Quilts by Lucy

A few weeks ago I mentioned that I loaned three of my grandmother's quilts to the local museum for use in a special exhibit during the month of May. With the heavy work crush and two weekends out of town, I almost forgot about the event. I decided it would be a good idea to plan on stopping by the museum after my DAR meeting on Saturday.

I had asked the curator how she planned to showcase the quilts and she had described how she would hang some of them and drape others over a collection of white lattice panels. They used both of those methods, but they also placed some of the quilts on the furniture that is on permanent exhibit. An old bed stead was wearing a historic quilt. An antique baby carriage had a small baby quilt tucked into it. Every room of the museum had splashes of color here and there from quilts made out of everything from tobacco and flour sacks to satins.

Grandma Lucy's three quilts were shown to their best advantage.

The quilt closest to the front edge of the photo is one of her string quilts. On the far wall is a signature quilt with blocks made by several members of the family including Lucy herself, her daughters Nettie and Bettye, her mother Nettie Mason, her sister-in-law Dixie Rose and Dixie's daughter Betty.

Below is a closer look at the signature quilt. It is one of the prizes of my varied collection of family heirlooms.

The last of the three quilts was a simple pattern of diamond shapes on one side and squares on the reverse, and they showcased both sides by draping it across a display case.

The museum had managed to assemble quilts from a half-dozen or so of their members and there were quilts of every type and material. I was very impressed with the whole exhibit and very pleased with the treatment they gave to my own contributions.

If you decide to stop by the museum to take a look (the exhibit ends on May 31st, $2 entry fee and be sure to check the hours before you make the trip), let me warn you that they did make a few bobbles in the information posted with the quilts. They confused the quilt shown first above with another quilt I had pictured on my website and which is in my Uncle Larry's possession. The one on display is not the quilt that was quilted around an old army blanket. And I know full well that my grandfather did not grow cotton as a cash crop, as they describe. When the curator was making her notes, I mentioned that my grandparents grew a variety of things but that their cash crops were peanuts, cantaloupes and watermelons. Somehow the peanuts turned into cotton by the time the descriptive placards were written. I suspect that is because they have been having an on-going cotton industry display for the last few months. Minor details that no one but us Hodge kin will catch as errors.

I am very proud of my grandmother's quilts and happy that they are getting this chance to get some public attention. I can remember her quilting frame that was raised to the ceiling out of the way and and lowered to working height when she was ready to spend some time crafting. I myself do not like to sew and stand in awe of the mountain of quilts she turned out.

I am more likely to tackle a doll house and one of the latest on my craft table is intended to be a quilt shop. In a small way, it will help me re-connect to my grandmother.

LSW

Three Week Blur of Activity

Where did the last week of April and the first two weeks of May go? It seems like it was only a couple of days ago that Lana and I headed to Dallas for the annual Texas Miniatures Showcase. We try to attend this annual dollhouse and miniatures show if at all possible and we try not to go broke in the process. While it's not the biggest miniatures show, it's the closest to home and some of the biggest names in the field of miniatures attend.

We know from the outset that we will return with not only empty purses but with aching backs from stooping over to see the tiny things on display. But it is worth some aches and pains. I picked up a tiny knitted tea cozy and a beautiful knitted vest to add to my knitting store, a marvelous rat terrier to add a personal touch to one of my mini scenes, a mini kilt, some tiny pieces of pottery, a gorgeous lady's hat and matching parasol, a minute hummingbird feeder, some tiny jewelry and a little pile of horse manure (for a barnyard scene).

Before I had a chance to catch my breath, the annual May work crush descended and I was working non-stop to process 50+ client files for notices to be mailed this month. That week sped by and included my finalizing an annual newsletter for the Frankum family reunion scheduled for the first weekend in May.

The Frankum reunion was celebrating its 60th anniversary this year. While there are attendees from various Frankum families who connect collaterally, the majority of the folks who come every year are the descendants of Will and Amanda Frankum. Their 6 children (5 girls and 1 boy) raised their children (21 in all) to have more of a sibling relationship with each other than merely a cousin relationship. The 21 cousins stayed close as they grew up, visiting in each other's homes, some living together in the home of an aunt who lived near the University of Texas during their collegiate years. My dad was one of them.

This photo is one I acquired at the reunion. It was taken in 1951 and includes quite a few of those cousins. My father is the guy at far right, semi-squatting and wearing cowboy boots. My grandmother is the lady standing at far right in the back row.

Of those 21 cousins, 15 are still living and all but one were present for the 60th anniversary reunion. (Uncle Donald Wilcoxen lives in Missouri, the only one who lives out of state.)

Left to right, standing, are Peggy Murff, Karen Ryman, Ann Owens, Edward Frankum, Faye Butcher, Norman Frankum, Dwight Lamb, and Glynda Wester. Left to right seated are Bobby Frankum, Hazel Heiman, Grace Harrington, Earl McVay, Dean Frankum and my Aunt Ruth Nell Wilks.

Every reunion includes a silent and live auction and this year one of the highlights of the live auction was a "pocket" quilt.

The center of the quilt featured a block recognizing the marriage of Will and Amanda Frankum and each spoke extending out from the center represented one of their children. The blue blocks extending out each spoke represented the children and grandchildren of that child. Each of the blocks formed a pocket and inside each pocket was a card with the pertinent vital statistics for that person. It was a family work of art created by sisters Peggy Murff and Karen Ryman and it led to a lively round of bidding.

Another work of art that drew a lot of appreciative attention was a cake created by a friend of the family.

The topmost level of the cake commemorated the 60th anniversary. The next level recognized the marriage of Will and Amanda Frankum. The third level consisted of a cake representing their children and the lowest level represented traits shared throughout the family - music, gardening, farming, and strong faith. That wasn't all. Each of the cakes in the structure was a different flavor - strawberry, carrot, chocolate, German chocolate, marble, vanilla and a few others I can't recall.

Immediately following the reunion was another mad work week. As the week drew to a close, I was inducted into the office of secretary of the local chapter of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas. When the weekend came around again, I dove into a mad frenzy of house cleaning (it's amazing how filthy a house can get when you are gone two weekends in a row) and a round of planting iris bulbs I had acquired in the reunion silent auction.

So, three weeks flew by in a rush of car trips, good fellowship and hard labor. Thoroughly enjoyable even while it was thoroughly exhausting. I wouldn't have missed any of it.

Well, maybe the work part. It's too bad the legislature picked May for those required notices. After all, the Frankum family has had dibs on May for 60 years.

LSW

Sparring

There is a certain fellow who resides in the backyard who thinks he is outsmarting me.

When all is quiet on the deck and the dogs are inside, he jumps from the nearby tree and makes his way down the framework of the now-denuded canopy and helps himself to the contents of one of the bird feeders.

Three of the four bird feeders hanging from the canopy framework are presently full of safflower seeds. Squirrels do not care for safflower seeds.

But this one feeder is filled with corn kernals and sunflower seeds. Just the kind of thing that fills a little squirrel's heart with joy. Not to mention filling his little tummy to a pleasing roundness.

He thinks he is getting away with something. I can tell by the way he looks at me through the kitchen window and flicks his tail. I can tell by the way he lowers his head and gives me that "stop me if you think you can" look.

What he doesn't realize is that I put that feeder out there just for him. And for the lone Blue Jay who is frequenting our yard right now.

I'm not going to tell him. He's having too much fun outsmarting me.

Meanwhile, back inside, I think the cats are plotting something. See the telltale ear posture?

See the glazed, cross-eyed stare?

I may sleep with one eye open tonight.

LSW

Personal Archaeology

I continue to excavate the garage. I think I'm finally beginning to see a dim light at the end of the tunnel. Two more carloads were taken to the thrift store, another box and a half of books were sorted out for the library book sale. The trash dumpster is full and I have two large piles of discards that are ready to fill it back up again after the garbage pickup on Tuesday. All the boxes full of books have been culled down to the volumes I want to keep and all of those have been put into clear bins so I can find what I want when I want it.

On Thursday I had a small air-conditioning crisis and while waiting for the repairman to arrive, my nervous energy led me to clear most of what is stored in the attic down to a level where I could decide what to do with it. All that is left up there now is an odd assortment of chairs that we brought over from my grandmother's house after she died. Getting all the old, unwanted Christmas decorations down led to my donating a large portion of them to the thrift store. I still have a few bins of yarn and magazines to sort through, but I'm able to walk all the way around the parked car now and if I decide to take a ride on my bicycle, I can actually get to it.

One bin I explored contained bits and pieces of old clothing and odds and ends that I thought might come in handy for a Halloween costume. Some years ago the office had quite a high participation in our annual chance to dress up and get a little crazy and I was always game for a chance to make a fool of myself. Sadly, either from our growing too big for such foolishness or the fact that a good number of us have progressed to the age where we just don't feel the need to get silly, there aren't many who still come to work in costume on Halloween. It had been years since I had plowed through all my props and I had forgotten what was in there. There were masks, hats, a grass skirt and a flowered lei. There were also some things that I had worn once upon a time and thought might come in useful for "good old days" costuming.

If you are a lady of a certain age, perhaps you will remember the fuzzy mohair sweaters that were all the rage in the early 1970s. The rich girls swept through school in clouds of soft pink or blue and I was fiercely envious, but they were out of our price range. I ended up with two that I picked up on some clearance rack somewhere, both hideous colors that did nothing for me, but by golly I had mohair sweaters. The mustard yellow one has disintegrated over time, but the green one is still mostly intact.

I found an old knit pantsuit in shades of brown that I dearly loved back when it was in style. Oddly enough, it would probably blend right in with the current wave of mod prints that are popping up everywhere, but I don't think it would fit anymore. I also found a dress that Mother made for me back when prairie dresses were all the rage. While I will never wear it again, I will probably keep it in the back of the closet as a souvenir of those days when most of my clothing was handmade by Mother during the summer vacation. Thanks to her ability with a sewing machine, I was generally in style despite our being financially strapped.

I will also probably hang onto 3 thread-bare shirts. Again, if you are of a certain age, perhaps you remember the fad of embroidered blue chambray shirts. Girls adept at embroidery embellished shirts not only for themselves but for their boyfriends. I made two for myself and one for little brother. All have had the tails worn off them, but I can't bring myself to throw them away because I remember how much fun they were to create.

My favorite was the one with Heathcliff across the back. Mother drew the cartoon cat freehand on the shirt for a guide for me to work.

David's shirt had a nice tropical sunset spread across the back.

I also put smaller motifs all over the shirts, including the cuffs, and the button placket. We who did embroidery were pretty cool wearing our handiwork. For now the shirts will hang in the back of the closet, but I wonder if it would be worthwhile to cut the blocks of embroidery out and create some kind of shadow frame collage. Still pondering.

I did not find just forgotten clothing. I uncovered programs and ticket stubs from concerts and plays attended and long forgotten. I found my Ann Richards bumper sticker and my address book from college days. I found a treasured cookie recipe I had been given by a high school friend, stuck in a cookbook that had lost favor along the way. I had mourned the loss of that cookie recipe for many years.

Excavation is the proper term. I am peeling away layer after layer of my own life and it is amazing to suddenly uncover an item that immediately transports you across time and reminds you vividly of a particular moment in the past. I've found a lot of immaterial detritus that has been discarded, but I've also relocated some lovely memories.

LSW

Play Time

One of the first bright spots of a good week came along on Tuesday as I was making my way home from the office. The curator of the Bastrop County Historical Museum was calling. The previous week I had responded to an email sent to their members looking for locally produced quilts from the 1950s and earlier for a quilt exhibit the museum planned for the month of May. I just happened to have 8 quilts in the closet that Grandmother Lucy Hodge had crafted and I thought they might be of interest. After two weeks with no response, I had almost forgotten the whole thing, figuring they were looking for "art" quilts and not for the everyday family quilts I had inherited.

But, on the contrary, she was very interested in the quilts and we made an appointment for me to bring them in Wednesday afternoon for her to have a closer look. We had a good time pulling out the quilts and talking about family and local history. In the end, she selected three of the quilts to be included in the display.

On Friday, friend Lana came down to spend the night and we had a choice of two events to attend on Saturday. We vacillated between the two choices while indulging ourselves in steaks and baked potatoes at Nancy's Steak House. When we finally went to bed, we still weren't sure which direction we were headed the next morning - to her UDC event or to my DAR event.

Over morning coffee, we finally realized why we had not been able to make up our minds the evening before. We really didn't want to go to either meeting. We were in the mood to run away and play. We've both had too many obligations and too many meetings and too many drains on our mental energy of late. We made the decision to play hooky.

We started with a stop at Starbuck's and then hit the back road to McDade to visit a cemetery and experiment with my new grave dowsing rods. Halfway there, I had a sudden urge to veer off toward the Oak Hill Cemetery so that Lana could see an authentic "scraped" cemetery. As we drove up, we realized that it was an official cemetery cleaning day and a dozen or so folks were busily at work. One of the first people I spotted inside the gate was distant cousin Dorothy, who was holding her own set of dowsing rods. Grabbing the opportunity, we wheedled a dowsing lesson from an expert and in short order I was having a great time witching graves. No one seems to know just how and why grave dowsing/witching works, but it took no time at all for me to become a believer. The rods would cross as soon as I approached a known grave, and the test for male or female (a lone rod swinging to the head or the foot of the grave -foot for male, head for female) was proving to be quite accurate when I would test first and check the name on the headstone afterward.

A couple of the workers decided to test me to see if I was really getting the correct results. One led me to a grave where he knew the man had been buried in reverse position, with his feet at the top of the grave. Sure enough, the rod swung in the opposite direction from what I had been told to expect, confusing me, before he explained that the rod was giving me the correct information. Another led me to a gravesite where I got no reading at all, before she explained that the headstone was a cenotaph and there was no body buried there.

Finally, they took me to a grave containing cremains in an urn mounted on the tombstone. The rods faithfully crossed when positioned directly over the urn and the gender test still proved accurate. We were having a blast, although Lana was having some difficulties with getting the rods to work for her. Dorothy explained that the rods did not work for some people, but she was sure after watching me that I did indeed have the gift for grave witching. Later in the day when we stopped at another cemetery and had another round of practice, Lana was getting better results so we are hoping that her learning curve is just a bit behind mine. After all, I had had some practice locating water lines in the yard beforehand.

From grave dowsing, we embarked on an antiques jaunt in the Round Top area. What a difference a couple of weeks makes. The craziness of the spring Antiques Fair had given way to empty fields and show barns, with only the full time antiques stores open for business. We strolled our way leisurely through the stores on the south side of Carmine before heading down to Round Top for lunch. We had decided to check out Royer's Cafe, a place renown for their pies, arriving at 1pm, not expecting to hit a crowd in the sleepy little town. We were in for a surprise. Royer's was packed with recreational bikers and tourists and we thought we would have to wait for a table. But Royer's is used to this kind of lunch crowd and was introducing customers to each other as they filled every seat at every table. We shared a table and had a nice visit with a couple of ladies from California who were in Texas to visit family. Lana and I shared a great hamburger and then a huge slab of cherry pie with Blue Bell ice cream.

We were full of great food after a morning of great fun and it became perfect when our waiter announced that the pie was on the house because it was our first visit. All I can say is, if you are ever in Round Top and in need of a pie fix, you need to head to Royer's. Yummy!

Our stomachs full and satisfied, we headed back to visit the stores on the north side of Carmine. We did not find a whole lot, but we did find a good buy on some collectible dolls of just the right size for our dollhouse activities and we each took home two.

One final round of antiquing at a coop mall in Giddings ended the day. We headed back to Bastrop, relaxed and contented. We concluded that sometimes you just need to escape your obligations and instead run free and experience the joys of spontaneous life. We had a fantastic day. I plan to make that choice a little more frequently.

LSW

Paying the Price, Part 3

Saturday dawned and was cool and clear (at 7am, anyway), and not wishing to venture out and tempt the fates again, I decided to have another go at the garage purging project. I was about 2/3 of the way through the book sorting, and in a couple of hours I had 4 more boxes of books to take to the library for their book sale. I probably should have stopped there and settled for the satisfication factor.

But it was still cool enough that I decided to begin exploring all the plastic storage bins that have lined the garage walls for the last few years. I knew some of them contained my yarn stash overflow and some of them contained old Halloween costumes and props, but I could not for the life of me remember what else I had shoved out of sight and out of mind. I began to spread the contents of a half-dozen large bins all over the driveway.

I was making great progress, finding yet more books, the yarn, the costumes and a lot of junk that went directly into the dumpster or into the thrift store pile. Along the way, I popped an old Renaissance fair flowered garland on my head, clipped an Hawaiian flower over my ear, draped an old scarf around my neck, and had the entire driveway covered with stacks of sorted clutter. I was getting amused, or maybe it was horrified, glances from the neighbors. Hard to say, because they were bolting for their houses before I had the chance to say hello or ask for help.

Along about noon it suddenly got hot and the excavation of the garage was no longer providing me with that sense of satisfaction but more like a feeling of total exhaustion. I had a row of bins that were now filled with items to be delivered to the thrift store, the books for the library boxed and in the car ready for delivery, the remaining books boxed in new, clear bins, and a large bin of items that I needed to think about sitting by the back door where I will have to stumble over them until I can't stand it anymore and finally get down to deciding what to do with them.

I managed to get myself presentable enough to go out for lunch and later deliver the books to the library. It wasn't until I had finished my lunch and getting ready to leave the restaurant that I realized what my morning had done to me. I could barely get myself out of the booth. Every muscle in my body was screaming. I managed to get the books delivered and then I spent the remainder of the day groaning every time I moved.

I had good intentions of resting on Sunday, but the morning dawned cool and clear and my muscles had relaxed just enough to fool me into thinking I was ready to tackle another cleaning project. Before I knew it, I was standing on a step ladder, dismantling the canopy that was disintegrating on the big deck. That one task was enough to send all my muscles back into protesting spasms.

For the next three days I could not move without pain. Fortunately, at that point I guess my guardian angel got back from her vacation, because things began to change for the better.

LSW

Paying the Price Part 2

I really did some good planning when I scheduled my spring break. My first day back to work was the day I normally work from home, so I eased back into my normal routine and did not have to venture out until it was time for my chiropractic appointment at the end of the day.

The next day was a normal work day, commuting to and from the office without incident. (The calm before the storm, lulling me into a false sense of all's well.) Then Friday came along and I worked at home again in order to attend the monthly meeting of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas. I stepped out the door, dressed in my Texas flag shirt, jeans and high heels, with about 20 minutes to get to the bank before the meeting began.

And I discovered my front left tire was as flat as the proverbial pancake. I was all dressed up and facing the sweaty task of changing the tire. I debated calling the wrecker, which I had done on a couple of occasions in the past when I drove SUVs. The tires on those things are very nearly too heavy for me to lift. I decided it would be a better idea for me to experience changing a tire on Big Red.

I quickly discovered I did not even know where the spare tire was. I pulled the owner's manual out of the glove box, located the tire and the tire tools (there are a lot of hiding places in that little car), and proceeded to hold the manual with one hand and wield the tire tools with the other. I managed to successfully complete the job in under a half-hour, during the process of which I discovered that the spare was seriously under-inflated. But of course it was.

So I crept out of the subdivision and across the highway to the convenience store, where I discovered the going rate for an air hose these days is $1 for about 5 minutes worth of air. Inflation. (Pun intended.)

One wonders just what in the heck your kharma is up to some days. I had just begun the process of airing up the tire when this car comes up from nowhere to park beside me. The air hose was nowhere near the convenience store or the gas pumps, but rather all the way across the parking lot all by itself. Being the suspicious sort, I prepared to jump up and start screaming if some hulking speciman attempted to acost me, but it was a tiny little woman who sprang from the car and asked if I might have an extra cigarette she could have.

Well, gee, Lady. Wish I could help you since I'm not doing anything else at the moment but buying incredibly expensive air while I'm kneeling on concrete and trying to get a recalcitrant pressure gauge to register ANYTHING, but, sorry, I don't smoke.

Then she wanted to know if my car was electric; oh, no, it's a hybrid, isn't it? At this point I was about ready to insert the uncooperative pressure gauge into her ear, but I was wearing a Texas flag shirt and driving a bright red Prius and would be way too easy to remember for later describing to the police, so I opted for being polite and agreeing with her that yes, the label she was pointing to on the car was indeed correct in describing it as a hybrid. Thankfully, she ran out of steam at that point and got back in the car and drove off.

By this time I had come to the conclusion that my guardian angel was on her own spring break or else my stars were not even close to being aligned.

I drove on to the tire store and delivered Big Red into the capable hands of the service folks, made my way to the waiting room, discovered I was totally dehydrated by that time, and found a lone $1 bill in my purse with which to purchase a bottle of water from the soda machine. Miraculously the bill reader agreed to take my dollar and give me change, but it wasn't feeling like giving me a bottle of water today. Nope, not a diet Coke either. Nope, you ain't getting nothing, Lady.

I think the guy at the service desk knew I was beginning to reach the end of my rope because he brought me a bottle of water from the employee stock. Good people at that store. That's why I keep taking my business there.

After all of this fol-de-rol, you might think I would have headed back to the house and crawled back in bed and kept the covers over my head for the rest of the day. But, I went on to my meeting and arrived in time to attend the business portion of the agenda. After that, I went home and locked myself in the house and decided that discretion was the better part of valor and I would tackle life again the next day.

I should have stayed in bed another day, I think....



LSW

Paying the Price

Ever since the lovely stretch of days that was my own personal spring break, I have been paying the price.

The day following the nice afternoon at Sherwood Forest Faire, I embarked on one of the stupider moves I've made in recent history. Every one of the furry children was due for a shot and/or annual checkup and I decided to haul the entire herd over to Elgin to see the vet en masse. I normally try to make two of these trips a year, once for the cats and once for the dogs, and how I managed to end up with everybody needing a shot at the same time, I do not know. But I decided that I might as well gird my loins and get the whole thing out of the way in one fell swoop, so I loaded 5 pet carriers into the car and pointed the car northward.

I do not have any pets at the moment who are good travelers. The dogs get queasy and nervous and the cats - well, the cats get pissed off. They do not like being removed from their cozy nap perches and crammed into a tiny container and hauled 20 miles for the privilege of getting a needle stuck in their collective hiney. Boo and Dixie generally settle for giving me nasty glowers from the pet carriers and then acting like wild panthers when loosed from their prisons in the exam room. You would not believe how loud Boo can hiss and how far across the room he can spit when he is not pleased. (I have been called on several occasions after dropping him off on the way to work with the plea to be allowed to administer anesthesia to the little devil so they can get whatever needs to be done done.)Dixie is not that bad, but she has perfected the technique of suddenly anchoring her position by digging her rear claws into the stomach of whoever has hold of her. I have several pock marks in my abdominal area where she has pulled that stunt with me.

Then there is Scout. Scout does not suffer in silence. Scout begins to inform me of her displeasure the instant she is placed in the car. She continues to inform me of her wrath with steadily increasing volume for the entire 20 miles. I've tried cajoling her. Yowl. I've tried sternly telling her to cease and desist. YOwl. I've tried ignoring her. YOWL! By the time we reach our destination, Mommy has developed a nervous twitch and a serious need for some soothing liquid tranquilizer.

I at least knew what I was in for, as did the lady doctor we have worked with for many years. The brand new vet assistant was in a state of consternation when she saw us arrive. Five animals for one long appointment was nothing she had experienced before and the thought of putting the cats and the dogs into one exam room together appalled her. She asked the doctor if she should take the dogs into another room and was told that no, it would be okay to put the entire bunch in the large exam room and she would do the exams in the room with the owner. You could tell the assistant thought the doctor was out of her mind. The doctor pointed out that they all lived together in one house and knew how to co-exist peacefully.

And, indeed, we had no problem with the cats getting their exams while the dogs ran around the room getting into everyone's business. The only real trouble was when they hit Boo with the first of three needles and he started his spitting and hissing routine. He was entirely aware of who was the target of his anger and it was not his dog buddies. If he could have drawn some doctor or vet assistant blood, he would have been a very satisfied cat. We did all of us learn a lesson, however. If you are going to give Boo a topical de-wormer treatment, start with that. By the time we reached that point, he let us know in no uncertain terms that he would be taking the life of whoever tried to put that goop on him. (It took two days before he relaxed enough that I finally got the job done in the comfort of home.)

Thankfully all three of the cats are so glad to get past the needle sticks that they all willingly return to their carriers and give me the silent treatment all the way home. (I try to give Scout the idea that this tortures and upsets me.) After paying the bill for this little adventure, I felt rather queasy and annoyed myself.

The last day of my spring break, which was also my birthday, I spent on indulging myself. One of the benefits of reaching the half-century mark (never mind how many years ago) is earning the privilege of joining "Club 50" at Beall's, where I do a lot of my clothes shopping. Every Tuesday we matronly ladies descend on the store, ready to claim our 20% discount on all purchases. I spent a very productive 2 hours there and came home with a nice fat bag full of summer outfits in spring colors.

So ended my official vacation. I got a lot done, ran around and enjoyed myself thoroughly. I was not at all ready to get back to work. I felt good.

That lasted until the next weekend.....

LSW

Faire Thee Well

Day 4 of Cindy's Spring Break found me out at the Sherwood Forest Faire with little brother and sis-in-law. This is a 2-year-old Renaissance Festival located between McDade and Paige. It put on an impressive showing in its first season last year and this year it has made some giant leaps toward establishing itself as an important stop on the Renfest circuit. The food is good, the entertainment is good, the merchants are outstanding and the setting is perfect - less than 30 minutes from my front door. This penultimate day of the 2011 season found a large crowd enjoying themselves on a beautiful spring day.

Many times when I attend a Renaissance Festival, I find nothing to tempt me. Today was not one of those days. Everywhere I turned, I found something interesting. And it is my birthday week, which means I am slanted toward indulging myself and so I did.

I brought home a sun hat, with a crocheted crown and a wide brim. It is guaranteed to survive, and even enjoy, a good dunking in the swimming pool.

One vendor offered a rainbow of shimmery skirts and I knew I had to have one. The tough part was deciding what color. I loved the dark blue, the oxblood (deep red), the copper and the saffron, but the winner was a lovely mauve that shifts from a silvery lilac to a reddish purple with every swish. I can't wait for a good excuse to take this one out of the closet.

Smaller purchases along the way included a tiny wind chime hanging from a tiny Kokopelli, an item that will find its way to the porch of my miniature southwestern store, and a large red pottery coffee mug. (Last year my sole purchase was a big blue coffee mug, which I love, and I have decided to make it a Sherwood Forest Faire tradition to acquire a new big coffee mug every year.)

For lunch, David and Karen had falafel and stuffed grape leaves and I indulged in a Shepherd's pie, which was yummy. We had mead (and David had ale) and for dessert I tried the apple empanada with vanilla ice cream.

From the entertainment options we watched a little bit of comedy, heard some music, watched a jousting exhibition and attended the falconry show. Finally, the three of us took a ride on the giant swing and enjoyed flying out over a green gully. I enjoyed closing my eyes and the sensation of gently flying through the trees.

The last and best of my faire indulgences came as a total surprise. One of the vendors crafts tiny porcelain doll fairies and tiny fairy houses in the same approximate scale of my own miniature work. I was enchanted with the little houses hanging from the branches of the tree in front of her booth. I was more enchanted with a particular house that was on display inside. I wavered about that little house, finally deciding against buying it because I could not immediately figure out a way to display it so that it would maintain its pristine condition. I knew I had to have one of the reasonably priced dolls and I finally settled on little "Violet Rose". She will be the focal point of a vignette in the near future.

I am thoroughly delighted with this little lady and I was very happy to hear that the vendor plans to return next year. Her work is beautiful and imaginative and a pleasant surprise find.

About a half hour later I had figured out a way to display the fairy house that had captured my heart, so I headed back to the shop to make the purchase. Alas, in that short period of time, someone else had snatched the opportunity away from me. Shopping at a faire is like buying antiques...when something speaks to you strongly, don't hesitate too long or you may lose out.

But there's always next year. And I'll be back. This is going to be a regular birthday event, if I have anything to say about it.

Tonight my feet are complaining again, but I care not. I love my cup, I love my skirt, I love my hat and I love little Violet Rose. And I love being out in the beautiful weather in the company of my family enjoying good entertainment and good food. I love that Sherwood Forest Faire coincides with my birthday and offers me a unique way to celebrate!

LSW

The Voice in My Head

It is the end of March and that means one thing...

The Round Top Antiques Fair is back and it's time for Cindy's Spring vacation. I try to take a brief holiday every year at this time. It is not only Antiques Fair week, but it is the height of the Texas wildflower season (not so hot this year, but any bluebonnet is a good experience for a Texan), my birthday is just a few days away and a vacation is the best present I can think of, and I have a major work crush looming in May so a little rest beforehand is a very good idea. (I have a whole different batch of good excuses to take a few days off in October when the fall Antiques Fair hits.)

My friend Suzanne and I headed out bright and early this morning for the fair, determined to see how many different locations we could hit before we ran out of steam. If you have never gone to the Round Top Antiques Fair, it is hard to describe. From Warrenton to Round Top to Burton to Carmine to Fayetteville to Shelby, field after field of normally empty land springs forth with tents full of antique dealers from all over the country. To see everything you would have to spend three or four days running non-stop, but we usually pick a day and hit our favorite locations, check out one or two new sites, and then crawl home in late afternoon to collapse into an easy chair with our feet cursing us steadily far into the night.

I have made a lot of purchases at the fair in the 20 or so years I have made this twice annual trek. Anyone who knows me well can attest to my addiction to golden oak furniture and Texas history books. I have purchased oak desks, oak night stands, oak bookcases, oak mirrors, and lots of Texas history books down through the years. I had every intention this year of making another large purchase. I am on the hunt for a couple of nice oak bookcases, preferably with glass doors. We went prepared with a pickup, blankets and bungee cords. And two checkbooks.

We began at my number one favorite location and I had gone exactly two vendors into the first building when I found an oak rocking chair that really spoke to me. I seriously thought I would be bringing home an oak rocking chair, but I was still in good physical and mental shape at that point and reminded myself that I do not particularly like rocking chairs, I already have two rocking chairs and I did not go to the fair with the intention of buying a rocking chair but of buying a bookcase...and I walked on.

One of my favorite vendors who specializes in rare Texana history books recognized me immediately and cheerfully welcomed me, knowing full well he would be selling me something before I left. The only county history that I really wanted was a little pricey, so I settled for a 1939 Austin phone book and a small volume of two stories written by O. Henry and set in the Texas Land Office (O. Henry once upon a time worked at the Texas Land Office). We talked briefly about a book I'm looking for and then I mentioned that I just couldn't talk myself into the Wharton County history this time around. He immediately grabbed the volume, did some calculations, and knocked about 20% off the price. I now own the book I've missed out on several times around on EBAY.

There are three vendors in the same cul de sac of the building who all specialize in golden oak pieces and my first real temptation of the day came when we turned the corner and saw a dark mission style bookcase.

It was a beautiful piece of furniture and I seriously considered bringing it home with me, but something held me back. Around the corner I ran into another oak bookcase that caught my eye.

I probably should have picked this one up. The price was right, but it wasn't what I saw in my mind's eye for either of the spaces I want to fill. I walked on, rounded a corner and came face to face with a beautiful piece that carried a price that was several hundred dollars under what I estimated would be the market value.

I was strongly attracted to this piece that had come from an estate in Indiana. The vendor explained all the unique features of the piece. I was almost sold.

And then the voice in my head started talking.

It sounded very much like my mother. And, in fact, it was my mother.

I learned most of what I know about buying antiques from my mother. This golden oak addiction I suffer was inherited from my mother. I knew she would have appreciated the finer points of this piece, but there were a couple of problems.

First and foremost, the topmost trim was a small stick and ball arch. One of the balls was missing. Secondly, two pieces of a brass railing were in place, but there were holes where another piece was missing. Did either of these flaws affect the practical use of the piece? No. They did, however, affect the value of the piece and that's why it was priced so low. Was it fixable? Yes. Could I camouflage the flaws? Yes. Would it bother me to know the flaws were there even if no one else noticed it? Yes.

Bottom line, I knew that every time I looked at the bookcase in my home, I would hear my mother pointing out the flaws. I knew she would understand the purchase, but bemoan the fact that I had settled for less than perfect.

I had to walk away.

I saw other bookcases throughout the day that I would have been proud to own, but none of them spoke to me like the damaged piece from Indiana.

Somewhere out there is the right piece of furniture. If there is anything else I learned from my mother in the matter of buying antique furniture it is to wait for the piece that really speaks to you and then don't hesitate to buy it when you see it. You may get only one chance at it. Better to do without awhile longer than settle for second best.

So my find for the day was a Wharton County history that I've wanted for a long time. It was enough.

LSW

Getting My Irish Up

I have become a big fan of the Bastrop Opera House and the company of players who put on musical and theatrical productions through the year. The setting is a historic building that has been restored to its original beauty after years of service as a movie house, teen center and the like. Today you walk into the entry way and you are greeted by deep red Victorian settees and chairs and by vintage dresses on mannequins. Reproduction tin ceilings (the original tin ceiling in the auditorium remains to display how it really used to be) and reproduction light fixtures set the mood as you pick up your ticket at the window and make your way into the smallish auditorium.

I re-discovered the pleasures of live theater a little over a year ago and have attended quite a few of their productions. Yesterday I caught the last performance of Echoes of Ireland, an original play written by a local couple with strong ties to Ireland. The two of them doubled as cast members in what was a fairly large cast of about 15. The setting was an Irish pub in 1939 and a poetry contest between two clans. Two of the judges had a private bet on the outcome of the contest, the winner of whom would be in possession of a parcel of land that one's ancestor had swindled from the other's ancestor. A secondary story involved a young couple at odds about getting married because the young man did not understand the young woman's need for security, which to her meant holding property in her own name. (Yes, the same property that was the subject of the aforementioned wager. It all works out in the end. For most everyone.)

The primary point of the play was to expose the audience to a wealth of poetry by various Irish poets. Each of the players would take their turn at center stage and dramatically recite poems of Irish humor, of Irish history, of Irish life. At various times the name Cromwell would be uttered, with the result that all 15 or so of the players would simultaneously spit on the floor. A small Celtic band provided opportunity for the singing of Irish folk songs and a little bit of dance. The audience was tapping their feet and clapping their hands on a regular basis. By the end of the performance, we all had a strong urge to speak in a brogue.

I am always pleasantly surprised to see how well the community supports the Opera House. Yesterday's matinee was the final performance for this play and it was very nearly sold out. I certainly enjoyed myself and I'm looking forward to the next play to hit the historic boards. What a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

LSW

Aggravations

This morning I headed to a neighboring town to attend a genealogy society meeting. I had promised myself I would never again attend a meeting of this particular society, but I wanted to hear the speaker they had lined up for this meeting. She spoke at the Smithville genealogy society a couple of weeks ago, but I had been caught up in an unrelenting workload and had been too tired at the time to drag myself out of bed and make the short 11 mile drive.

So, instead, I dragged myself out of bed this morning and drove 30 miles. And I knew when I left the house that I would probably enjoy the speaker but hate the meeting. And so it went.

The two groups are an interesting study in contrast. I regularly attend the meeting in Smithville and thoroughly enjoy myself. The president is a likeable lady who keeps the meeting on track, gets us out in a reasonable amount of time and makes a point to welcome newcomers and invite them to join the e-mail notification list. There are other officers who mingle and make you feel welcome. The folks who attend are polite and respectful and listen attentively to the speaker. Many of them are fellow DAR and DRT members and they know how to conduct themselves at these kind of events.

Then there is the group whose meeting I attended today. No one bothers to speak to a newcomer to make them feel welcome. There is very little structure to the meeting and it can drag on and on and on. But the thing that annoys me the most is a basic lack of respect shown the speaker. People will chat just loud enough to distract the audience. At frequent points in the presentation, various folks will feel compelled to share their own expertise on the subject, usually on a point that the speaker has not yet had a chance to cover. There is a continual popping up and exiting through a noisy door to the restroom area.

I remember when we first moved to Smiley how impressed my father was with the congregation during the delivery of his sermons. He remarked that he had never had a congregation that was so focused. They paid attention. They did not fidget or talk to each other while the preacher was speaking. He said it was almost unsettling the respectful attention they gave him while he spoke. Sitting still and paying attention is what we owe someone who is giving us their time and sharing their knowledge.

Folks today have gotten so used to blurting out their feelings anytime and anywhere - at bursts of 140 characters a pop - that they seem to have lost the point of going to presentations given by persons with specialized knowledge. The idea is to learn, not to have a free-for-all exchange of information. Most speakers offer a period of time at the end of their talk for questions and comments. It would be nice if people would wait for that opportunity to share ideas. They might find that the speaker is going to cover a particular point and there is no need to break into the presentation to "remind" or "educate" the speaker and thereby interrupt the speaker's train of thought.

This very issue is why I no longer attend genealogy seminars. There was a time when I looked forward to a day to spend with a group of folks who were interested in the same hobby, but it seems like nowadays there are those know-it-alls in the audience who just can't keep from showing off how much they know. The thing is, the ones who are so intent on sharing their knowledge are generally the ones who know the least about genealogy.

So, at long last the speaker finished her presentation despite all the help she had received along the way, and the meeting came to enough of a halt that I was able to slink out the side door and make my escape. What should have been a 90-minute meeting had dragged to a stuttering halt in 2-1/2 hours. I was tired and hungry and I headed back to Smithville where I indulged in a wonderful plate of nachos at Pocket's Grill before returning home.

I sincerely hope I get to hear this particular speaker again. She knows a lot about cemeteries and tombstone art and the burial practices of various cultures. I paid attention and I heard her presentation. I wonder if anybody else there did?

LSW

The Weekend Activity List

1. Attend the monthly DAR meeting. Check.

Our speaker was a gentlemen who is on the Smithville Film and Music Commission and who has the inside scoop on the movies and commercials and web movies and video games that are filmed in the Smithville area. You would be surprised how much filming goes on in Smithville, including the movie that took the majority of the awards at the SXSW film festival in Austin this year.

So naturally, I had to go round and visit the house where Hope Floats was filmed. Love that movie.

I then indulged myself with a leisurely drive through historic downtown Smithville, looking at various Victorian houses for sale and wiping the drool off my chin.

2. Spend some time in downtown Smithville,

visiting my favorite antique and gift stores.

Buy something totally unncessary. Check.

I don't know why I keep buying hats. I have yet to wear one and I have to keep them under lock and key or the cats eat the feathers. But I just can't seem to help myself.

3. Run out to Lowe's and pick up tomato and basil plants. Check.

Every year I have to plant a couple of Sweet 100 tomato plants and at least one sweet basil plant. It's the farmer genes in my background, plus I love fresh basil in my spaghetti sauce and vegetable beef soup and I love Sweet 100 cherry tomatoes in my salad. I try to get out to Lowe's or Home Depot early enough that I can find good, hardy plants. Of course, once I'm out there, I fall victim to the call to plant other things. (This year I added a jalapeno plant.)

I also decided on a pot of begonias and a pot of purple petunias in addition to my basil, pepper and tomato plants. I had promised myself that I would not plant pots and pots of things this year because come the May work rush I lose interest and begin to resent having to take care of them. I thought I was doing pretty good this year, when I rounded the corner and ran into something I had to have.

I believe I mentioned last year that Big Foot, the huge split-leaf philodendron that Mother and I bought about 30 years ago, had gotten a bad case of frostbite last winter but still had some life in him. Well, another bad spell of winter weather has pretty nearly done the poor old boy in. When faced with a bank of 1 gallon pots of split-leaf philodendrons in the nursery, I decided I would adopt a new one. (This tendency to compulsively adopt plants, dogs and cats gets me into more trouble.)

By the way, if you have not made your spring trek to the nursery, brace yourself for sticker shock. Prices have sky-rocketed. Apparently the Libyan crisis has affected even the price of tomato and basil plants.

4. Clean the deck, fill the bird feeders,

pull the patio umbrella out of storage. Check.

It has been interesting watching the sparrows and finches inspecting the new deck arrangement. They perch on the tomato cage and peer down, wondering if tomatoes are something that they will like.

A funny thing happened on the way to getting the umbrella put back into place. I had gone to the storage shed to get the umbrella and the chaise lounge cushion. I had retrieved the umbrella and pushed it over the deck rails and went back to the shed to get the cushion. I don't know if I had overlooked it on my first trip or if I had dislodged it when I pulled out the umbrella, but sitting dead-center (no pun intended) in the doorway was an expired mouse. I yelped, not immediately realizing that he was deceased, and jumped backward about 3 feet. The dogs, watching from the deck, decided Mommy had lost her ever-loving mind. I'm sure the neighbors were just nodding their heads in resignation.

I do not like mice, dead or alive.

5. Get two weeks' worth of laundry done.

Fold and put away the laundry.

Check.

What can I say? I have a lot of clothes, but eventually you run out of underwear and you can't put it off any longer.

6. Bathe the dogs. Check.

They were not happy about this. But they had followed me every step of the way during my planting and cleaning activities and not only were they smelling pretty gamey, they were too tired to run and hide under the bed.

7. Change the bedding. Check.

Nothing like clean dogs and clean bedding at the same time.

8. Indulge in a big Sunday lunch that

somebody else cooked. Check.

9. Investigate a new antique store between

Bastrop and Smithville. Check.

With a name like Dixie's Den of Antiquities, who could resist? This one will be worth revisiting.

10. Get the floors vacuumed and mopped. Check.

Well sorta.

I got the kitchen and utility room done, which are the worst of the lot considering the cats hang out in there, tossing cat hair in all directions and flinging food every whichaway. Their litter boxes are in the utility room and I have a hard time understanding just how it is they manage to scatter litter to the furthest corner. Cats. Love them or leave them. Or find a good shrink to cure your tendency to take the little heathens in.

I'll tackle another room tomorrow. And another room the next day. By the time I get the rest of the house done, the kitchen and utility rooms will be a wreck again. It never ends.

What I didn't get done.

No genealogy.

No work on the two newsletters that remain on the top of my to-do list.

No cleaning of closets.

Fiddle-dee-dee. I'll think about that tomorrow.

LSW

Spring Poetry

Yes, Spring is my favorite time of year.

Spring, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee because of the temperate weather that enables my brain to finally thaw and begin functioning again.

I love thee because the mosquitoes have not yet had time to breed and I can spend some time out of doors, at least until the first of the Spring rains comes along.

I especially love thee because I know that in just a few days I will begin seeing bluebonnets and paint brushes popping up for my enjoyment as I commute to and from work. God was having an especially good day the day he created Texas wildflowers.

I love thee because of the variety of birds that appear outside my window to partake of the offerings I put in the feeders on the deck.

I even love thee because of the little flirty squirrel that has set his life goal to the emptying of those feeders before the birds get a chance. He provides raucous laughing that is good for the soul.

But Spring is not without its trials and tribulations.

I do not love thee for the powdery yellow stuff that is floating through the air from the pine trees that surround my home.

I do not love thee for the other yellow stuff that is about to explode from the cedar tree beside the deck.

Spring brings new life to the soul and to the body. But it also brings sneeze attacks and watery eyes.

There is always antihistimines to deal with the cons.

The balance is definitely heavily weighted toward the pros.

For what is a sneeze or two in comparison with the anticipation of things to come?

LSW

Spring Creeps in on Baby Steps

This past week found me on edge and feeling the need to make a change. I've been waiting for that feeling to hit and hoping that Spring would be the catalyst. I've spent the last few months fighting lethargy because it was too cold to go outside and my head was too stuffy with winter allergies to be able to make myself do anything productive inside. There was the odd day that I would suddenly go into a frenzy of house-cleaning, but for the most part I just wanted to hibernate. My weekends were spent reading, napping on the couch with the dogs, occasionally knitting, and wasting a lot of time playing games on Facebook.

So when a co-worker and fellow game-player plopped down in my office this week and announced she was through with the Facebook games, it triggered a sympathetic response on my part. I knew what she was feeling and I knew I, too, needed to stop wasting my time and get back to the things I truly enjoy.

Like blogging. Like genealogical research. Like miniatures.

It's funny when you come to that point and say "no more". This morning, instead of spending the early hours of the morning catching up with the games, I pulled out a pile of family records and starting sorting and filing and the next thing I knew, I was caught up in the Beauchamp family history. Instead of plowing and planting fictitious crops, I was busily dissecting a long bio I had found awhile back and discovering that buried in the middle of it was the name of a direct ancestor I did not yet have. That was way better fun than Farmville.

At mid-morning I stepped outside with the dogs and discovered the weather was perfect for a little bit of yard work. I decided to tackle the nasty photina bushes that line both of my decks. Before I present the after photo, I must explain that I absolutely detest the photina bushes and my aim is not to make them pretty but to make them miserable so they will die and I can stop trimming photina bushes twice a year. The things grow like crazy, sending out branches in all directions and creating a mass of greenery that blocks my view of the woods. If I did not realize how much money was spent on creating this cluster of eyesores, I would have poured stump killer on them long ago. I'm beginning to wonder if ten years is long enough to suffer their presence.

Mojo and Coco watched from the deck, keeping me company while I worked. They were thrilled to be outside in the soft breeze and warm sunshine. I was thrilled when a couple of hours later the bushes surrounding the north deck were under control again.


The first sign of impending Spring arrived in my yard this week when the irises I transplanted a couple of years ago suddenly began blooming. These are the iris bulbs I liberated from an overgrown, forgotten cemetery where they had naturalized and they have proved to be hardy little plants that have already begun multiplying in my flower bed. In a couple of days I will have a solid ring of white blooms. (The second group of bulbs I transplanted last year from another cemetery are not showing any inclination to bloom this year, but they survived the winter and I have hopes that there will be purple blooms next year.)


About the time I wrapped up the first round of photina butchering, I was dehydrated and about to cave in from hunger. My meals of late have been singularly unsatisfying, so I decided to take myself downtown for a good homestyle meal at The Grace Miller Cafe. Bastrop has two places to find a good chicken fried steak. Since I had eaten at Maxine's a couple of weeks ago, I decided it was time to refresh my memory of the version served at Gracie's. I started off with a plate piled high.

When I left, there was maybe a half slice of toast and a half-dozen green breans still on the plate. It was yummy and I have to say that this plate was a whole lot closer to homemade taste than the similar plate I ate at Maxine's. Next time I have a CFS craving, I know where to go.

I had intentions of moseying around town after lunch, but I changed my plans after eavesdropping on a conversation at the next table. As I had left the subdivision, headed downtown, I had passed two fire engines in full siren mode. A new arrival at the cafe had stopped by another table to tell them about a big fire in the depths of the subdivision. Not knowing where or how big the fire was, I decided to head back home - just in case.

On the way out of the cafe, I was struck by the gleaming copper dome of the courthouse nearby. The iPhone camera did not do it justice, but take my word for it, the copper was glinting in the sun like a beacon.

I seriously considered spending the afternoon napping off that huge lunch, but instead the dogs and I set up shop in the front yard this time. While they watched the neighborhood traffic, I moved all the houseplants that have been wintering in the garage out to the porch. Another couple of hours later, we had them all thoroughly watered, the garage swept of dead leaves, the bird bath reinstated, and had tested the riding mower to be sure it was going to start when I next need it.

Tonight we are all pleasantly pooped and satisfied with the way our day went. Tomorrow, if we are not crippled with sore muscles, we will tackle the photina menace on the south side.

Man, I hate those things.

But, oh how I love Spring.

LSW

Pat Yourself on the Back and Kick Yourself in the Seat

Verily I say, "Pride goeth before a fall".

Yesterday was a busy, busy day. Last week the service light on the thermostat began coming on for minutes to an hour at a time and I had called my distant cousin Jimmie to come have a look. He could not find anything amiss at first. Then, he happened to be standing over the outside unit when it kicked off. He came back inside and told me we might have a problem. His opinion was the compressor was on its last legs. We contemplated whether to replace the compressor or to take a giant step and replace the entire system now instead of dealing with another piece dying next year. I am all for getting things taken care of and ridding myself of the feeling of impending doom, so I told him I was ready for the giant step.

His merry group of minions arrived bright and early yesterday morning and began the process of demolition, followed by installation. The dogs were a little disturbed by the racket, but settled down surprisingly well when I told them everything was fine. I, on the other hand, was a little jittery, wondering which thump was going to precede some tall lanky boy crashing through the ceiling.

I kept busy with my normal work at home routine, but the workload was light and not enough to keep me distracted. So I decided to sort through the big box of receipts, bill stubs and financial records that had accumulated during 2010 and maybe get a jump on the annual income tax cha-cha. I filed and discarded and by mid-day had that particular headache under control. In the process, I filled a carton full of paper to be taken to the office and put in the shred bins. I was feeling pretty pleased with myself and I arrived at the bottom of the paper pile just about the time the workers pronounced themselves done.

Three dreaded jobs completed! The house was heating up to precisely the point I had selected on the new digital thermostat without any moans and groans or flashing of lights. The yearly tangle of paper was sorted into an expandable file where I can find what I need when I need it. The shred pile was neatly packaged and ready to go into the car. I decided I should accomplish one more of the things on my to-do list and I set about loading a pile of elderly electronics into Big Red for transport to Goodwill.

Last weekend David had helped me remove disc drives from ancient computers and swap stereo components and swap out the dvd player in my bedroom. There was a small mountain of unwanted electronics and cables and connectors and heaven only knows what else sitting in the corner of bedroom, ready to be taken for a ride to the electronics graveyard. It took the better part of an hour to load everything into the car, drive it to Goodwill, unload it and return home.

I was really patting myself on the back at this point.

And then, it hit me. I had not checked the old dvd player to make sure it was empty before I had merrily tossed it on top of the pile headed out. It had been a good week since I had watched anything on that unit and I kept trying to remember what on earth it would have been. I began opening and checking all the dvd cases that were in the stand beneath the tv. I was just beginning to breathe a sigh of relief when I picked up the last case and I knew which one was going to be missing. I had watched an episode from a season set of a 1970s tv show, an episode I am particularly fond of and which was the reason why I had purchased the set in the first place. (No, I am not going to tell you which tv show because then you will know I have questionable taste and will never let me forget how much losing that disc upset me.)

It was late in the evening when I realized what I had done. Too late to call the store. I decided the only thing to do would be to show up as soon as the doors opened and plead my case to the workers and hope for a small miracle. At this point I had kicked myself mentally for not checking the thing before it left the house, kicked myself for letting such a small thing upset me, and kicked myself for getting upset enough that I was too agitated to settle down and go to sleep until way after midnight.

I was awake bright and early, not because of the task ahead of me but because I had set the thermostat where I used to set the thermostat for overnight and the new unit actually went to that temperature and I was freezing to death. It was a long time before it was time to leave to arrive at Goodwill promptly at 9 o'clock. As a good luck charm, I stuck an empty cd sleeve in the car, hoping I would have something to put in it.

I was indeed the first in line at the drop off point and I told my sad story to the lady at the dock. She gave me a dubious look but said she would go see if she could find the dvd player. I saw her through the glass door, telling another worker what was going on and the other worker shook her head doubtfully. But, a couple of minutes later, here she came waving the dvd player in the air. She brought it to the front table, plugged it in, and out popped my missing disc. The other worker commented that it was sheer luck I got it back, because that piece of equipment had been on its way out to the truck.

So I rescued my beloved episode, which has brought me full circle to again patting myself on the back. I fully expect that tonight I will be conking out early. All this back patting and butt kicking can wear you out.

LSW

1861 Navigation System

Just before the Christmas holidays, I decided it was time to see about getting a map framed to be hung above the fireplace. I got the idea while sitting at Chicken Express one day. They had an early Bastrop County map framed and hung in their dining area and I immediately wanted one for my own. I have a large blank area above the fireplace and it occurred to me that a reproduction of an old map of Bastrop County would be a nice way to fill up that big empty wall.

I had several reproductions of Bastrop County plat maps already in my collection, but they were all in black and white. I wanted a color one like the one at Chicken Express. So, a month or so ago when I paid a visit to the General Land Office, I took the opportunity to look at the available maps and pick out one that I thought would make a nice focal point for my living room. I selected the 1861 map because it was the most colorful.

When I went back later that afternoon to pick up the map, I realized how very big it was. It would definitely fill up that big expanse of white wall, but I was a little bit afraid of what it was going to cost to get it framed. Finally, I decided it would be a good Christmas present to myself. I braced myself and waltzed into the framing area of the nearby craft store and picked out all the pieces before I ever inquired about the cost. It was a good thing I did that, because I would probably have backed off and chosen more inexpensive elements. As it was, I swayed a little when they gave me the total, but gamely handed over my credit card and placed the order, telling myself it was another piece of furniture I had fallen in love with - rather like that platform rocker I brought home a few weeks ago that I didn't know I needed until I saw it.

The day before the holiday vacation was over, I got the call that it was ready for pickup. It was good motivation to get me back to the office after all that nice rest and relaxation. When they brought the box out of the workroom, I was astonished all over again at the size of the thing. But when they removed the wrapping and let me take my first look, I knew I had made good choices. I loved it.

I loved the aged look of the outer wood frame, with the delicate scrollwork that gives it an early, almost Pennsylvania Dutch air. I love the double mats of green and rusty red. I love that if you did not know better, you would think you were looking at an authentic old map and not a reproduction. I can't wait to get it put in its proper place up on the mantle, but I've decided it would be smart to wait until I have a little assistance to lift the heavy thing into place.

As a historian and as a 5th generation native born Texan and 5th generation native born Bastrop Count-ian, I feel like this is just the right touch for my living room. And down in the southwest corner, near Red Rock, I can point to the proof of my heritage. Jacob G. Lentz, my 3rd great grandfather, acquired a league of land from the Mexican government in 1831.

Sure wish Jacob's daughter Amanda, my great-great grandmother, had held onto her share of her father's land. Jacob's league was split into various pieces and sold down through the generations, but a portion of that original league is still in the hands of some of the descendants of Amanda's brother Thomas.

I am pleased that this map will be there in my living room for years to come to remind me of my deep Bastrop County roots.

LSW