Button Button! Who has the button?

Mammy and her mama before her always kept a large jar, usually with a wide mouth, filled with buttons.  We used to play a little game when a crowd was cooped up indoors.  A button would be selected from the large jar and held between two palms.  Everyone would stand or sit in a circle and the holder of the button would slide the pressed together hands through each of the others.  At some time in the process the button would be dropped into another pair of hands.  At the completion of the circle, the leader would then ask "Button, button...who has the button"!  The person able to identify the recipient would then become the leader. This was a good way to occupy a lazy afternoon and develop our skills of observation with the ability to maintain a secret for a short time. The little ditty passed around my mind this morning.

I noticed a small brown box with a slightly askew lid.  It was so full, the top was elevated.  This is my version of extra buttons.  When I purchase clothing, a tiny little bag with extra buttons is often attached.  Of course I must keep these extra buttons where they can be located should catastrophe occur and a gap is left where a button is necessary.  I can easily count on the fingers of one hand, the times I have retrieved a button from this box to replace one that has gone missing.  Still I keep them...just in case!  This collection was due for some sorting and clearing. In fact, some of these buttons await their chance to come to the rescue on clothing that now lives in another state or has moved on to an unknown destination.  How inconsiderate of me not to retrieve the little bag with extra buttons and attach with a tiny safety pin to clothing being passed on!  I carefully opened the bags of now orphaned buttons  and dropped them in a small jar. Now I can stash the tiny bags in my sewing notions.  I often need to attach buttons or tiny trims to a project in progress. These little bags are a range of handy sizes for holding little sparkly things.

Now my little box lid closes nicely and I feel a lovely sense of accomplishment.  I placed the lid on my new jar of buttons and remember that I have one of those wide-mouth jars passed along from my mother back in a cabinet.  

Now the little jar is resting along side one of those jars of buttons (many still on their cards) that have never found that perfect destination.  I wonder if a bunch of old ladies would enjoy a game of  "Button Button"?  Mammy would be proud, order has once again been restored to my buttons without homes!  My little sparklies have empty bags awaiting when they are matched with potential projects. My morning was not wasted!

Wedding Day...hope for perfection, plan for trauma.

I have heard it said that every wedding has a drama. I spent several days last week baking a cake for 250 guests at an outdoor wedding. Of course a "rain plan" was in place, but the forecast was "scattered brief showers" in late afternoon with a warm evening.  It was accurate!

     

For the past week, this was the scene in my kitchen. The repeated hum of the mixer as my single oven heated was a memory from days gone by.  I agreed to make a wedding cake, an activity not indulged in many years.  I enjoyed the baking and planning with much trepidation on transporting the confection to the venue.  We anxiously watched the weather forecasts hoping for a cool dry afternoon and evening.

 I baked, and I baked some more.  My oven did not accommodate the sixteen inch round pans. The guard in the back of the racks could not be turned and it blocked the pan from going all the way into the oven. I had to turn a cooling rack upside down and set the pan on the elevating pins to clear the back guard.  It was a little precarious with the heavy batter filled pan (red batter no less).  The large layers must be quick frozen in order handle for decorating.  I no longer have my collection of extra refrigerators and freezers. Luckily Dancin' Girl has an extra freezer and refrigerator in her garage just around the corner.  We rearranged the shelves of the freezer and I wrapped the cooled layers, then took them over to her house.

Cakes are baked and iced

I whipped up enough icing to cover an elephant, or so it would seem.  About that time I began to refer to the concoction as "the beast", somewhat reminiscent of the armadillo groom's cake in the movie "Steel Magnolias". This was however the bridal cake and included a calming layer of rich white cake over each round of red velvet.

The wedding day arrived.  I had visited the site earlier in the week and the hilly winding roads would require that each tier be boxed and transported on a flat surface for assembly on the cake table.  Ol' Abner stepped up and cut heavy corregated cardboard to shape large flat boxes for the cake to travel smoothly.  They all arrived in perfect shape!  As I set the boxes on the table I realized there were few places on the surface that didn't have a mystery lump.  A level smooth surface is critical for successful display of a large wedding cake.  Furthermore, the table was very wobbly, the assembled cake would be very heavy.  My heart sank, but I set to work attempting to find a smooth place as the table tilted under the weight of the cake.  Meanwhile the photographer explained that the photos would be staged hopefully timed to show the setting sun through the trees as the cake was cut. A lovely plan that would require perfect timing and positioning of the cake.  The "table" was an old cable spool with a circle of lumps (bolt positions) around the center, forcing the cake on it's 18" plate to rest near the edge.  

The cake tiers had each been perfectly level...yes, I use the carpenter's tool to check, on my kitchen table. When assembled, it exhibited a slight tilt, but felt sturdy when I tested it.  Rain clouds were gathering and a gentle breeze was becoming stronger.  Cheerleader A and her mom were watching and offering to help as I stacked the beast in place.  The plan was to have the groom's cake and a tower of decorated cookies on the other side of the table.  One of the helpers went inside and brought back a lovely crystal plate to hold the chocolate cheesecake for serving and I was convinced my work was done.

We left the venue to change to our wedding appropriate clothing and Cheer A and her mom agreed to stand guard, with umbrella in hand, against hummingbirds and racing children.  

The call came as I was slipping on my non-athletic shoes.  One of the co-hostesses from the bridal shower was advising me that the cake had fallen and they had managed to catch it, but the tiers were stacked all around the table,  I assured her that I had tools to repair it and would return shortly.  The wedding hour was approaching and it was raining at son's house, only a short distance away.  The old song from the sixties, 

MacArthur Park, kept running through my mind...at least the line about someone leaving a cake out in the rain.  We hurried back through rain puddles along the road.  The heavy butter cream was sturdy, but not exactly waterproof.  Luckily Cheer A's mom had stood holding umbrellas over the cakes to protect them from the downpour.  What loving friends this bride has.  I was touched.  No matter how I adjusted the dowel supports on the cake and reset the center stakes, the cake, when assembled, sloped.  The table just would not stay level under the weight and I had no way to shore it up.  It was a little muddy by then so it may have been sinking into the mud. Plan B had to go into action.

We settled the bottom two tiers under a flower separator and stacked the centerpiece for the table on top, with the upper tiers displayed to the side.  It appeared momentarily stable and Cheer Mom continued her vigil.  It was about twenty minutes after the planned start of the wedding and Ol' Abner was urging me to come and sit.

Cheer Mom shows a little angle to me

We sat just as the bride's mother was being escorted to her seat.  Perfect timing!  The bride was absolutely gorgeous and her father's voice was breaking as he agreed to give her away.  He did offer a stern admonition to the groom before he offered his precious daughter to him! We laughed.

After the ceremony, photos were taken in a little meadow just beyond the seating area. We returned to the tables set up for the reception and I looked up to see the cake tilting again at a rather precarious angle. Cheer Mom beat me to the table and managed to catch the top two tiers as they toppled.  I grabbed food service gloves and manhandled them safely to the tabletop one more time.  At that point I decided the anniversary tier could be moved to it's box under the table to be frozen later in the evening. The eight inch tier became the top and the twelve and ten inch tiers served as the base.  The sixteen and fourteen inch sloping layers remained under the centerpiece. When it was time for the cutting of the cake, the able photographer provided lighting to make up for the sun already down.  The bride and groom offered up the ceremonial bite of cake to one another and the party began in ernest.  It was a joyful celebration for most.

I say "most", but the trauma few knew was for the mother of the bride. Minutes before the ceremony, she took a fall in her own house and had a terrible knot on her forehead.  Her hairstyle had to be rearranged to cover the forming bruise, no doubt to be a massive blackeye. She made the rounds diligently as the warm perfect hostess, but I know she was suffering through a nagging headache.  I was saddened that this much anticipated and planned event was ruined for her by the anger of the pain.

Knowing this, my dilemma of an ever-toppling cake seemed minor.  Did I mention that the mother of the bride had shared a story a few years ago of her wedding.  Her cake fell over!

Come September

I can remember hearing adults refer to things that would happen when the kids returned to school as "Come September".  My mother would say "come September we'll get together for our morning coffee", or my dad would tell a customer on the phone "come September I'll be in your area at least once a week".  I never quite understood the magical month when school resumed as a gateway for all those adult activities; until I became an adult.  Those days of pre-school month frenzy are a distant memory now for this old "adult", but I did finally understand how life entered a new cycle with the beginning of each school year.  In retirement, our lives are no longer tied to the school year. This year, we planned a spring trip to be completed before the end of school, but it was more a recognition of hot summer weather's approach than the deluge of kids loosed on humanity. I had many projects planned and our return from that spring trip was to be my gateway to busy times.  I had a number of sewing projects, a revision of the usage for two of our bedrooms, establishment of a consistent exercise routine, all in preparation for those cooler autumn days.  Several weekend excursions were planned and of course the usual preventive care visits with physicians, dentists and vision specialists would be completed before fall. Have I mentioned that I lost my summer.  Well at least my functional self was lost all summer.  A fractured leg and mangled toes will hamper mobility severely!  Ok, that's all history now and the reference to "come September" has arrived like a giant looming snowball. Three quilts must be completed before year's end, assistance with making a fourth one with an ambitious fellow for his mother. All those medical visits were postponed in lieu of more urgent foot repair, physical therapy and stretching conditioning practice. 

In March, I agreed to make my first wedding cake in roughly fifteen years..."come September"! Whaaaat was I thinking? I'm thinking now! This simple cake embellished with fresh flowers will consist of nine two-layer tiers, red velvet and white cake tiers.  The grooms cake (of course, we must have a groom's cake) will be chocolate cheesecake.  It will be an outdoor wedding, garden theme, since the weather will be cooler "come September".  It was 100 degrees in our little town today, the wedding is five days away.  The garden setting is smack in the middle of a hill-country working farm.  A lovely live-oak grotto will provide scant shade (if you know about live oaks, you understand) for the flower covered arched alter.  The dinner reception and dance will take place just behind the seating area where fairy lights will be strung around the perimeter.  I think it will be beautiful and I look forward to seeing this lovely girl marry the fun quirky young man that stole her heart. Preparation of the cake is NOT what concerns me, getting the beast to the venue (did I just call it a "beast"?) is my worry.  Hill country rural roads are steeply sloped and winding.  I no longer have my van with the level floor for transporting, nor do I own the array of boxing supplies and large sturdy plates that support a cake to feed 250 people.  I cannot stake the tiers together for travel and anticipate their arrival without a bit of lean or even side tilting.  The entire thing will need to be assembled with dowels and stakes on site.  Weather is predicted to be in the mid eighties...the same as the past weekend...we had two days in the high nineties, and it's going up.  I am meeting the florist prior to the service for set-up.  I gingerly expressed slight concern about flying things that might be attracted to a sugary confection sunning in open air.  I offered a canopy and some netting to put over it as protection, but no takers.  I pray that we don't find ourselves hosting a hummingbird convention...fresh colorful flowers and a huge mountain of sugary fluff...can anyone see where this could go?  Furthermore, I am a guest for this (dress code-semi formal) affair. Son's house is closer to the site than our home, so I will complete my task and then attempt to make my (probably sweaty) self presentable for the festivities.  Oh and there is that issue of my lame foot.  It is still inhospitable to a closed toe shoe, and I am sporting three toenails that look like they belong to the homeless lady under the bridge.  I would beg help from Dancing Girl, but "come September, she will be in her long planned meeting in Los Angeles. I am on my own, friends...to get this cake in place, make myself worthy of attending the fun times, then arrive on time.

Traveling North

As I continue to whine about my limited mobility, life goes on.  A couple of weeks ago, I enjoyed a marathon sewing festival with five dear friends. My ever so smart sewing machine "Dinah" rebelled a few hours into my sewing adventure and jammed, breaking needles, skipping stitches and generally slowing my much needed progress!  Despite her tantrums, I did manage to complete a couple of projects.  Nevertheless the hours of fun, eating, and general chatting with friends was so refreshing. As we wound down our sewfest, my angry ankle made itself known. Ol' Abner was NOT happy and lashed out at Dancin' Girl that I just must not do this anymore.Little does he know how much I need my interaction with these friends. Oh well, this too shall pass.

A visit to the doctor on Monday morning after his declaration and the diagnosis was cellulitis in my lame foot.  Fractures are well healed but the toes are black, blue, and yellow with spots of green on my ankle and leg. The overworked doc, after agreeing to work me into her busy Monday, declared that I might be a good candidate for the ugly or perhaps most colorful foot pageant!  I'm not sure there is one, but she assured me I would be the hands down winner.  A round of heavy antibiotics and it appears I am well on the mend.  It's been a slow process and I'm back to the walk around a day and prop up the foot for the next day. 

We drove to Lubbock for an annual celebration and a little family time. On the way, I had the chance to stop in at a couple of quilt shops for more of our coveted Rows.  In Snyder TX, two shops are located on the town square.  All my sewing friends had viewed and loved these examples.  I had called ahead to be sure they had ample supplies and one greeted me as I limped in as "Hello, you must be Austin". Clearly she remembered my call and we had a delightful conversation.

I found two rows here

The previous visit to a shop just across the square had been just as pleasant.  The owner was anticipating much "row traffic" and was well prepared  for the coming weekend.  Her rows were unique and gorgeous, so of course, I bought both for myself and my friends.  As we left Snyder I posted a quick photo of some of my loot on social media and the private message thread activated immediately.  

This denim rag quilt was so inspiring,
I must share! It was displayed in Nana Bears!

The rows from these two shops will be a part of at least six more of the row quilts. My friends spoke up on line and by telephone as Ol' Abner drove the remainder of the ride into Lubbock.  Sister was thrilled at the rows I had brought to her and coveted some others.  I guess I will need to revisit some of the 
those earlier shops!

As we made our way into the city where we first met, Ol' Abner shared memories with me from his childhood and teen years. Some I had heard before, a few were new revelations.  We laughed as we anticipated seeing some of the subjects of those stories and mourned the loss of some of those dear friends.  I was reminded of our aging status as my foot rebelled and sent me to bed early that night.

Play Time!

I am finally walking without crutches, though my choices of shoes are very limited.  I can walk around the house a little at a time and we go out for a few hours without my crutches. I have to come home and prop my leg up after any outing to rest my toes.  Yes, I said "my toes".  My foot and ankle are functional and I walk with only a slight limp, but my three mangled toes scream "STOP" after and hour or so of slow moving activity. An evening out for dinner requires the following day of sitting with my foot propped up on a pillow with intermittent soaking to settle the toe spasms.  There is good news here though...Each recovery seems to be better.  This morning I am up with resolve!

My urge to sew is bubbling over.  I been touching and sorting my fabrics for several weeks.  My supplies are organized and straightened.  I still have  Creative Girl's little portable table with ironing pad set beside my sewing table.  The bar in the kitchen is covered now with my vinyl cloth for sorting fabric pieces.  Today I SHALL sew!  

Next week I look forward to a sewing retreat with three, maybe four, perhaps even five of my friends who sew!  Dancin' Girl will host at her house on the lake and we will sew all day long for three days straight. Several projects are in the plans, so I will get out later today to shop for a few final items to add to my supply hoard.

Creative Girl was traveling with her husband Planter Man yesterday  and gathered a few Row by Row Patterns and kits for me.  Have I told you about that project yet?  It is such fun to visit quilt shops around the country and the Row by Row event is a summer long, nationwide, shop hop (sort of).  When eight rows or more are combined into a quilt, said quilt may be eligible for a prize when taken to a participating quilt shop...and why would you take it to any other kind?  Creative Girl, my over-achiever friend, completed her enhanced version of a ten-row quilt last week and took it in to claim a fantastic prize.  We had such fun visiting shops, even in my lame condition, earlier in the month that though her quilt is finished she is still gathering row patterns and kits for the rest off us.  Planter Man was meeting with other fruit growing enthusiasts somewhere near San Antonio this weekend. He graciously agreed to allow her stops along the way at quilt shops for gathering fabrics and row kits. I am ready now to begin making the first of my rows!

Choosing happy

I refuse to be sad! If I spend one moment dwelling on the situation in our country, I have the urge to cry.  I want to cease reading or watching any kind of news.  Optimism is hard to muster when a madman opens fire on a peaceful protest, with the escorting police officers his target. Politicians all strive to make their mark in the aftermath...and I just want to cry.  This is the reality, I must face daily and yet I hope it will get better.

My life is pretty good. We live in a safe neighborhood.  Our city is usually safe enough to move around without feeling threatened.  We live comfortably, wanting for little.  Good restaurants are available, entertainment is near and varied.  Our house is on a hill overlooking a beautiful golf course and a lake beyond. Healthcare is readily available to us and we are well insured from the financial burden of same. Membership in a large loving church congregation soothes our spirit. So why am so troubled?

I ran across an article a few days ago that seemed to give rise to my melancholy.  As a young person hearing the Russian Premier Kruchev tell our president that they would destroy us from within, I shuddered.  He seemed so certain.  As a young adult, the memory surfaced when I read Saul Alinsky's "Rules for Radicals."  The process for creating and controlling a population to create a social state seemed so simplistic, I refused to believe Americans would ever allow it to happen..  All of the principles from Alisky's formula are in place in our country today. I see a struggle to resist, but it is pathetically weak. Our children have been subject to an education that presents a social state as a sort of "Utopia" and selectively edits history and science.  This will be their country to inherit. 

I will not dwell on this any longer.  Putting my concerns in writing gives me a bit of release, even as I hear a physician talk in a tear filled voice about the recent massacre.  I must turn inward and be thankful for my many blessings.  I have children and grandchildren that are part of our hope for the future.  It is their future and I will not wallow in guilt for leaving them with it.  I will enjoy life and love the people that make it worth living.  I will keep my friends near and remember to talk to them often.  I will do the projects and travel to the places that are my happy plans.  Our pastor shared a passage I recognize.  It gives me comfort.
1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 Be joyful always. Pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. (NIV)

Escape is in sight

Tomorrow is a much anticipated day!  For nearly a month I have worn a lovely green cast on my lower left leg.  Tomorrow, I have an appointment to have it removed.  I know fiberglass is lighter than the old plaster casts, but trust me it is cumbersome when trying to adjust position in bed at night and arising from a chair...or a bench or a booth.  At times I must make more than one attempt to stand up.  It's as though I must rock and bounce to make my functional leg gain balance and lift my abundant carcass up!  Crutches are a pain to perch around a table or booth in a restaurant in a place where they do not create a hazard for others attempting to pass.  Zelda Green has been handy at home when I must haul things around the house, but getting her in and out of the car is not a skill we have mastered.  A friend suffered a crash with a similar device and added another six weeks to her recovery after breaking her OTHER foot in the mishap.  With that in mind, I am overly cautious when driving her around the house.

Crutches are not without hazard.  I have stubbed my toes (extended out beyond the front of the cast) on door facings, stomped them with my crutch and hit them on table supports when trying to sit.  When all my fractures are healed, I may require intervention for my toes.  It would appear I am sorely in need of a pedicure, but I fear my black and blue toes will not tolerate any poking and rubbing! A good soaking may be my only indulgence once the green accessory is removed!  Ah, come on tomorrow!