It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

Want an easy one? Get on your hands and knees and scrub the floors…it will swiftly bring you back to the fond memories.

It was a good day to scour, to start anew yesterday. Easter always encourages me to initiate the “spring cleaning,” which is rather a strange time to deep clean if you commence opening all your windows in the spring? However, my floors, though not sparkly, are clean. And my knees, though creaky, are feeling just fine.

Deep cleaning thoughts.

Back in college I severely sprained an ankle playing flag football. It was the year we took the championship trophy, too, the only trophy I have ever received on merit, all four inches of it. (I tripped in or on a hole on the field, reestablishing the nickname my sister used to call me, “Grace.”) Anyway, I was wrapped up and on crutches and our choir was slated to sing at Saint Pope John Paul II’s visit to Iowa. I anticipated hobbling around on dirt ground with ungainliness but I wasn’t missing this opportunity.

What I didn’t anticipate was being placed in the first row with the other people who were crippled or handicapped that day. I was a mere six feet from the Pope when he came around to the crowd. I remember being struck by the kindness that emanated from him, the same kindness you could see in the dancing eyes of Pope Francis. A feeling of serenity and peace, joy.

How fitting the leader of the Church should return home on Easter Monday. And I am forever grateful for that injury.

You know it’s Easter weekend when you put on your best attire for braving the cold.

It was really pretty this morning though, with a blanket of white covering all of the recent blooms. I was grateful for a light snow, not a branch breaker.

The Son will definitely bring about the resurrection and beautiful new life of this glorious day.

Easter blessings to the world.

Well, I don’t know what happened to yesterday’s post – dropped the ball on that. I’m just hoping I don’t drop an egg today as I boil them and then dye them. There are usually one or two casualties resulting in egg salad sandwiches or scrambled eggs.

We’ll see what options I have available in the dwindling food colors left in the cabinet. I may concoct some interesting hues this year?

With the year of the purse out of here, apparently my second honoree found its end this week. Both satchels lost handles, too. What does that say?

Apparently I’ll have to get a better grip on things around here! On to the next victim. I mean, purse.

The potential of a tulip blooming went downhill this spring. These culprits have been enjoying the buffet and obviously our meadow. Glimmers of red beauty seemed faint. However…

These two little guys surfaced after five years of being accidentally transplanted. How do I know this? I was manicuring the yard, preparing for a fall wedding five years ago when I filled a hole with some dirt from the “outback.” Eons ago I had planted bulbs there to no avail since I didn’t water them. I’m talking YEARS ago. Anyhoo…that dirt apparently harbored old bulbs which took five years to properly mature under the former tree across the driveway. (Now an ungainly shrub which my spouse always wants to axe but which we must keep and nurture properly. It has two little tulip bulbs hiding there.)

This is all to say, “Hope Springs Eternal.” What a perfect week for these two little friends to appear.

Spring has given us the most beautiful ornamental pear tree blossoms! They were at the height of glory yesterday – and I predict “snow” to follow. The minute the wind wields its wonders (my English teacher would sigh at the use of alliteration there) – a blanket of white will be on my porch and driveway. Such a small price to pay for this sight.

Here’s hoping the cold stuff only falls in its softer form henceforth.

The comic strip “Blondie” is sometimes a little outdated, and doesn’t always offer a chuckle, but I got a kick out of this thought. Someone could jump on the idea and offer us all a glimmer of hope?

Apologies to all for using Young and Marshall’s thoughts on a glorious spring day.

She comes from out of town,
But things don’t settle down.
Soon we’re on a tear,
shopping everywhere.

We find some crafts to do,
Have “spa nights”, yes that’s true.
Still working in the morn,
Though feeling tired and worn.

Time together goes so fast,
We cram the fun in to make it last.
Until we meet again…
”When” is beyond my ken.

Since my world is going “pink” I happened to wonder why my pinking shears are thus named? I know such-named scissors will scallop the edge of fabric, but why “pinking.” So I made a detour down the rabbit hole.

Carnations, aka Dianthus, have similar edges to what a pair of pinking shears produces. Since one of these flowers is pink in color, the creation of the implement was called a pinking shears, and the verb “pink” came into the lexicon. (Brief summary) Prior to this sewing item a mallet and punch would create holes or decorative hems. I like to think that Eliza P. Welch and Louise Austin were both women who patented designs for the pinking iron and shears, but I don’t want to assume. My guess is they were both seamstresses though and saw the need for something to “cut down” the time it took to keep edges from fraying.

And so I continue to sew my projects and pink my world for sheer delight. And write bad puns.