Looking Back and Forth

 I am a maker. I am not a do-er. I'm more of a watcher, and a see-er, rather than being involved and in the middle of whatever is going on around me. I'm a thinker, a reader, and not a person who makes things happen. I've been this way all of my life. I've always needed lots of alone time. And lots of quiet time. This hasn't always been easy. I was the oldest of five children, and usually the babysitter because of a pretty big age gap. After I started a family of my own, I also had five children. For many, many years there wasn't a lot of quiet time in my life. I enjoyed the hustle and bustle when I had children and would never give it up. I think my identity as "young mother" was my favorite. But I found quiet time by seldom sleeping. That was when I began staying up late at night, when everything was peaceful and serene. It was a busy time, and I did enjoy the games, and lessons, and gymnastic meets, and parties. As a family, we didn't do as much as most of the other people we knew. My husband was self-employed and his business took most of his time. We also lived in a hundred-year-old house, and continuous renovation took the rest of it.  He had a different schedule than most of our friends.  I had a very small crafts business and kept busy making pretty things in a darling old shed.

The picture was painted by my sister as a gift during those years. We called the shed Serenity.

 We joked that none of our trips ever lasted more than 23 hours. We were homebodies and we were very content. Years later when I married John, we compared our former lives. His was very busy. He also worked very hard, but they always seemed to be going places and doing things. He was a Coach for several kid's teams and was also a drag racer at many tracks around the midwest. Camping and parties with groups of friends and boating were some of their favorite family activities. To that I say a very hearty "No thank you." I can hardly imagine anything I would like less. Our lives were very different even though we knew a lot of the same people. We wouldn't have been a good match then, but we are perfect for one another now. He's slowed down, and I'm the one who always seems to have to go somewhere. I like to join things, but I often find an excuse to miss the meetings. I would rather stay home. My favorite place to go is still the library or bookstore. We do go to restaurants a lot. The waitresses always say "Just two?" I'm sure they all think that we have no friends.

As I read this back it sounds a little pitiful. It isn't. I must not be the only one who enjoys staying at home. As they like to say in my favorite British programs, "She keeps herself to herself."

Don't Talk Dirty to Me

 

I've never thought of myself as a prudish person, but I suppose that I am a lady who resides on the proper side of life. Lately, I feel that society's language has gotten out of control. Could it be that I am the only one who is bothered by excessive profanity? It seems that everywhere I go, I hear conversations and see words that used to be saved for special occasions only.

My children commented once about the fact that I don't swear. I told them it wasn't because I didn't know how, but that I chose not to. I'm not saying that I have never used powerful language. I have saved it for when it really seemed necessary. Now, it seems to be wasted on the ordinary.

I think many of us in my advancing age group grew up at a time when we seldom heard our parents use curse words. My mother's phrase of choice was "Judas Priest". My dad could get a little more colorful, but not very often. John's grandpa liked to say "Fiddlestix". My father-in-law would say "Shoot that sherbert, Herbert." I have no idea what any of that means.  I used to like a sentence that I learned in Spanish class. It sounded very fiery, especially if said with feeling. It actually translated to "Gosh, I forgot my notebook!"

But now I hear language that never used to be tolerated being said as part of a normal sentence. When did these words start being used as adjectives and adverbs? Why can't some people talk without adding these colorful words to every sentence. Whatever happened to grammar?

I was shopping today. I walked by a group of women in their twenties or thirties. They were having a normal conversation, but everything they said was sprinkled with spice. It's become so common that there isn't any meaning to it. I was also by the pharmacy when it was closing for lunch, as some of them do now. I saw and heard a very disgruntled customer who started yelling that he was there at one minute before closing time. He was threatening the pharmacist and called her names that I am still shocked by and wouldn't ever think to say. I really wondered if he might come back with a gun. I hurried through my shopping, and when I left, there was a police car parked outside the door. Maybe that's common now. I don't know. I do know that I am a lot more comfortable when I shop online.

It isn't just the words we hear. It's also the words we see. In the bookstore, I noticed so many off-color words in titles, especially journals, planners, calendars and self-help books. I'm not sure if it is because of the shock value or if publishers think these will be more attractive to customers. But they are everywhere.

I work in an antique mall one morning a week. Recently there was a bit of a controversy because someone complained about offensive words and phrases that had been added to the middle of pretty antique plates. The vender is very popular, and I enjoy seeing her booth. But I have to say I was shocked by the plates, and that they would be on display. There's a high volume of traffic, and lots of parents bring children when they visit. The problem was fixed by putting black ribbons on the plates and tying bows. Of course, people move the ribbons to see what is hidden. So, it isn't really solved. These plates are big sellers. I really can't see having one in my house, but I don't want to criticize anyone's decorating style. Personally, I think that some things are inappropriate and that people just like to see how far they can go because it must be fun to make others uncomfortable. Yes, I guess I do sound like a prude. I'll just go make myself a nice cup of tea and ponder the state of the world.

The Tale of the Traveling Chair

 

Do you have a favorite piece of furniture? And does it move from place to place? In our family we adore this chair. Its history is just a bit muddled. I'm not sure where it came from originally. My daughter, Erin, acquired it in Kansas City when a neighbor moved away and didn't want it anymore. It is really a most comfy place to sit even though it was a little shabby originally. Eventually I moved it to my house in Des Moines. We had it reupholstered in this tapestry fabric and it immediately became even more valuable. Most people will just buy something new and be money ahead, but this chair was family. And I never buy new when I can have something old. The chair was right at home in the attic "library" of my 1918 Craftsman style cottage.

It was an ideal chair for reading and I loved that it was surrounded by books. This was the kind of house that looked small from the outside but it had lots of space. I was sure it would be our forever home. There were nooks and crannies and built in cupboards and shelves. My grandbabies called it the house of drawers and doors. We moved here after raising our family in a nineteenth century house on a country acreage. Even though our little bungalow was my favorite house ever, I chose to sell it and move on after Jim died. This was a perfect home for two, and much too sad for me when it became a house for one.

The favorite chair next landed in the second story apartment of a Tudor styled brick house. The space was much smaller, but the floor plan was almost the same as the main floor of my cottage. This house was built in 1925 and the exterior looked like it belonged in a fairy tale.

This was another place where I planned to stay, but after two years I very unexpectedly became a House Mom to thirty young men in a new fraternity building that felt like a hotel. There was no room for my own furniture in my little space, so almost everything I owned went into storage. Little by little, I visited the storage unit and brought things back. I became an expert at vertical decorating because my two little rooms had 12-foot ceilings. This was the only new place I have ever lived. I tried my best to make it feel homey.

Although I've moved two more times since my frat house years, that was the last time I owned The Chair. When John and I married in 2019, I moved into an old farmhouse where he had lived for nearly thirty years. That house was filled with items and memories that weren't mine. Although it was a nice old house, I was happy to buy another. Now we live in a one story ranch style practical house that works for us. We think it is perfect for our second story. It feels new to us after all our old houses but was built in 1986. I do miss the whimsy of older houses but the benefits are best for us now.

 My middle daughter, Meg, took it to her 1906 Queen Anne style home, complete with tower, winding stairs, and lots of space. I'm sure it was happy there. But Meg's house has an abundance of chairs. Eventually, it moved back to Erin again. And now, it's on the move again and its next home will be with Bridget, back in Des Moines. It has truly been a family chair. It's starting to get a little shabby again, and the upholstery may be beginning to fade, but this old chair still holds my heart.