Garden Idea, Some Visitors-and a New Bag

I love old enamelware.  I find pieces of it all the time at my local Goodwill store, usually costing no more than a dollar or two.   Monday I planted my collection full of herbs and petunias. I love the old fashioned look this adds to the patio.

Years ago, because we missed not being near any significant body of water, we bought the little fountain on clearance.  Turns out, the birds love it too!

Every spring, the Evening Grosbeaks migrate through Ellensburg on their way to their summer breeding grounds.  They are quite spectacular to see, and we relish the few weeks these striking, entertaining birds are around.  (But my, they are voracious eaters, and go through a ton of bird seed!)

While I’m not sure the male, who landed beside a newly planted petunia, knew what to make of the flamingo, both he and his mate approved of the fountain.

And lastly, I added another flower to my garden of bags-another market bag.  The purple barkcloth is even more gorgeous in person than it was in  pictures.  I’m happy to have sold four other market bags already.  I feel like I may have found my bag calling-to provide a pretty and practical plastic bag alternative.

Have a great rest of the week, all of you!

Brothers

In honor of my father. ♥ In memory of my uncle.

Decoration Day

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest
On this Field of the Grounded Arms,
Where foes no more molest,
Nor sentry's shot alarms!

Ye have slept on the ground before,
And started to your feet
At the cannon's sudden roar,
Or the drum's redoubling beat.

But in this camp of Death
No sound your slumber breaks;
Here is no fevered breath,
No wound that bleeds and aches.

All is repose and peace,
Untrampled lies the sod;
The shouts of battle cease,
It is the Truce of God!

Rest, comrades, rest and sleep!
The thoughts of men shall be
As sentinels to keep
Your rest from danger free.

Your silent tents of green
We deck with fragrant flowers;
Yours has the suffering been,
The memory shall be ours.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Friday Flash Fiction: In the Rough

Whatever had possessed her?

She pushed aside the plaid cotton curtain that concealed the empty space underneath her kitchen sink.  The light was dim, and the space offered little more than elbow room in which to work. She’d expected that.  But it was filthy too. Since moving in, she had yet to sweep here. Still, judging from the thick layer of powdery dirt, years, possibly decades had passed since the old linoleum had felt the touch of a broom.

She took a careful breath, sized up her task, and picked up her new pipe wrench.  It felt heavy and awkward in her hand.  Balancing a small black flashlight atop a box of saltine crackers, she hunched over to make her five foot nine inch frame as compact as possible, and guided by the narrow beam of light, leaned forward to fit the loosened  jaw of the wrench around the pipe, and gave a tug.

Crumbling, more than yielding, the pipe fell to pieces, disgorging  a  mix of water and sludge down her arm.  And once again, second thoughts made her second guess the wisdom of her decision-taking on this fixer upper of an ancient, ungracefully aging house.

Yes, whatever had possessed her?

She straightened her back, smoothed a stray wisp of hair with her clean hand, and  looked again at the wreckage of pipe and water, dust and sludge.

And then she saw the diamond ring.

This piece was inspired by the Write on Edge prompt to explore a setting in 250 words.

The Road Taken

The perfect music…

And the perfect traveling companion…

New in my shop.  The boxy zippered pouch in stunning vintage barkcloth.

Happy travels!

 

Technorati Tags: barkcloth,zipper,pouch,Nat King Cole,Route 66,road trip,traveling,bag,Snapshot Sailors

Silver Wings

 

You haven't seen a tree until you've seen its shadow from the sky.

~Amelia Earhart

I might never have known about her if  I hadn’t noticed the small yellowed newspaper clipping inside a display case at the local history museum.  Thankfully, I did.  And that is how I met Mary Webster.

What I’ve learned about Mary’s life can be summed up as a collection of facts and dates, yet at the same time I know very little about her.  In the end, though, what she accomplished is what matters.

Mary had a dream-to fly.  In the beginning, fate was on her side. Central Washington College of Education (now Central Washington University) announced, in 1940, that it would start offering the Federal Civil Aeronautics Authority’s civilian pilot program. Mary entered the program in May of that same year. (Of the 39 students accepted, FCAA regulations stipulated that only one-tenth could be women. )

Mary earned her pilot’s license, and then, after the start of WWII went on to gain acceptance into the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) program in 1942-graduating and earning her silver wings on October 16, 1944. She then joined the ranks of other WASP pilots ferrying planes and flying low-target planes, and helping break in new planes.

I wish I could say that Mary’s story has a happy ending. She worked hard to become a pilot and even harder to win a place as an elite WASP. But fate had other plans. Just 6 weeks after receiving those coveted silver wings, Mary Webster died in a plane crash on December 9, 1944.  Mary would be the last member of the WASP to die in the line of duty.  On December 20, 1944-just 11 days after her death-the WASP was deactivated.

There is so much more to the story of the WASP.  Ground breaking history tainted by gross unfairness, and finally recognition, years later.

But this is about Mary.  A local girl with a big dream.  And while I can’t possibly ever fully appreciate what fulfilling a dream like that entailed for a girl of 20, more than seventy years ago, I can appreciate what she did.  For all of us.

The Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP ) came into existence on August 15, 1943. It’s purpose was to enlist the services of women pilots to help free male pilots up for combat.

Over 25,000 women applied to the WASP program, but only 1,074 actually passed the training and joined.

38 women lost their lives while serving-11 in training accidents, and 27 on active duty.

The Edge of Summer

 

Amy photographed this lily yesterday.  We were out in the garden taking pictures.  With Memorial day, and the start of the summer season just one week away, the garden has been busy getting ready.

The tallest dandelion we’d ever seen-measuring about a foot and a half high from the ground up to the puff ball top.  Impressive!  It was trying hard to hide among the branches of the hibiscus so that I wouldn't yank it up.  I left it alone…for now.

 

The “coins” are forming on the money plant.  I’m hoping I’ll be able to pick enough in the fall to pay for another trip to Hawaii.

 

Purple columbine, by Amy.

 

Pink thrift, by me.

 

The sling chair that once belonged to my Great Aunt Olga.  I’m guessing she acquired it in the 30’s or 40’s.  If I remember correctly, my Uncle John found it in someone’s trash heap.  I’m proud to see where my scavenger gene came from.

The gorgeous vintage fabric pillow was made by my friend  Meg.  Sometimes it’s nice to let someone else do the sewing.

 

Olga.  I’ve heard that my great aunt hated her smile.  She always tried to hide her face when picture taking moments came around.

 

Kona isn’t too fond of picture taking moments either.  Enough already, she was thinking,  it’s time for a game of soccer.

Unfortunately, the eclipse wasn’t visible in our sky-too many clouds.  But the light was perfect, so I took more garden pictures.  Poor Kona.

I found inspiration in the sewing room this weekend too.  I had these two darling pairs of vintage shoelaces, just begging to be used.

And so I made these drawstring bags, using the shoelaces, and vintage barkcloth and feed sacking.

The back of the shoelace package.   I wonder if the offer is still good…

Happy Monday, dear readers.  I hope you had a great weekend, and that you will have a wonderful week, too!

Wouldn’t it be Nice

This morning, as I was reading through the updates of my face book friends, I was proud to see that one of them posted about standing up for a store clerk who was being verbally abused by a rude customer.  When my friend was told by the rude customer that it was none of his business, he replied that she’d made it his business when she started her verbal assault in front of him and everyone else waiting in line.
Once upon a time, I was a store clerk  in a small fabric store.  While the majority of customers I waited on were polite and courteous, sadly, the ones I remember were the rude ones.  Like the customer who got tired of waiting in line and threw their money on the counter and left with their “purchases”  or the one who got angry when I said I couldn't  make change for a hundred dollar bill on the purchase of a spool of thread.
Years ago, I was at a second hand store waiting to buy a vintage sewing box.  The line was long, but the clerk could not help but greet each customer warmly and chat during the check out process.  Tired of the delay that the clerk’s small talk created,  people got mad.  Some complained loudly and expressed that the clerk should “speed things up” and others left before it was their turn to pay.  I continued to wait patiently, and when it was my turn to be helped, I was nice.  I chatted with the clerk, and told him I thought he was doing a wonderful job in spite of the insults hurled at him.   He thanked me in return and said he just didn’t understand why some people were so impatient and got so angry.
A week or so later, the store burned to the ground and the clerk, who I  learned later was also the owner, died in the fire.  I was heartbroken.  I could still picture his face.   But I was also so very thankful for the way I had treated him.
The world would be such a wonderful place if we could all just be kind to one another.  I know.   It’s  probably an oversimplification.
But my vintage sewing box says otherwise.