. My Aunt Ethel had her hair done there. Need I say more?

Aunt Lynn, Aunt Shirley, and Aunt Ethel

Now, this is history as I remember it, but I believe salons catering to older women were still the norm into the ‘60s. Older women tended to land on a style from a bygone era and keep wearing it, which dated them – like my elderly aunts. But then, what can I say? I’ve worn mine in a wedge for 40 years and wouldn’t think of changing it. So – there you have it.

My mother had no training in hair styling, and as a young person, I didn’t appreciate her natural skill. She loved to work with textiles, and I expect that working with hair was just an extension of that talent. Whatever natural skill Mother had with hair I didn’t inherit it.

And – Mother complained about my hair from the beginning. “I braid it and it looks all nice and neat and the next thing I know it’s crawling out of the braids. It will not stay where I put it!” And, she pointed out, I had all these cowlicks – one on top of my head, like Alfalfa, and a string of them at the nape of my neck. (I still have them.)

Mother was still complaining about my hair when I was an adult. I loved the freedom of the new short cuts that required no fuss at all – just wash and go – but when my hair was newly styled, Mother would point out the flaws. “Your stylist does not understand your hair. She must leave it long on top and at the nape of your neck or it will stick straight up. You have to tell her that.” Honestly, nothing mattered less to me. After all, everything would be fine in a week, and I was not going to fool with my hair!

I was so happy when the “wedge” came along. We can thank Dorothy Hamill for that. It may be out of date, but it works for my fine hair and holds the cowlicks in place. I simply wash it, brush it into place, and consider myself good to go – as long as it’s shaped, that is, and right now it isn’t. A shape-up every month or so puts it back to rights. It’s long now and getting longer, but I can wait. (I politely declined Mike’s offer to help.) KW