I Didn't Plan It That Way

　

 No, I sure didn't plan it that way... to get old, not that I am of course! But I'm getting there. Now, I know that I'm supposed to be grateful, and I am, that I have achieved such an age at all. I am, for sure. I am more grateful I think, that I have reached this age, please don't ask what it is, with most of my health in tact. I say most, because there are certainly the creaks and groans in my bones some days. But for the most part, I am heading into the twilight with good health and a few goals yet to accomplish, with laughter in my heart and a few tricks left up my sleeve too!

I looked back the other day and realized that I hadn't traveled as far as I thought I would by now. Am I getting slower and forgetful all at the same time? I didn't plan it that way. I planned to stay strong and healthy without any wrinkles forever. I did, truly. I never spent much time thinking about what I would be like....if I aged. It couldn't happen to me, because it's so far away! That won't happen to me for many years, oh boy...I didn't plan it that way.


Oh my, what terrible mirrors they make today. It seems that mine gets worse every morning, as I peek up to the edge while brushing my teeth, not showing my whole face to that darn mirror. That darn mirror is completely distorted I tell you! I slipped up this morning and stood up too soon. My whole face was looking back at me and I screamed in horror. When my husband came rushing in to see what the matter was, I told him nothing. He didn't need to know...does he know..can he see the old woman in the mirror? He looked at me quizzically and went on about his business. I didn't plan it that way.


After I had hung a towel over that darn mirror, (that would fix her! ha ha the old
woman that lives in there hiding and waiting to catch me unaware) I went into the room where my husband was sitting. Sitting and staring into the T.V. flipping channels, not even stopping to see if there was something interesting on. His habits are becoming more irritating everyday, flipping those channels, as if suddenly there will be something of interest on, to fill his time. He doesn't need to find something, there is plenty to do, how dare he just sit, now that he is retired! I didn't plan it that way.


Spring is a somewhat kinder season for us here on the farm. The grass is growing and the cows are getting fed much easier. The mud of winter is dried and making way for more grass from the warmth of the sun. The boots are on the porch beside the heavy coats, at the ready, but for the most part taking a little time off too. It's almost time to cut hay, but not quite, leaving a little more time for leisure. I guess after all, my husband deserves some time to relax a little after the long winter. The cold days in the rain or snow, no matter what the temperature, he takes care of the cows (and I hide whenever I think I can). Yeah, he does deserve the time to flip channels. I didn't plan it that way!


The garden is tilled and tender new plants whisper in the wind that blows a little harder than I like, loving the warmth from the sun. Bare feet with grass between my toes is the most wonderful feeling in the world, after the heavy socks and boots of winter. But the wind now chills my arms and I reach for a jacket..I didn't plan it that way.


The evening comes late and offers time for a long walk after dinner. My hip cracks with each step but doesn't hurt for long. I lean a little more to the left and it's ok again. I still lean a little toward having soup for dinner too, but the Spring just tells me no, soup time is over til fall. That's ok, I like the lighter dinners this time of year and head back outside for awhile before the darkness takes the day away again. I didn't plan it that way.


I'm so glad to wake up each morning, even with the allergies of Spring. It seems to renew everything, even me. The grass, the trees and plants... and my soul, all feel the warm energy of Spring. The short cold winter days with dismal gray light are away for awhile and I feel that I have to hurry and enjoy the sun each day. Is that a sign of age? I don't know the answer, but I know that I appreciate each day more than before... I didn't plan it that way.


My grandchildren are growing faster than my own kids did..how does that happen? Was I blind when my kids were growing up and couldn't see the days pass into weeks and months...years...and then they were grown, right before my eyes..no. I didn't plan it that way.


Somehow my feet don't move at the same pace they used to. It takes more time now to accomplish the same things and some don't get done at all. I'm no longer in the kitchen late at night baking for the next day...we shouldn't eat all that sweet stuff anymore and there are no little ones clamoring for snacks all day..Now it's a dose of fish oil and a salad. I didn't plan it that way.


My projects seem to stare at me, daring me to come and play. I touch my paint brushes fondly and tell them I will be back soon..when I have the time. No longer full of fresh ideas each day and can't wait to start a new project, I plod along at my daily tasks unable to turn on a dime anymore and do twenty things at once...I didn't plan it that way.


My husband calls me to help with the cows. I look around for the quickest exit, knowing I can't lift myself over the fence with a running jump today. Choosing my fences to climb over carefully, without getting hit in the head with a hot wire is now a priority. The shock of it now seems to hurt more and last longer and I avoid it at all costs these days. I plan my exit in case a cow decides to run over me, since I don't move as quickly as I used to. The cow knows somehow..knows she can run faster... I didn't plan it that way.

I heard a family talking the other day, their mother was going to a nursing home. Looking at the children I thought, it's too soon! They are young and their mother is too! How could this be the way of things to come? I look again and see, the children have grown and are not so young. How did that happen so soon? The window of time is closing on us all. It comes so quietly we don't see or hear it beginning to close, leaving us unprepared for the events we take no pleasure in. Taking the time to look around and be thankful of all the things we have isn't here yet.. Oh no... I think it might be... I didn't plan it that way.

I am thankful each day for my family and my husband and all the people I seem to take for granted much of the time. Thinking they will be there even if I don't see them or talk to them enough..all I have to do is..reach..no, they aren't there today. They have their own families now. My thoughts are moving into a new direction, that I truly need to plan...to do all the things with them while the window is open, that I didn't get around to often enough before..call them more often, just for a moment..and see them more often too.Treasure the time and the loved ones.. I can see clearly now..I plan..to do it that way.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Sixties Sistas

　

The young girl's needle went in and out of the fabric at exactly the same distance each time.  She was very exact in everything she did, but each quilt circle had to be even more so for her. Each stitch that she made would bring the circle together in an even round puff. The circles in many colors and patterns stacked up neatly beside her were from the dresses she had made to wear to school, ready to receive the needle and thread and continue to form the quilt. Some pieces were from her friends dresses too. They had taken the scraps of material from their homemade dresses and decided to make a popcorn quilt together. A memory quilt. Once it was finished they would take turns keeping it for awhile. Sometimes they sewed the pieces together while they sat on the bed and talked and giggled over the things they had planned to do on Friday night. Other times they worked on it when they were at home alone, each of them with their own box of circles. Each, knowing which pieces of the fabric had belonged to who and who had worn which dress and when. It was so much fun to look at the small circles and remember the times they had worn their dresses. Memories to touch and feel.

As each "popcorn" was placed in the box, the girl would mentally add it up. They had an idea of how many they would need, but not an exact count. The three teenage girls had read about a "Popcorn" quilt in a magazine and decided they could make one as a memory quilt. The sixties weren't times of everyone being rich or without worry about money. Some of the kids at school seemed to have everything, but most didn't. Most of them had to make do with what they could afford too, most of the time.

Girls especially, during the teen years feel the need to fit in. Fitting in was so important during those early years, to the tender heart of a teenage girl. In order to really fit in, the girls needed to wear the same clothes as all the other girls. Just like the ones that always wore the latest styles and didn't seem to have a care in the world other than looking pretty. During this particular time, a style of dress called the "shift" had become immensely popular with girls all over. The style was the same, but the pattern of the fabric was the key. You couldn't just have one, you needed several dresses of different patterns, most of the patterns were of small flowers. The colors were endless, which meant that if you bought the fabric and made them yourself, you could have many more than if you had to go buy them. The girls chose to learn how to make them themselves and learn they did.

Of course the shoe was important too. There was actually a style of shoe to be worn with the dresses in order to really fit in with the fashion and make it work. Now those shoes weren't particularly inexpensive either! Some girls had more than one pair, but most only had one pair and they were treasured. Navy seemed to be the color worn most of the time, because it went with so many different colors of dresses. Yes, navy seemed to be the best choice. However, a few girls actually owned red and pink too. They weren't the girls that made their own dresses though, theirs were store bought and they could have new shoes whenever they wanted in every color available.

The girls that had learned how to sew and make their own dresses were somewhat envious of those pink shoes, but the red ones were actually coveted. They were so pretty and just made the outfit feel so special. The girls had finally made it and received a pair of red shoes somehow, saving their pennies and dimes and felt completely confident when they had red shoes too. Except...that wasn't the end of it. Just when they thought they were fitting in completely and were confident every day wearing their homemade dresses and store bought shoes, a new fade came in to fashion. Would it ever get easy?

The cable knit sweater. Not just any cable knit however, it had to be the name brand sweater or the color wouldn't be right. No knockoffs would do here. How could this happen so soon? Just as the girls had mastered their skills with the sewing machine, here was another hurdle to climb. You just had to have the sweater to wear with the dress and the shoes that you had finally managed to get two pair of. Now they were faced with something they couldn't use their talents to make. The sweater had to be purchased and it was only sold at certain stores. Yes, the high end stores. Stores that weren't normally visited by those that didn't have buckets of money to spend.

Having been accepted and praised with their dresses of many fabrics, they couldn't be defeated now and go back to...not fitting in, or feeling out of place when everyone else had at least two of the sweaters. Not easily defeated, the girls found ways to make enough money to each buy a sweater. Babysitting was the popular form of making money when you were too young to get a job and they did their share of it. Kids that screamed for their mom's the whole time the girls were taking care of them and refused to go to bed, were their ticket to the sweaters.The real jobs would come a little later...

With all their savings from their babysitting jobs, they timidly opened the door to the special store that sold the sweaters, they almost lost their nerve and backed out to the sidewalk to count their money once more. It was the quietest store they had ever peeked into. They had always looked in the windows of this store and continued walking past it, knowing it would be futile to go in. It would have been far too embarrassing too, if they didn't have enough money today, once they had picked out the color and taken the coveted sweater to the counter to pay for it. One of the girls had been given some extra money by her parents and she assured the others that she would help them out if they needed it.

Onward they marched covering their laughter with their hands on their mouths, into the den of high end shoppers and snooty looks. They spoke in whispers as they walked through the isles of beautiful clothing, not wanting to be seen by the other shoppers.The thick carpet under their feet wouldn't hide their actual fear, only the sound of it. Most of the stores they shopped in had shiny lineoliem floors that made every footstep clack as you walked on it but this store was hushed as people made their purchases.

Finally finding the rack of sweaters, they couldn't hide their joy as they touched each and every one. They became so absorbed in feeling the soft wool and admiring every color with a slight gasp at the prices, they lost track of time. Realizing that they would soon be late to meet the parent that was picking them up, they rushed to make a decision, in almost a panic. Suddenly, one of the girls broke into a huge smile, all we have to do is each pick different colors and we can borrow each others. The other two girls felt as if heaven had lifted a burden from them and quickly agreed to the plan.

Of course they picked white and navy and red. The sweaters just had to match the shoes! Giggling all the way out to the sidewalk, they were proud of their plan and couldn't wait to try them on at home with each of their homemade dresses. So much anguish had gone into the perfect outfit, surrounding those homemade dresses. They didn't realize until it was time to make the quilt, much later, that they had suffered for all the wrong reasons, needing to fit in. They just knew at the time they had anquished until they each owned at least one color of shoes, sweater and dress that matched and made them feel completely...in. They fit in. The lesson learned was that they truly didn't need to try and fit in anymore, they already did, but not from the clothes that they wore, but who they were. The older they got, less importance was put on the right clothes as each passing year brought them to other things and a different way of thinking..like boys.

Of course the quilt came to be because the dresses had long gone out of fashion and been replaced with other things. Still..it brought them together with their first team project and the feelings of wanting to remember those hard earned dresses just a little longer. A few lessons they would take them with them into adulthood had been learned as well, learning to sew and be self sufficient at an early age, finding out what they could accomplish with hard work and tenacity.

Jeans had come into fashion by then and they were all for it! It was entirely too much work to stay dressed in fashionable clothes all the time, they had better things to think about now...cars! Friday nights and driving through all the local hangouts...gas was cheap...and curfew was...later.
　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

The Cottage On The Island

Bringing up four kids during the

fifties wasn't the easiest thing to do. My folks didn't have a lot of money and things weren't always easy. When my parents died and we cleaned out all the drawers, we were amazed at what they were able to accomplish with so little money.

One day my Dad came home with a boat behind the car. We were thrilled and couldn't wait to climb in and pretend that we were out on the water. My brothers and I played all week long, pirates fighting off other pirates in the ocean. On Saturday morning, we packed food into a cooler and hooked up the boat to our surprise. Heading down the driveway my brothers and I couldn't seem to really understand what we were going to do with that boat. Of course like all kids, we clamored for information, but Dad just smiled, he had a secret and was enjoying every minute of it.

Dad had always wanted a boat for as long as he could remember. His secret dream was to be on the water in a boat for hours and hours on long hot days. His parents, my grandparents, didn't really approve of such things. Boats weren't needed and it was just money spent frivolously. They didn't wish us a happy day as we took off, they just shook their heads. My Dad was smiling and laughing for the whole long ride. I had never remembered him so carefree. The ride, took us to the river. We had never seen it up close before and were amazed by it, but not the least bit afraid as we jumped into the water with the freedom that only a child can have.

We couldn't swim of course, but that didn't matter at all. The water was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to us. We splashed each other and crept out as far as we dared, before Dad would call us back closer to shore. Another family had met us at out destination and the two men put the matching boats in the water and filled each of them with all the food and things we would need for the day. We all climbed in and took off down the the river, side by side. It was the most amazing feeling to be gliding over the water at such a speed. We thought we would be flying into the clouds soon, as the spray hit us in the face and we laughed in delight, getting us completely wet.

After a while Dad and his friend pulled the boats up to the shore onto a small beach area and we unloaded the food and other items. That was the best sandwich I have ever had in my whole life, sitting on a blanket on the beach. As good as it was, I couldn't wait to get back in the water, but we had to wait..until our lunch had settled. Mom and Dad told us that we would sink to the bottom if we went in too soon after lunch. We were so disappointed, until we spied the shells on the beach to collect. We were so bent on finding interesting species of life on the beach we didn't see Dad getting the boat ready to go out again. When we looked up he was being pulled out of the water by his friend driving the boat. He kept falling into the water and holding onto a rope being pulled back up again. Finally, Mom explained they were learning to ski. We sat on the beach and laughed at our father, falling in the water time after time. Finally he didn't fall anymore and they took off for a long ways with my Dad gliding behind the boat with a huge spray of water behind him. We were delighted at the sight of him behind the boat. His friend rode the ski's back to the beach and Dad drove the boat.

They came back in finally to pick us up and ride some more, but Dad told us we couldn't learn to ski until we learned to swim. I remember looking at my brother and he looking back at me, we had no idea how you would do that. Later that afternoon, Dad gave us the basics of swimming and we practiced until we were so tired we couldn't walk. We fell fast asleep on the ride back to take the boat out of the water. It was the most wonderful day we had ever had.

For several years we went off on the weekends to the river with the boat and our friends. Sometimes another couple with their son would join us. The father was older than my Dad, but he laughed and cut-up like a kid. So one day, he wanted to use the board instead of the ski's. He held onto the rope hooked behind the boat and Dad took off. We all stood on the beach and watched as he went under water but still held onto the rope. All that you could see was the shiny part of his bald head, but he wouldn't let go of that rope! I kept thinking that Dad should stop the boat, but I think Dad thought it was so funny, he had to go a little further. To this day I can still see that bald head going through the water with a stream of water coming up from his ears. He never did get up on it and finally gave up, but with a smile on his face.

Finally one day in February a few years later, Dad told us we were going to a new place and that was all he would say. We drove for a bit longer than we usually did and I thought it must be a special place for sure. We didn't bring the boat and I couldn't get my mind around why we were going in such cold weather. By the time we were all a little antsy, and asking, how much longer is it, we came to a bridge and went across it. There was water everywhere and then suddenly it was as though we driving down a road at home. Finally, Dad turned onto a long road and at the end you could see the water again, almost coming toward us it seemed. We leaned up in our seats to see better and get closer to it. Mom began to smile more, but wouldn't say a word. When Dad parked the car and told us we could get out, there was a small house trailer sitting in a very grown up yard, way over my head. The houses next to it were so nice and the yards were trimmed...and then we saw it. The Bay! Forget the trailer and the jungle, the water was right there for us to run to. Paying no attention to Dad telling us to be careful, we skipped around all the tall tangle of growth and down the neighbors yard, straight to the beach. It was more than wonderful in the cold, with the wind coming in off the bay, stinging our faces. Our feet hit the beach at a run.

Mom and Dad followed us with my youngest brother in their arms. It was the most beautiful beach we had ever seen and as far as we could see it just went forever. The wind was about to knock us down and we didn't care a hoot. We were back on the beach again. Finally, we asked Dad where we were and he told us that it was our place. I know for sure that my mouth hung open in amazement as my brother and I looked from one to the other. We couldn't believe it. Then he told us that we had a lot of work to do to get it ready for the summer. Oh we would help! My brother and I looked back behind us at the overgrown mangle of mess and couldn't begin to figure out how it could possibly be done though. It didn't matter though, Dad would tell us what to do.

We walked back with Mom and Dad to the trailer as the neighbors all came out of their cottages to meet us. We were shy as the adults all talked for much longer than we were comfortable with and we really needed to find out where the bathroom was by then. As we got closer to the trailer we saw an old fashioned spigot out back and some places that had been cleared enough to walk in. Dad took us inside and showed us how neat it was. It had one tiny bedroom. We looked around for another bed, but for the life of us we couldn't find one. Dad showed us how the sofa turned into a bed and there was a fold out cot too. It had the tiniest little sink and stove I had ever seen and the ends of the trailer   curved down, making that part of the ceiling shorter. But it did have a bathroom that worked, and we made use of that quickly! It was warm too, it had heat, what a wonder that was.

With help from my uncle and many hours of labor on my Dad's part and as much as two young kids could offer, we cleared the lot completely. I got a really bad case of poison oak from the smoke where we burned all the debris that we cleared. There were days when my brother and I thought we would never get to set foot on that sand again, but we did. It just seemed like forever! Dad didn't push us beyond what we could do and we did it happily, knowing that it would be wonderful.

Once the land was cleared, Dad began to build a huge porch on the front of the trailer. It had a cement floor and the end of it opened up completely, to house the boat in the winter. Somehow they found beds and chairs, another fridg, a large table, some chairs and it was complete. We had our own little cottage, sitting beneath tall pine trees and at the end of the yard lay the beach. It wasn't much to look at, but it was a beginning and we loved it. It seem as though we had earned it too, right alongside Dad.

The island had welcomed us with open arms. The neighbors were just wonderful and we all formed a community together. There were houses behind us of every description and down the little roads all around with the same kind of people, weekenders. Oh we all ended up there for vacation weeks at times, but mostly weekends. Beginning in April or sometimes March, we all began the weekends at the cottage.
My Dad spent most of his time there working along at the things that still needed to be done, the yard being a priority. The beach was next, as he pulled and chopped old stumps that had never been removed. He was always happy there and didn't mind fixing the place up at all. We had our chores to do of course, before we could take off for the day. When we were set free, we roamed the entire island, our parents free from worry that something would happen to us. We would never tell if it had, we loved that freedom too much. It was a different time and place then and we roamed until we got hungry, almost like Tom and Huck, we weren't afraid to wander. Sometimes well beyond when we got hungry too. My brother and I became friends with some of the islanders too as we traveled along in our bare feet. The road to our cottage was long and hot when we went in that direction and we never thought to wear shoes, until we had to head home.

Back in those days, it was tradition to have Sunday dinner. We had it there just as good as if we had been home and I think it tasted even better, made in that tiny kitchen. Back at home we had a jar in the cabinet. The jar was for dimes. When we had enough dimes saved, we could build a new and bigger cottage, Dad told us. It was fun to reach up for the jar and add our own dimes to it. My brother and I were always finding ways to make money as we got older and we always contributed to the jar, making us feel a part of it.
We finally had enough dimes and Dad had a full sized cottage built right in front of the trailer and porch! The company put up everything but the walls and we did that ourselves. Like I said, Dad never minded hard work and he was always working at something at the cottage.

The trailer and porch became my brothers and my own little "Sugar Shack". We could pile a bunch of kids in there, day or night. Sometimes other kids would just be there whether we were or not, they knew we would show up sooner or later. Someone always had a puzzle going and cards were always on the table. We learned how to play all sorts of card games. There was no such thing as television down there and we didn't miss it all, we were too busy! Most of the time in good weather and calm seas, we were out in the boat with all of our friends. Anchored for hours out in front of the cottage, we swam to our hearts content or everybody took a turn at skiing.

Coming in close to dinner time and pulling the boats up on shore was a lot of work, but going all the way around the island to pull them out at night was just too much time! After dinner we all changed into our mosquito proof nighttime clothes and built a fire on the beach. Several of the guys played guitars and sang for hours. I try to remember the words they sang, but only a few a left with me now.

We didn't have a lot of money, but we made what we had go a long way. My Dad was able to do almost anything that needed to be done with his own hands. He taught me well and he taught me patience. I treasure the ability that I think was inherited from him, to work with my hands. I think that he also gave me the ability to see beyond the moment and look ahead for things to come. It's funny, my Mom never really enjoyed cooking so Dad began later in life to truly enjoy it down at the river and got quite good at it. I started early wanting to learn how to cook and my grandmother was the inspiration there...but that's another story for another day.
Dad didn't get to live out his years at the cottage as he had hoped. He left us way too soon, but he left us with a lifetime of wonderful memories to cherish and live by.
　
　
　
　
　
　
　

　

　

　
　
　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Saving The String

Living in today's contemporary world we forget the old ways. Are they really so outdated? Maybe..but I think we can take from them today and build on them in our modern fast lived life.

My own children lost their grandfather too early to learn the tricks to growing a garden and making flowers bloom bigger. Not that they would have been interested as children. I think about this now as dig in my garden and remember what my grandfather did. I don't come close to doing things as well as he did, but I have the memories tickling my mind as my hands dig through the soil. I smile to myself and dig a little deeper, making sure the soil is fine enough to pull any weeds that dare to creep upon my newly planted treasures. He certainly made his mark with his little remarks to us as children. We had no idea then, that his simple words would remain with us forever. We didn't even pay much attention at the time and I'm sure that he was aware of this too. If he only knew how much he gave to us without even trying. It wasn't in the form of a video game or new clothes, no, not by a long shot. He gave us words and actions to live by.

He taught us how to save the string. It seems that we have such an abundance of "things" today, that we throw away far too much without even thinking. I have created a "save the string" basket for myself. It's an "I might need it!" basket. I tend to still save the small pieces that are leftover and stick them in drawer. Far too soon the drawer is stuck and won't open for all the "pieces of leftovers". Something inside of me tells me they still have value and could come in handy for..something. I may not know what the something is when I cram it in the drawer, but I know it must still have value..because my grandfather taught me so.

A piece of string, a button and a bit of ribbon. Rubber bands that won't sting anymore..pencils of every length, but with erasers still good. Those are the things that he taught us to save, and more. I guess I have always had a string drawer. We didn't have a lot of pencils when I was growing up. I remember my first real eraser, that wasn't attached to a pencil. I treasured it and kept it in my very safe place. My brothers would have taken that eraser and used it all up if they knew where to find it, so I had to hide it. That was no easy task either!

Pencils were a favorite thing to me growing up. I wanted to grow up to be an artist. I loved to draw and spent much of my youth practicing on notebook paper...until I was told not to waste so much paper. I remember that day too well. My heart was crushed by the words. To me, it meant that my drawings were worthless. My father was my hero and rarely spoke harshly or unkindly. He didn't mean to crush my tender feelings, he was just a Dad trying to make ends meet with four kids to buy pencils and paper for, to be used at school. Not wasted on silly drawings that had no purpose.

I remember making some money by ironing for a lady. I was paid fifty cents per basket load and those clothes were crammed in that basket full! I would start out on those hot summer days, when the breeze through the window had died for the day, vigorously attacking that basket of ironing. After an hour or so, I would wish for that basket to shrink right before my eyes. No..I had to finish them in order to get paid and that was my goal. One time, I had saved enough money to buy a real pad of drawing paper and a charcoal pencil, charcoal, not lead! My very first real paper. I took it to my room and laid across the bed in front of my window. I couldn't dare draw the wrong thing because it would waste a sheet of my beloved paper. Such a simple thing, to those that had enough to waste. I did not. I was careful to not sharpen the pencil too much either, I couldn't bear to waste any of it.

My brother coveted that pad that I now owned and his lips twisted into a thin line as he tried his best to not ask to use it. Finally one day, as he sat beside me and wiggled the bed so I couldn't draw, I gave him a sheet from it. As soon as I had torn it from it's home, I knew that it was my biggest mistake..but the deed was done. My brother took the sheet of paper to his room and began to draw, nothing of consequence in my opinion.

Needless to say, he was soon back asking for more. I gave him a sheet that I had already drawn on and told him to use the back of it. He wasn't as happy as he had been by the clean new sheet of paper, but he left me alone. That gave me time to put my pad and pencil away, under the mattress. Knowing my brother well, I went outside to catch his attention so that he wouldn't be looking for the pad. As selfish as this sounds, to not want to share my paper, I didn't know how long it would be before I could buy more, so I had to save it as long as could. Do you know, I still feel the same way today about my special paper today, of course now it's photo paper that I treasure.

And so it began, hours of staring at the clean white sheet of paper, afraid to draw on it. It might not really be the right thing to draw. Because of this fear of wasting the paper, I began to look around for things to draw, the woods and the barns and the stumps of trees that had been cut. I would be sorely disappointed whenever I looked at my finished picture and it was out of balance. I somehow knew the importance of balance even then. If it didn't fill the page correctly, I always felt that I had wasted my opportunity and another sheet of precious paper. Not realizing it then, that all the wasted paper was teaching me along my path of worry. It taught me every time I began a new picture, to be more aware of the balance of the drawings, to the size of the paper. I didn't have a real teacher until we reached middle school, so I had to struggle with trying to get it right and better each time.

I did become the owner of many pads of paper of different sizes and textures along the way as I got older. My father eventually developed an appreciation for the drawings. He did not feel the need to provide them however. Always one to find a way to make a little money whenever opportunity knocked as a child, I found ways to buy my own paper and pencils. Living on a farm there was always some job to be done and occasionally it even paid a few dimes. If you save ten dimes, you have a dollar! That was my goal, to save enough dimes to make a dollar. I did hate picking blackberries for a nickel a quart though! It was a long hot day to pick a dollars worth! I guess in the whole scheme of things, ironing on a hot day inside, beat picking berries on a hot day outside anytime.

Saving the string has been a part of my life since childhood, so.. I still have the pieces of life that have drifted away..and it's ok.