Craft Night

“You know what we should do?” My sister’s eyes twinkled. “We should have a craft night!”

She practically choked on the last word as our mum and the two of us burst out laughing. That innocent line had been our mantra, and cause for much mirth over many years.

There were some fine craft shows in the three months leading up to Christmas. Most years we were able to attend at least one.

Snowmen and Santas. Angels and stars. Shepherds and crèches.

Wreaths and bells. Teddies and dollies. Trucks and trains.

Wood and wool. Wire and wheels. Fabric and lace. Stuffing and string.

It made one giddy to see all that selection and choice.

“Mum, look! Isn’t it sweet? And, it’s sooo soft!”

“Oh, my goodness! How can anyone charge that much for that bit of stuffing and fur?”

“But…”

“Denise, I’m sure we could make something even better and for much less. We should have a craft night.”

Over the years the same scenario was played out hundreds of times. We didn’t even have to say the words out loud! “We should have a craft night!”

And “craft” we did. Between us, my mum, sister and I made teddies and teddy clothes, dollies and dolly clothes, various and varied Christmas ornaments and decorations, knitted and crocheted sweaters and cardigans, vests, afghans, pillow covers, baby booties, mitts and socks.

We sewed Halloween costumes, toys, pillows, pillow covers, clothes, clothes and more clothes. We embroidered and cross-stitched and tatted and painted.

We baked everything from Christmas fruit cakes made in October so they could set and taste just right, to candy and cookies, play-doh, clay and shrink plastic.

We didn’t always live close to each other and made many things on our own. Then there were the fun times when we had our “craft nights” and afternoons and days and worked our hands raw preparing enough “stuff” for our own table at a craft and/or bake sale.

Were our attempts always perfect? Did everything always sell? Was our quality superb? Well…of course! How can you even ask such questions?

Even today wandering alone through the gift shops or enjoying a local craft sale I still hear my mum say, “We should have a craft night!”

Let’s journey together.

© 2009 Denise Budd Rumble

Moving mother and memories…

Over two years ago my mum moved from her house of over 4o years to an apartment complex. It was a difficult transition, not only for my mum, but for me and my siblings. We sorted and organized and cleaned and sorted and threw out and sorted and kept and tossed and… You get the idea. It was long and it was painful.

This fall my mum decided that it was time to leave her two-bedroom apartment and move to a one-bedroom suite in a retirement residence. Once again we sorted and organized and tossed and kept and…

“What’s this?” I asked my sister. “Didn’t we throw this out the last time?”

I held up a thin, worn blanket. A blanket that once wrapped precious items bought in England and given in love. A blanket that kept those things safe from breaking as we traveled the ocean to all the promise and adventure of our new chosen home, Canada.

Karen looked over from the box she was opening. “I’m sure we did,” she answered. “Oh my goodness! Come here, Denise.”

There in the box was a pile of material we had found in the attic of the house. It had not survived being stored in the attic very well and the decision had been made to throw it out. But, here it was again. Obviously Mum had reversed the decision and washed and kept the material. Mum had made most of our clothes and, as many of her generation, hesitated to throw anything away. We found bits and pieces of various shapes and sizes.

“That’s from my Grade 8 graduation dress!”

“Mum made that dress for me the summer I met my future husband.”

“Do you remember this dress of Mum’s? She wore it to death.”

I held up a jar.  “And what are we going to do with these? Do you think Mum will do any more sewing?”

To others it was a jar of buttons. To our mum it was a jar full of memories – a little white button off one of her baby’s knitted jackets, knitted by her mum – a fancy gold button from a smart navy blazer – a button from a favourite dress long gone – and many more.

Tears filled our eyes as we looked around. These were not just our mum’s memories, but ours as well. Blankets, buttons, books, tablecloths, fabric, furniture and more – each filled pages and chapters of our lives.

Let’s journey together.

© 2009 Denise Budd Rumble

Numbers have a story too.

Numbers fascinate me! No, not usually when I’m struggling to balance a long, difficult bank statement or trying to get a long column of numbers to add up to the same total more than once.  And, having run my own bookkeeping business for over 12 years I’ve done a few of those. But, numbers have their own story, their own poetry.

In autumn 2008 I had my 54th birthday. I know! I know! I only look 29 – thank you Oil of Olay! Anyway… I am 54.  I was born in the year 1954, 27 years after my mother’s birth.  And, I am twice the age my mum was when she gave birth to me!

So, at age 27, in 1954, my mum gave birth to a beautiful, intelligent, full of potential baby girl – yes, me. Today I am twice the age my mother was when I was born, 54, having been born in 1954! Which means that in 27 years I will be the age my mother is now – 81 – if I am still here on earth.

My mum and dad have three children, two girls and a boy. The oldest was born in October, the next in May and the last in February.

My husband and I have three children, a girl and two boys. The oldest was born in February, the next in May and the last in October.

My daughter and her husband have three children, two girls and a boy. The oldest was born in October, the next in May and the next in…wait for it…September. Hmm, I guess he broke the mould, maybe that will be the story of his life.

Numbers tell stories. Someone at age 32 has a story. The number gives a clue as to parts of the story and a good guess at the length. Someone who is 85 has a story. The number tells us their story will be long and will include incredible change.

We’re always inquiring about numbers. How old are you? When’s your birthday? When were you married? How many children do you have? What is your income?!

I am a writer. I love words. But, over my 54 years, I’ve discovered that numbers tell a story too. They have a mystery all their own.

Let’s journey together.

© 2009 Denise Budd Rumble

On a roller coaster at Christmas time

Christmas is a time for a multitude of things, but something folks don’t talk about much is the overwhelming emotion that accompanies this celebration. For me it’s quite like a roller coaster.

As I’m cleaning today I listen to my radio. The station is playing only Christmas music. I love that. You see, I love Christmas time. I’m one of those people who wish it were Christmas all year.

My mood has been up and down like a yo-yo today. Okay, maybe being menopausal and moody isn’t a surprise to anyone, but it seems like every few minutes, or every half hour, I’m up and then down and then dancing and then eyes filling with tears. It just occurred to me that I’m being messed with…by my radio station!

“Jingle bells, jingle bells…” happy, happy.

“I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me…” memories, nostalgia.

“I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus…” mental pictures, story ideas.

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock…” snapping fingers, dancing around the living room – see, I am getting exercise today.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…” no problem there. We had a snowstorm yesterday. School buses cancelled, roads closed, snow, snow and more snow! “…just like the ones I used to know…” Hmm, not quite. No amount of snow will bring my dad back to celebrate Christmas with us, just one more time.

Why is it that Christmas evokes such emotion? From strangers wishing you “Merry Christmas” – okay, maybe “Happy Holidays” – to some gnarly brute stealing the parking spot that you’d been waiting patiently for! From teary-eyed parents watching their kids on Santa’s knee to parents screaming at whiny kids to quit asking for every toy they see. Emotions are flying all over the place.

No wonder I’m so exhausted after shopping. My emotions undergo a strenuous exercise there! Happy, sad, impatient, surprised, frustrated, angry. And when hubby happily greets me at the door, obviously having missed me, all I can say is,  “I need a cuppa and some time alone! Did you even think about starting supper?” Hmm, he probably thinks I was alone all day…

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Conversations…with my mother, this year

“Ready to go Mum?”

“Yep.”

“Here, let me help you zip up your coat.”

“No, just leave it. I’ll be fine.”

“But look outside. It’s snowing. It’s freezing out.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll be cold. Let me zip up your coat.”

“I’m fine! Leave it!”

“Have you got a scarf?”

“I don’t need one.”

“What about that one you got last Christmas?”

“I’m fine.”

“Here’s your boots…”

”I’ve got my shoes on and they’ll do.”

“But, Mum, there’s at least three inches of snow on the ground!”

“They’ll do!”

“I’m glad you’ve got your gloves on, at least. Ok, I’ll just get my stuff on and we’ll head out.’

Worn out, frustrated and angry I head out with my mother. She shuffles down the hallway of the apartment. No dancing here, not with our bodies or our minds. No singing either. Just silence. This doesn’t feel right. It’s not fun. I don’t like it.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Conversation…at age five with my mummy

“Mummy, can I stir it for a while?”

“Sure, Denise. You can stir the eggs and sugar together. I’ll measure the flour.”

“Daddy’s going to be surprised when he sees these cookies!”

“He sure will. Okay you keep stirring while I add the dry ingredients.”

“My arm’s getting sore. Can you stir it Mummy? It’s awfully hard.”

“Okay, I’ll just finish this up. After I roll out the dough we can make all kinds of shapes—Christmas trees and stockings, stars and angels. “

“Can I do that part? Can I do the angels?”

“Why don’t we take turns? Then we’ll cook them in the oven. And, after lunch, we’ll decorate them.”

“Will we put icing on them? I better taste the icing and make sure you made it right, Mummy.”

“Yes, Denise, you can be the official icing taster.”

“And sprinkles? And little silver balls? Mummy, I love you. This is so much fun.”

“I love you too, Denise.”

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Conversations…

The Oxford Dictionary defines “conversation” as “an informal spoken exchange between two or more people”.

Most of us engage in conversation every day of our lives. We chat and yak, gossip and converse. We debate and parley, visit and talk. We hold gabfests and discussions.  We confabulate, dialogue and chitchat. We talk out of both sides of our mouths. And, some people never stop talking!

You would think with all the words we spew that there would be a lot of communication going on. But, is there? Do the words bounce around, like a pinball, after they leave our mouths? Or are they gratefully caught and examined? Do we carefully catch the precious words that come our way from those that love us? Do we listen and hear? Do we turn the words this way and that and get the real meaning sent to us via those sounds? Do I?

As a baby-boomer with years of exercising my ears I have no excuse. I should be a good listener.

Over the years I have heard the words of my mum and dad, brother and sister, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents and they have heard mine. Sunday school teachers, ministers, club leaders and schoolteachers have commanded my attention, my questions and my answers. Friend and foe have assaulted my ears and I theirs. And then there are those I’ve worked with, strangers I’ve conversed with and others who have eavesdropped or just happened to be within listening distance of my spiels.

I’ve spoken words of anger and frustration and softly uttered words of love, encouragement, hope and comfort to my spouse and children. Now grandchildren await my words.

There are conversations I would like to change; others I would like to delete. But, we have no chance to call back our words. We must live with what we’ve said.

So, what words will I speak today? What conversations will I participate in? And how will I treat the words that are flung at me?

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

Change of Weather; Change of Plans

Snow gently falling. Sun shining through the clouds. Birds busy about the birdfeeders. A massive thick blanket of glistening snow everywhere you look. It’s a Christmas postcard of brilliant white – beautiful.

I live in rural Southwestern Ontario, Canada and late yesterday afternoon it started snowing in earnest. This morning I awoke to at least eighteen inches of new snow. Yes, eighteen. It looks beautiful from the window, but then I don’t have to clear it away. Enter hubby.

The news anchor reported last night, that a little further west from here, 37 inches of new snow had fallen. It showed a tractor-trailer in the ditch. Many cars had been stranded. Snowmobiles were called in for rescue. One man was being treated for hypothermia after he spent more than seven hours in his car overnight. The roads were closed. I’m thinking all those people weren’t celebrating the beauty of the snow yesterday.

For several weeks my sister and I had planned to get together with our mum to write out our Christmas cards. They live about an hour away. I was going to meet them at my sister’s house. I bought stuff for supper. My sister and mum were going to go to the local bakery to buy desserts – yes, plural. I had my Christmas cards and address books. I had address stickers and Christmas stickers and Christmas-coloured markers and my special pen. We would need Christmas CD’s – no problem there. I bought shortbread cookies and fruitcake. I mean, really, you absolutely need those if you’re going to do anything Christmassy. And did I mention “chocolate”. After the Christmas cards were done – or we were done with the cards, whichever came first – we were going to watch movies, Christmas movies. Mum and I would stay overnight and top this entry into the Christmas season with going to a Christmas bazaar Saturday morning. I was quite looking forward to it.

Late Friday afternoon I shut down my computer and started gathering up everything I would need. As I passed the living room window I looked out and all I could see was snow! Snow coming straight down. No breeze. I couldn’t see across the road. Now, how was I going to get to my sister’s? I continued to pack. Surely the snow would stop soon. And, it did! About 30 minutes later I went out to clear the snow off the car – about six or eight inches. Half way through the job it started snowing again. I was standing in snow halfway up to my knees. The road was white. The driveway was… well, let’s just say “snow” is the operative word here. My hubby arrived home and declared he was glad I was still home and that I wasn’t crazy enough to venture out. Hmm, I think that’s a compliment!

Change of weather can sure change plans in a hurry.

My sister and mum still got together – they live ten minutes apart – quickly came up with a Plan “B” for supper. Ate the desserts – yes, plural. Wrote out some cards. They did phone to find out how I was doing with my Christmas cards. I was supposed to be doing Christmas cards? Nah, I was dozing in my chair, while visions of thousands of glistening snowflakes danced in my head.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

What was the change?

It’s hard to believe but this newest change is almost two months old! The change I embrace is my new grandson.

He is bright eyed, indicating extreme intelligence and quick wit. He is attentive and alert. And, of course, he is so beautiful. Come to think of it he’s just like his Grammie.

This is a change that makes one feel good inside. I love holding him. He is so small, so fragile, so dependent. His hair and skin is so soft, and he smells good – brand new. Rocking him fills me with peace, with contentment. He reminds me that God still does miracles.

And so I rock slowly and breathe deeply. I close my eyes and savour the tranquility and joy.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble

A Change To Embrace

There are some changes one just has to embrace—there is no choice. Another recent change in my life is a prime example of this. Some of you in midlife will be able to relate.

This change involved pain. And, the pain affected more than one person.

This change was messy and noisy.

For the change to be successful it needed several others to chip in and help. It had the potential to be a life and death situation.

This change had been coming for some time, so you’d think we would have been ready for it. But, no we weren’t really and it left us scrambling.

This change has affected numerous people. For many of us our lives will never be the same. For some of us we have no choice but to embrace this change. The choice has been made for us.

So, I guess I will embrace this change as happily as I can. Another change on the journey.

Let’s journey together.

© 2008 Denise Budd Rumble