Author: Rene

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.

Truly I do not get out enough.

This morning’s adventure took me dress shopping with a friend who has wedding needs as the MOTB. Approximately 7,000 steps later we had some success. I simply marveled at the fashions and colors of spring, vowing to peruse the confines of my closet before I purchase something similar to what I already own. (It has happened in the past.)

However, I did wonder who in the world was trying to pull the wool over our eyes on this style – the skirt, not the shirt. Although the shirt also leaves something to be desired.

That just looks like it got stuck in the agitation of the washing machine and then frayed by the dryer. Perhaps that was how this creation came to be? I will just use this as a cautionary tale the next time I throw my ankle-length denim skirt in the machine.

The restaurants you knew and loved? They might be closed…and not just on a Monday. Permanently.

Perhaps we don’t dine out enough but in the past week two different attempts to dine out were thwarted by the permanent closure of the restaurants. Fortunately we actually checked to see if they were open. Apparently we can’t just pick up and go out like we used to, counting on the ability to get a seat at a restaurant. And if you do, there’s no guarantee the wait staff showed for their shift!

The good news is that we do know how to cook and can forage for our meals around here. In spite of that we are venturing out into new territory – Felix’s place!

Since Mother Nature offers no guarantees either I’m dragging out the winter parka and heated gloves for the evening drive through snow and freezing temps. We’d stay home for dinner, but of course, no one planned anything. We needed to double check the fridge.

When I returned from playing bridge today I decided it was time to polish my black leathers. We do have shoe polish! It’s leftover from days of yore and obviously not used anymore.

When I was a kid it was a Saturday job to polish my dad’s shoes. I remember the waxy stuff, and then the polish that came out of the tube like a bingo marker. I didn’t enjoy that task much, but it was something “nice you can do for your father.” I guess my mom didn’t enjoy it either? Anyway, we have the waxy stuff – Kiwi shoe polish purchased eons ago for 85 cents. What is the story there? Naming, cost, and by the way, can be used as a stain for unfinished wood. (I read the back of the container.)

The bonus to my efforts was finding a dusty plastic bag in the polish basket, which of course, I opened. My husband had stashed a beautiful shirt he bought for me and forgot to give me one Christmas. Along with shinier shoes I now have something new to wear. It was rather nice to shop in the closet!

If you knew this song which I sang in college you’d understand why it’s probably politically incorrect to now be sung by a white chorus, regardless of the fact that it was appreciated. It was a great gospel song, and it came to mind today as it has many times. Those songs were sung for a reason.

Mostly they imitate life. You’ve got to up down, turn around, pick a bale a day. Don’t we?

What’s so weird is that I think I could sing all four parts, though not in the proper register. We learned songs and sat through each section rehearsing ad nauseam until we knew the parts. Thus, I can sing every part of the “Hallelujah Chorus” and enter at the appropriate moment, though not in the previously referred to proper register.

Anyway, some days feel like you’re doing the same thing over and over and over and over. You are. Yet, you look for the things that make that same day special? Ooh! Like this song that just came on. “Strangers in the Night.” How I do love a good Sinatra song.

…in the front yard bloomed. Sorry, Mr. Whitman, but you came to mind. My lilacs are budding, not blooming, however the five forsythia bushes have not blossomed for over twenty years, when first planted.

Gazing out my front window I saw the splotches of yellow which drew me to planting on a hill years ago. We really aren’t the right micro-climate here but I didn’t know that then. I could only see yellow and cheerfulness every spring! Suffice it to say I chopped them down last year and was determined to dig them up this year. Did they catch a whiff of my intent?

Whether weather, tender gardening, or just plain “it’s about time”-ness, they are doing something, and this year they are about spring and hope, even if they are a little mangy looking.

(“When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed,” poetic tribute to Abraham Lincoln by Walt Whitman)

My driveway is beautiful. This weather, coupled with three young artists and one older one, presented the opportunity for a colorful “mural” of sorts.

My artistic ability is limited to what I can copy from someone else. Otherwise? I still draw like a five-year old. Yet, I love doing it. The only caveat – I like to create when I know the weather forecast includes moisture. This weekend, it will all be erased.

It’s wonderful spring time therapy!

The sewing machine is out and I’m making items for three little girls. As I’m finagling the fabric, chatting with my sister, we laughed at our mother’s admonition. “You can always do with a 1/4 yard less than the pattern says.”

I remember going to the fabric store pre-school year, picking a pattern with seven or eight different looks, having to share with it “Pindy”, and then choosing fabric. This took hours, truly, not counting the hour-long drive to the big city. It was an all day event.

At times my mom would open the pattern and lay it out just to re-work the strategy and buy the smallest amount of fabric necessary. Leftovers? If there were any, it could be a bandana or good scrap for a quilt later on. I learned a lot of math with her training. Area, measurement, corners that “could be cut,” and of course, corners that couldn’t be touched! When the arrow says “go with the grain,” you go with the grain.

Sewing always brings me back to her masterpieces, my favorite being that burgundy velour coat she made me one winter. Maybe that’s why I love to sew coats? They are a rewarding accomplishment.

This headline in today’s paper grabbed my attention.

When weren’t they a fall hazard? Just as a bicycle pretty much was a fall hazard, a razor, roller skates, skateboards…How did we survive? (I had a piece of pea gravel in my knee until college, the result of a bicycle mishap. One day it just popped out of my knee after it had been circulating there for years. That was fun.)

To be fair, there was a mechanical part on these Segways which could inadvertently cause the falling. I did read the entire article out of curiosity, so, I guess the writer did know how to catch my attention? I only rode one at The Garden of the Gods years ago. That was enough for me. Thank goodness I gave it up before I fell!

Yesterday we had a visitor. He was darn cute. Unfortunately, he was also injured.

It was hard not to feel bad for this little raccoon. I made three phone calls to find someone who could either rescue him or tell us what to do. No one handles injured wildlife in our city, nor apparently in the state. So strange. I don’t know how many more calls I could have made, but after three hours he moved on, leaving our sun-drenched porch.

We didn’t see him today but I’m hoping he was able to recover a bit after his visit. I like to think he knew it was a safe haven since I had already seen him limping along in the morning on the property. Before he left he stood up and looked right in the window of the door at me.

He really was a cute little fella.