a Sunday in late April

I got up about 6:30 this morning, slung my arms into a cotton robe and headed downstairs to check on mother. I could hear her breathing with the same pattern I have become accustomed to these past weeks, slow and steady. On to the kitchen, with coffee mug in hand I entered the sun room and began my morning's quiet time.

The family stirred and I knew it was time to get a move on if I was even considering attending church service today. I went back into mother's room and opened the blinds as I began talking to her trying to get her awake enough to measure her pain level. She was sleeping comfortably. With the arrival of our private aid we determined we would change and reposition her while she was in this quiet state. After seeing she was sleeping without discomfort, I decided I would definitely go to church, cell phone clutched tightly in my hand.

I entered mother's bedroom after being gone about a span of two hours. Mother's breathing had changed considerably within that period of time. Within two minutes of me walking into the room, mother breathed her last breath. Peacefully, just like Charlotte had prayed.

saturday a.m.

Knowledge of an early start roused me this morning. I headed out the door with Rose, she was attending the state Latin convention and I needed to get her to the designated spot to catch her carpool.

On my way back to the house I made a small detour to *Panera* thinking I could act as a morning santa clause by bearing a brown sack of fresh bagels for those sleepy heads at home.

The sunshine was spilling into every corner of my room and heart, making it aglow with the morning's goodness.

See me in the bottom left corner? 

Even the finches were basking in the lambent light.

glints of an April day

 Little things to share on this day in April. 

How my eyes gravitated to the purple verbena and salmon red azaleas in my backyard every time I glanced outside, what a splendid splash.

How I chased a very tenacious squirrel off the bird feeder as Charlotte laughed at me and his antics as he gleefully got away. I never realized how fast a squirrel could run!

 How I made a batch of granola today. It is just the way I fancy it: oatmeal, butter, honey, almonds, pecans, allspice and cinnamon.

This was after seeing the glass jar of granola setting prettily on Lesley's  counter.

 How I sat in the car with Charlotte this morning for an hour doing arithmetic while Rose had her horseback riding lesson.

 How I whipped together a tomato basil sauce to go along

with the beef and pork meatballs I made yesterday.

 How I watched a flitting chickadee feed on the dangling suet tray.

 How I read about Miss Read and her recent death. I have loved her books ever since an astute librarian back in the mid 80s suggested I read one of her novels; I believe at that time Miss Read was still writing one a year.

How I pre-washed some new cotton fabric to be sewn into summer dresses for Charlotte. I always pre-wash my cotton fabrics before cutting them out.

How I drank English Breakfast tea from a china cup all along thinking about the movie "Ladies in Lavender"where they are frequently pouring tea from lovely china teapots. I have added the soundtrack to this enjoyable movie to my next Amazon order.

opening a world

on my needles...

A certain young woman will be making a very good friend of mine a first time grandmother this summer. I am sewing and knitting for this little sweet self already. The knitted baby wash cloths pattern can be found here. (linked from Ravelry)

Another Amazon book order arrived via UPS recently. This afternoon I was sitting outside on the back covered porch knitting a simple pattern of a cotton baby wash cloth in blue, and a brewing storm drove me inside to the sun room. I just switched one wicker chair for another, while Rose finished  her piano lesson.

 Oh, I have not mentioned this before now. The girls' piano teacher has been coming to my house one afternoon a week to give them their weekly lessons since I  am now caring for mother in my home. This has been a tremendous help, the little things do matter. The freedom to leave the house whenever we want to is just no longer a possibility. 

This book was left laying on the couch waiting for me to find a quiet moment and I was almost shaking with anticipation as I picked it up and opened its front cover. I can tell already it will be a much favored book. It has the potential to take me places, to other worlds; a world of sheep in pastures green and wool being shorn in the springtime;  a world of multifarious yarn in  woven baskets, yarn in the hands with knitting needles creating, a rainbow of colorful yarns in open bins begging to be handled; a world of spinning wool rolags and various other fibers that might leave lanolin-laden fingers behind;

 a world containing countless information about the rich history of knitting.

 ...a world of happy things.

You may join Ginny and the rest of us at:

the Son arose

"Who being in the brightness of His glory, 

and  the express image of his person,

upholding all things by the word of His power,

when He had purged our sins

sat down on the right hand of the majesty on high."

                                                                                          Hebrews 1:3

(Finally posting again. Actually, this is part two, keep reading.... if you like)

preparing

Passion Week began with preparation in our hearts. Not unlike the signs of this season it carried itself along with the traditions that make our celebration of His Crucifixion, Death, Burial and Resurrection meaningful for us.

Hot Cross Buns for Good Friday Tea, a table set in the sun room  for 3:00 p.m., the ninth hour.

  Most of  the day Saturday I was preparing foods in the kitchen. I could not refrain from thinking about the disciples and how they must have felt on this day after knowing their Lord was arrested, condemned and crucified:
                       scared
                               disconsolate,
                                                 angry,
                                                        hopeless perhaps?

I pondered the significance of the foods I prepared for our feast to be served on Easter Sunday:

 the red bloodied meat of the lamb as I unwrapped its covering,

 with the trimming of its fat,

 placed in a buttermilk marinade with garlic and rosemary.

 Leeks and fennel sauteed in butter, to be added to the potatoes.

Promises made and fulfilled.

Once slaves, but now free.

Cloth napkins of pink linen ironed for our Easter table.

Sweet cookie dough rolled and shaped into crosses, butterflies and sheep. The white frosting colored with drops of red, pink and yellow. Pale pink sugar sprinkled.

Easter Morn will dawn.