The secret life of Grandma

“The secret life” has been a rejoinder between Laura and me for the last six months. Emptying the trash one evening, she spied an empty Panera coffee cup. “What’s this!? When did you go there!? I didn’t know about it!”

“The secret life of grandma,” I replied.

Since then, if she knows, she smugly remarks she knows about the secret life of grandma. But, if she doesn’t know, she sets about finding out. Toward that end, I try to leave a clue about new secrets. 

Today I met a new acquaintance for lunch, and told myself to bring back a napkin or some such thing for a trash clue.

Lynn is not so much a new acquaintance. We’ve sat beside each other for months, waiting for our respective one p.m. counselor appointments. We get on so well for ten minutes every other Wednesday, we decided to go to lunch. And so we did, today.

We discovered in short order, we grew up on North Hill in Akron. My sister and I often remarked how often children who grew up on the hill moved back as adults, as Lynn had done. North Hill is big enough to have three elementary schools, a junior and a senior high, so being from the hill doesn’t equate to being from the neighborhood.

Lynn, though, grew up on the third street behind me. She’s six years younger, and I didn’t remember her, so I asked if she knew my sister, Janice Lytle. “L-y-t-l-e,?”, she asked. “Was Melvin Lytle your brother? I still have the love letter he wrote me in fifth grade!”

The restaurant closes at two, and they sort of boosted us out, so we’ll pick this up another time. And, I forgot to bring home a clue. So, let's not mention this until next time.

Easter, about 1955

My brother Walt, me, mom, Mel,

and Janice, the baby who can't lift Mom's purse.

I've used this picture before, and sub-titled Jan as the one who never was spanked.

Presenting Emily's cinnamon rolls

The last week has been crazy busy. It's the end of the year for Emily and the end of middle school for Laura. Moving on, as they say.

Today was shopping for shoes and for an appropriate dress to wear under a white graduation gown. Tonight Emily's service learning class is hosting a movie night and holding a bake sale.

Emily's contribution is cinnamon rolls, which were accomplished in stages, between shopping. I was weaving all morning, and paid little attention to all the motion. First they made the dough, then went shopping for shoes.

Laura scored a pretty little pair of sandals,  which she modeled briefly between lunch, punching down the dough and leaving to shop for the dress. They swirled back in with Aunt Janice, made the dough into cinnamon buns and disappeared to laugh about shoes and dresses.  

A little later I followed the laughter to the studio, and found the conspirators laughing until the rolls cooled enough to be frosted. Having sampled a heel that would not go to the sale on my trip through the kitchen, I announced time, and went away.

Now supper is being prepared so we can eat and I can take Emily to the school by 5:30, to be picked up at (groan) ten. Suddenly Laura whirled into the room and announced the rolls should be on my blog.

Blurry, let me take another.

And there you have Emily's cinnamon rolls.

Take a peek, Mel....

Five years ago I wrote about Mel's jade tree.

Mel is our brother who died when he was twenty-eight. Long time ago.

He started this from a cutting--the world must be full of jade trees folks just wanted to grow.

I don't know how old it was when Jan rescued it from Mel's kitchen sink, back in 1976.

When she and Tom, Mom and I set up housekeeping, the jade tree came here, of course, and did what happy jade trees do. It grew.

It was not happy enough to bloom more than once, in 2005.

But it did grow, and was moved to a bigger pot several times.

When it went to this pot it took three of us, and we did it in the foyer, not outdoors.

It was obvious the plant had a small window of opportunity to get through the front door.

I wrote the Cleveland Botanical Gardens and offered them a jade tree, approximately three and a half feet by three and a half feet square. They had only to move it.

They did, in 2011.

I said one day I would take a look at the Melvin Lytle Memorial Jade at the Cleveland Botanical Gardens.

Today Ruth and I went.

There it is, in the foyer.

Look what professional pruning will do.

Jade trees can live five hundred years or more.

This one is just shy of fifty.

Now you know where it is, kiddo.

Keep an eye on it.

More reality

 Ten below this morning.

But, the overnight snowfall had to go.

"Me, too."

"Me, too."

Pictures up in the bedroom.

"I thought you had more."

"I put them back in the closet."

Fat brown headed cowbird on the suet. Another on the ground.

My sister quilting one of her scrappy quilts.

Laura, prepping more scraps to be cut into little bits.

More art

Remember this?

July, 2014

Laura's first formal art class.

Over the next year she and Mrs. P worked on sketching.

Last fall they took a fun break for another fashion project.

Today Aunt Janice, Emily and I attended the reveal.

Laura took a mid fifties, June Cleaver type evening gown,

and restyled it into a breezy sleeveless dress for a young working woman.

She explained her working sketches for the jewelry and the shoes.

The piece of fabric draped on top of the easel is a fabric remnant, perfect for the shawl.

Laura thinks she may wear it to her school dance tomorrow.

The necklace is mocked up from heavy silver ribbon.

The first shoe rendition was heavy and closed.

Now it's light and airy.

 I like her new logo, in the upper left.

Her old logo was LCL in cursive.

This is so classic and streamlined.

I know there will be so many comments on how well they are growing up.

And, they are.

But it takes a village, it really does. Their teachers. My friends. My sister.

Women like Mrs. P.

And a hint I received years ago, from my oldest daughter, who told me, "Thanks for letting me make my mistakes and work through them myself."

I remembered that today when Mrs. P asked Emily if she was worried about starting college in the fall.  The answer was an emphatic "No, not at all."

Another one, ready to leave the gate.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

It's not snowing at my house, and probably won't, but that does not stop the calendar. The snow will not be missed and Christmas cannot be missed, so all is right with the world.

A few weeks back, in November, John Grey wrote a bah humbug post about hating shopping, especially for Christmas decorations for family to hang on their respective trees. 

I thought at once of my friend Linda, and her ornaments. She began making ornaments for friends and family, probably as far back as 1965. She's still making one every year. It's never too late to start.

I wrote on John's post that day of the ornament Linda made a couple of years ago, after Alberta moved to Florida to live with Marcy. I remembered Linda cleaning out Alberta's apartment, looking at all the downsizing that was left behind. "What am I going to do with these?" Linda  sighed over a box of Alberta's collection of salt cellars. One showed up at my house, months later, with a red ribbon tied around it, a tree decoration.

How about a post of Linda's annual ornaments, I decided, and called her.  "They're all in the attic," she said, and not coming down this year because I'm going to Cara's." I am so rude. "Go look anyway," I wheedled, not to be deterred.

Later that day I got emails, loaded with pictures. A dear friend of Linda's did a downsizing move this year, and not bearing to dispose of any of her collection of Linda's ornaments sent a box full, which Linda laid hands on immediately, and stood in her attic and photographed a few. 

I asked if she wanted them attributed and she said no. You see a cute picture, she explained, and throw it in a drawer and later on make it. Someone else does the same thing. These projects just go round and round, anyone can do it. I know Linda, she'll be explaining some of them. The little bird house goes back to 1985; her dad helped with those.

The star is Linda's ornament for 2015; hanging on our tree.

And here's an ornament my sister thought of earlier this year and made one of for each of our brother Walt's children. Sawdust from a board the old cornmudgeon master wood worker never used. Those stickers are a mystery, but there was a roll of them on his drafting table, so Jan added one of them, too.

To all my kind and lovely blog friends,

wonderful holidays to you.

Busy Saturday

In the studio, Laura sorts quilt fabric for Aunt Janice.

Emily sews quilt blocks.

Jan held up two panels of her current quilt.

She is making several quilts to be raffled to provide food bank funding.

I finished the scarf I wove on all week, and it's on Helen, at the Gallery.

Together with one lonely purple scarf.

And me, taking its picture.

And Emily, watching.

In the orthopedic office

Just a week ago I broke my arm. I fell smack on the point of my shoulder. The humerus broke at a place called the surgical neck. No separation, no cast. Hooray! I was in the hospital two days, because the pain could not be controlled (and I’m one tough old lady!). The made sure I could walk and climb stairs, had someone to take care of me at home, knew my patient rights, could manage clothes…..they never made sure the sling was on properly!

I still was a ball of misery when Beth brought me home, where she had a front button gown waiting to replace the ankle length flannel that tripped me up and sent me down, and which must be cut off. Linda called. The weaver of beautiful rugs and former psychiatric nurse. You don’t get anything over on her!

“Don’t even think about a bra!” she thundered. As if I could move enough to even get it on and comfortable.  But I did not like as much loose anatomy as mine rubbing around. “Go to the Dollar Store; get men’s’ muscle shirts, three to a pack. Just step in, get it pulled up, tuck it up under the boobs!” Easier said, but my personal assistants got it done.

I had a shower Sunday evening, and my personal assistants constructed my attire:

Grey sweats (pride goeth before the fall of the woman who owns no pants without zippers!)

Men’s muscle shirt from the dollar store.

A turtleneck from my closet.

The yellow plaid night shirt Beth made appear overnight from Woolrich.

The sling.

My front zip hoodie around my shoulders.

“I look like a Wallmart person,” I lamented.

“No, no visible thong,” my sister replied.

I had to report to the orthopedic doctor Tuesday afternoon. Save clean underwear, my costume was unchanged. Oh, well.

The doctor’s assistant was a most dour thirty something. She was all business, no smile. After the preliminary computer work, she handed me a gown.

“That won’t happen,” I said.

“But the doctor…”

“It won’t happen. I am not going through the pain of un and redressing for anyone.”

“How did you get dressed this morning?”

“I haven’t been “dressed” since Sunday. No gown!”

“You’ll have to take that up with the doctor,” she sniffed, and left.

Half a magazine later, the doctor came in. “Here, let me adjust that sling properly!”

The pain in my shoulder diminished by half!

Back in a week for new x-rays. One week gone, seven to go!

Missing my nap

The only nap I've had in the last six weeks was last night; fifteen minutes between Emily's senior pictures and her induction into National Honor Society.

Tonight was a toss-up between taking Emily to a school camp, Laura to an appointment, or an internecine village council meeting where I would have been hard pressed to keep my lip zipped.

Jan took Emily to camp, I took Laura to her appointment and I suppose they're still arguing, down in the village.

Sunday there was a cousin get together at Beth's, and Caroline's school project of a plaster mask was accomplished.

Actually, there are two Caroline's on the table, a Laura and an Emily.

Yesterday I went looking for a new header.

Plenty of sunshine, though this long shot obliterates it.

I like this one. Up it goes.