Quilt Camp

I am back to the real world after going to "Quilt Camp."
It was held in the appropriately named town of Mt. Calm at the Compass Center. Despite the wind that heralded a cold front and and the dark and stormy night, it was a wonderfully relaxing few days.

"What in the world do you do at Quilt Camp?" a friend asked.

"Just eat, sleep, and sew!" I answered.

Most of the 29 participants were more organized than I and arrived a day earlier, but I did accomplish a few things - I made a Linus quilt, quilted a finished project I had been putting off,

learned to make blocks by machine for a Cathedral Window quilt, talked, ate, laughed, read, slept in, and socialized. Pretty much the same things most kids do at camp, we are just a few years older.

We have a delightful group of women who attend. There is a mixture of personalities and expertise. Everyone willing to share - snacks, thread, patterns, fabric, ideas, opinions, tips, and anything else that is needed. There is a feeling of sisterhood among the participants that is deliberately fostered. From beginner to prize winner, each person is part of the group as we share stories, discuss options, and listen reflectively, support for the many life changes we share.
We sleep on comfortable beds covered with handmade quilts and peer through windows covered with quilted Roman shades. We have two large tables each, plenty of plugs, reasonably priced essentials just in case we have forgotten something, and meals provided.
What a joy to hear someone announce the food is ready and know they will clean up so we can return to our sewing machines. Delicious food - tamales from a special maker, fat hot dogs made from 100% pure black Angus beef, fork-tender ribs, salads, baked potatoes, and desserts to top it off.
We have our dates for the next two camps and are angling for another. The spaces are almost full and I am on the list!

Prove It To Me

CHESTERTON, Ind. — Two fourth-grade boys mimicking a scene from the movie"A Christmas Story" wound up with their tongues stuck to a frozen flagpole.

A portion of my childhood was spent in Golden, Colorado. We lived on a small hill in a small house that did not have indoor plumbing. We did not live there very long, but I have many memories and stories dating back to that time.

My mother who is a native Texan, should probably have been born in the "Show-Me State." She didn't, and doesn't , believe what people tell her; she always has to see it or prove it for herself. Sometimes I think my dad's goal was to see how ridiculous he could make her look. She fell for it every time.

On this particular day, Mother was pumping water from the outdoor pump. It was the old-fashioned kind that had to be primed and the handle laboriously pumped up and down until the desired amount of water was ejected into a container.
Seeing Mother at work on the pump, my dad warned her, "Don't stick your tongue on the pump or it will freeze to the metal."

I sincerely doubt that Mother had been contemplating the idea, but now she professed her disbelief as she carried the last bucket of water into the house. Then she returned to the pump and put her bare tongue against the metal. Daddy heard the noise and found Mother bent over the pump, tongue frozen to the icy steel, complaining unintelligibly. He poured warm water over her tongue, dislodging it from the metal. If there had been any damage, it wasn't apparent. Mother was still able to give Daddy a piece of her mind.

2/1/08
Well, I knew I didn't have the story completely right, but that was what I remembered. All the while, I was wondering why my dad would have stood there and watched my mother pumping water and carrying it in. She might have needed to do that when he was not around, but he was a bit more chivalrous in his younger years. So, here is Mother's version of the story.......

"I went outside when Dad was pumping water from the old cow-tail pump. I asked him why he was wearing gloves to pump water. He told me to be very careful not to touch the pump with wet hands when it was freezing or my hands would stick to the pump. I told him I thought that was a ridiculous notion. Then I went over and touched my tongue to the pump and found out he was right!"

Cheesy Dreams

Have you ever heard the old wives tale, that eating cheese causes you to have nightmares? Well, I never had heard it. Maybe it is just a British myth. Apparently it is widespread enough that the British Cheese Board funded a study.

An in-depth Cheese & Dreams study, reports that 85% of females who ate Stilton had some of the most unusual dreams of the whole study. 65% of people eating Cheddar dreamt about celebrities, over 65% of participants eating Red Leicester revisited their schooldays, all female participants who ate British Brie had nice relaxing dreams whereas male participants had cryptic dreams, two thirds of all those who ate Lancashire had a dream about work and over half of Cheshire eaters had a dreamless sleep.

This study could open up a whole new world. Those who complain that they do not dream, should just eat cheese. Want to order a certain type dream? Eat the recommended cheese. It would probably be best to keep a log of your own experiences so you can order the proper dream. It would certainly increase awareness of the various kinds of cheese.

What about those of us who are lactose-intolerant? That's worth a whole new study.

Memory Box - "Injecting Culture"

from the Memory Box today....

"Remember when we went to Miller Outdoor Theater and saw the story of Ninfa's?"

Ninfa's is a popular Mexican Restaurant in Houston. Ninfa is the name of a Texas woman who opened the restaurant in a corner of the failing family business after her husband died. She parlayed the restaurant into a legend. In 1982, Theater Under The Stars made her life into a musical called, appropriately, "Ninfa." I don't think it was a hit, but it was interesting to Houstonians.

I don't remember that particular play, other than attending. I do remember the wonderful summer nights we spent under the stars, on the hill at Miller Outdoor Theater. The original attraction, besides the opportunity to inject some culture into my children, satisfy my longing for the theater, and get out of the house, was the price - FREE. We would go early to get a good spot, take a picnic supper, and watch the children play while waiting for the start of the program at dusk.

My favorite recollection is lying on blankets spread over the grassy hill positioned to catch each small breeze, watching fireflies and swatting mosquitoes while listening to a concert. The orchestra was loud enough to drown the noises of chattering children and gossiping adults, allowing a short time of total immersion in the moment. The lights of the nearby city were not strong enough to obliterate all the stars so I could lie on my back and gaze into the starlit sky. I listened to the sounds of patriotic music which never fail to stir the blood coursing through my veins that makes me so proud and thankful to be an American. From the lilting piccolo to the boom of the cannons in the finale, surrounded by the people I love, I filled myself with the sounds and sights of the evening.

I am touched when my children remember those times.

Memory Box - "Lunch Out"

From the Memory Box today:

"Remember when you took DD#3 to Swenson's for a sundae after gymnastics? The waitress gave her 7 gumballs!"

I do remember taking her there several times after gymnastics every week. In fact we went so often that the waitress knew us. I don't remember the 7 gumballs but DD#3 was a picky eater and she loved Swenson's grilled cheese. I think she might have gotten a small sundae with the child's meal. A small sundae.

Wordless Wednesday- Floating Art

St. Louis, Missouri

Wordless Wenesday

Memory Box - "An Experience in Germany"

From the Memory Box this morning:

"I remember when you came to Germany and Gunner left me in the hospital in labor with Em so that he could go get you from the airport. You arrived in time and then, over the next 5 1/2 days I was in the hospital, you would visit for a bit and then wander around the German countryside. You brought me a dozen pink roses for my room."

It was very difficult to make a decision on an arrival date since first babies are notoriously unpredictable. The goal was to be present in time to help out when you got home and it worked out just fine.

I was very surprised when Gunner showed up at the airport. I think he was torn between staying with you and having some stranger meet and drive me around. Anyway, it worked out fine since you waited for us. I went directly to the L&D room from the airport.

I must have appeared quite comfortable in the town as I made my way around looking in the small shops and ordering sandwiches for lunch from the various delis. As I sat on a retaining wall under a tree one afternoon, I was approached by a talkative young German woman. I told her I didn't speak German, having retained very, very little from the one course I had taken many years previously. Although she acknowledged my explanation, it did not deter her. She continued her conversation with me in German and I answered her in English. I think we could both pick out just enough words to make the ideas understandable.

One day, I strolled far enough to the end of town to find a cycling path which, apparently, meandered between the small villages. I started down the path several times. but stopped before too long since I did not know where it led nor have any idea how far I would have to go before having to walk all the way back. I onced dreamed of cycling around Europe. I wish I had had a bicycle with me then. I think I might have taken a small jaunt and explored a bit of the countryside.