quiltersmuse.com Blog

This time of year, I love the colored lights that adorn trees and homes. I love thinking about earlier, happy times during my formative years when the family was alive and well and actually interacting with each other in get-togethers, the nieces and nephews playing on the floor, mom in the kitchen working hard to provide a quality meal for everyone. I love the memory of the many kinds of Christmas cookies that would be baked, the special coconut cake Mother would make that had fruit preserves in the middle, and of course, her “Stollen” which she would carefully guard, doling it out in dribbles until it was almost too stale to want to eat.

Most of all, I love the music: the perennial experience of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir whose music sounds like a group of angels in their flawless performances. In more recent years, I have come to like the album “Winter Solstice” by John McCutcheon, in particular his song, “Christmas in the Trenches.” Celtic Woman CDs are still at the top of the list, as well as the music of Lucie Therrien, a bilingual French / English singer. I like seeing old movies and I look forward to viewing the first snowflakes gently cascading toward the earth (which has not happened yet here in central New Hampshire).

I think of all of the wildlife out in the freezing temperatures and watch with high anticipation for a deer to again wander into our yard to eat the dried rose hips from the roses, full of essential vitamins and nutrients to keep the deer healthy. There is always peace to be had in enjoying nature. In driving along today, I saw a red shouldered hawk magically soaring above a swamp area by the side of the road in search of prey. I don’t mind birds of prey. They represent a divine plan of survival.

Those are the parts of the Christmas holiday season I enjoy: family, food, music, and nature and the celebration of religious traditions and thoughts, learned in my youth.

The downside of Christmas seems to vary a bit each year but little by little, I have worked on cutting down on the malarkey, as I call it, and have succeeded pretty much. That is true, unless one counts some unauthorized charges to my credit card showing up in the statement (now under fraud investigation); an overcharge by my physician’s office due to a clerical error (I should not have received a bill at all); and the debit card not working which was to pay me for two rings I sold to a “we buy gold” outfit. Add to that mix, someone who told me she intends to use an article I wrote, along with the stories I included, to write her own “research” paper without giving me credit. The total result of these stressors is making me feel like Scrooge.

I know, I know. Wait! I’ll go put on my red flannel, lace-trimmed, “Granny” sleep hat that Jim thinks is hilarious. When he laughs, all is right in my world.

Pat

I can’t even begin to tell you about all of the people and places I have written about in the past that are no longer the same. People have moved, died, gained an additional college degree, become more well-known, etc., and places, too, have undergone some type of transformation, either being torn down, altered or discontinued. Often, when I share information given to me by colleagues and friends, I am forced to say “the late” so and so, or else supply a time span of their life. The month of December is always especially poignant as it is the month my brother, closest in age, died. He was only fifty and his death was unexpected. That, however, is just one small example of the many changes I have seen in this journey called life. I have come to the conclusion that, just as a song says, “Life is like a river.” It can change course at a moment’s notice, overrun its banks causing major devastation that takes quite a bit of recovery time, or it can cut new paths that did not exist before.

How many houses have you visited that are simply no longer there, torn down to make room for some other structure? I’ve been in several and it is a weird feeling to think of the conversations and activities that occurred within the walls of an edifice that does not exist now. In the case of one woman who is now deceased, her ancestral farm home is gone, the home she lived in while married was “deconstructed,” and even the camp on a pond that she owned with her husband has been replaced. The only permanent real estate is the grave site which they both occupy.

Likewise, names of businesses change constantly or the business is moved to another location. Here in Concord, “Veano’s Italian Kitchen” was torn down and a new “Walgreen’s Pharmacy” was put in its place. More recently, “Veano’s” (luckily) built a new restaurant but is now closer to Pembroke than Concord proper. When we go downtown, which is infrequently, there are always quite a few new businesses. The restaurant where my husband proposed to me, years ago, is long gone, as are the Woolworth and Newberry five and dime stores, and the Kresge store that were located there at that time.

Am I the queen of the obvious in sharing these thoughts? I think not. Sometimes life moves so slowly, we hardly notice it changing. Conversely, it can move so fast, we hardly notice it changing. Like death and taxes, which are always “given” events of life, change is also inevitable. Even the Internet and what is shared and how it is shared is always in a state of flux.

Today, as we celebrate our wedding anniversary, there is something that has not changed and I don’t anticipate that it will and that is my utter fondness of a particular special guy. We have grown old together, know each other’s quirks and love each other either in spite of them or because of them. Hurrah for things that do not change. Life is good.

Patricia Cummings

On garbage pickup days, I used to see pickup trucks cruising the city streets, viewing the castaways set out for collection. Often pieces of furniture were among the “offerings” and antique dealers would snatch them up. It is a wonder what a little bit of glue, sanding, new paint or new stain can do, thereby making an object useful again. Sometimes, people do not know the potential value of what is being discarded. I know of someone who picked up an original Alexander Caldor abstract painting in an alleyway behind Brown University. He checked with several museums who authenticated the work and told him that it was worth quite a bit of money. My point is, you never know what is lurking that has simply been discarded because someone is sick of it.

I grew up in a small town and on Saturdays, my Dad and I would do a “dump run” in his pickup truck with household refuse. Occasionally, I would not go, for one reason or another. The man who was designated to oversee the landfill operation would climb down into the “pit” and find things that he felt should not have been thrown away. He always thought of me when he retrieved dolls with matted hair, soiled faces, and filthy clothes and would bestow items like this on my unsuspecting Dad who would dutifully bring them home. The challenge then was how to get rid of them without attempting to throw them over the banking again, inevitably to be retrieved again by the kindly old man, just as a hunting dog ferrets out the location of a downed duck.

I can bet that, in America, a person could live on the food that is thrown away in the dumpsters of fast food establishments. Of course, there is a chance of getting sick, but most people who are terribly hungry might take that chance. The two items I would never recycle are used mattresses or overstuffed furniture as they are sure to be full of dust mites, allergens, potential disease-causing agents, and / or bedbugs.

I’ve known women who do not know even the basics of sewing (not even how to sew on a button). If something happens to the garment, it’s time for “heave-ho” – let’s buy another. To me, a solid Yankee who is frugal, I can’t stand waste at all but especially when it is based on ignorance.

This blog is dedicated to the road pickers and dumpster divers of the world. More power to you.

Remember, conservation begins with YOU!

Patricia Cummings