Tip Junkie's Christmas Tree Contest

Tip Junkie has given me a perfectly wonderful excuse to share my Christmas tree with you this year. Get your cameras out and take pictures of your tree decorating process and you could win some wonderful goodies in Tip Junkie's Christmas Tree Contest. Here is my entry...
After sifting through eighteen (by my husband's count) boxes of Christmas decorations, I have managed to find all the gems and jewels for our Christmas tree. I have pulled a few things here and there to carefully place around our cottage, but have decided that too much clutter, even Christmas clutter, is not a good thing while we are still unpacking moving boxes. There are times in my life when I know that physical clutter and emotional clutter go hand in hand. I was skeptical and tired going into the raising of the tree, but do admit that every time I look at the tree I smile.

I am a bit controlling about the decorating of the tree. There is a right way to do this, as my family knows, and the right way is mom's way. Some would say this if Freudian - it is my mother's fault. I am inclined to agree. I am slightly ashamed of this and I am sure that my family wishes there was a twelve step program for me, but...

I love snow, snowflakes, smowmen and anything related. I love how snow sparkles and this glistening inspires my Christmas tree.

I have wonderfully fond, and quite funny, memories of cutting down trees for Christmas. We did this for most of my childhood. There was always the promise of not getting a tree as large as last year's and Dad having to cut off six inches anyway. As an adult, I worry about dry trees and have a husband who is extremely sensitive to the real thing so we have an artificial, pre-lit tree.
Once the tree is set up and the lights checked, fixed (Yes, the Light Keeper works - as seen on TV!), I hang the garland as evenly as I can all the while knowing that it is the uneven and imperfect that makes this tree special. A few years ago, I found this wonderful garland at Target. There were only three packages left on the shelf and I grabbed them all positive that I would be able to find more. I never did and have tried to stretch the look of not enough garland every year since. I have spent the last few Christmas seasons scouring the seasonal aisles for more. Logically, I knew that it was not likely that this garland would be available again. I was wrong. Sometimes I can like being wrong. Last week, I stopped on my way through Branson, MO for some wrapping paper and found two more packages of this glittery bejeweled garland. I could hardly believe my luck! I grabbed it up like this year's hot new toy. I love it. It glistens and sparkles and reflects the little white lights all over the room. It looks just like sparkling ice.

Next to go on the tree are the snowflakes I purchased from Silver Dollar City's Christmas shop when I moved to the Ozarks fifteen years ago. There are about two dozen and I arrange them as evenly as possibly to carry on the winter theme of my tree without making it look too department storish. The garland and the snowflakes are plastic, but sparkle like glass and ice. It is beautiful. Next, I release some of my control and we set about hanging the hundreds of ornaments.
We each get a new ornament of our own every Christmas. Following my mother's tradition, when the children are grown, and leave home, their ornaments serve as a starter kit for their own trees. There are ornaments that make music. Ornaments commemorating travel and fun.

There are ornaments handcrafted from three generations - my school teacher bell ornament, my grandmother's crocheted wreath yellowing with age, and many like the one below that my mother made. This little mouse and his house is sweet and dear to my heart. One of my favorites.There are others from my childhood that prompt me to tell stories and share, with my children, the fun of my childhood holidays. My father always played with our toys while he played Santa. One year, when LiteBrites were all the rage, we awoke to ours, out of the box, a shiny, colorful clown welcoming us to our presents. He always set up a train under the tree that wound round and round swishing and steaming on its track to nowhere. It is still there every year. I know, because I check.Each year, at least one of my packages has a snowperson ornament decorating it. Some are primitive, some quite glitzy, some have jobs, some are just plain cute. As we decorated the tree last night, I realized I probably have enough to make a snowperson tree. I wouldn't want the other ornaments to miss them, so until the tree falls over for too many ornaments, which seems a viable risk at this point, the snow population continues to grow. There are teacher ornaments, ballerinas, musical instruments, dolls or all sorts, laptops, books, a mini grand piano and an American flag.There is a small red bird in a nest. This is a tradition for us. When cutting down real trees, as a child, it was said to be good luck to find an empty nest in your tree. As we do not want to displace any mother birds, or her children, this Spring, we have a man made nest with a feathery bird that peeks out and keeps watch over the season. We are truly lucky.
Gently, we push the tree back into its corner. Garland and snowflakes glisten and ornaments settle into their home. It is quite a sight. There is no pop and wow theme, but this theme, a theme of glittering stories brings about a long study of the tree by those who visit. The stories are told, and told again, as each holiday comes and goes. These stories are not forgotten, but renewed and relived as I carefully unwrap and hang each Christmas goody. Two small crocheted angels guard these stories.
My mother was here last night and reminded me that her tree is not yet finished. You see, the last thing our family puts on the tree is the angel. It is my job to place her just right at the top of the tree. I will do this on Christmas Eve. Placing the angel on the tree, over the years, holds special memories for me. Each year my father helps me carefully place the angel. He has lifted me up, placed me on his shoulders, held the ladder steady, placed a hand at my waist while I stood on a chair, and now sits in his chair confident that I can do this myself. I hope I don't fall. Our angel is a snow angel befitting the theme. She is fairly new, but I think she is happy with her charge.
The final step is the tree skirt. I have never found one that I love and have never taken the time to make one. I have repurposed a once very beautiful quilt as a tree skirt. I love the red and yellowed white, the oldness of it all, and the wonder of what its story may carry year to year. It is in much worse shape than appears after I tuck in all the frayed and ill repaired edges. It has grown on me over the years and I have long since given up on finding a tree skirt. So, here it is. Our tree. It glitters even in the day.

My Family?

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Loving Sweet Nellie...

My blogging friend, Amber, shared one of her new favorite baby wear and toy sites, The Baby Gardner, yesterday. There are all sorts of wonderfully vintage touched and inspired goodies for babies and toddlers including these adorable little girl aprons. Of course, John and I are in that don’t-need-baby-gates time of life while we race from one event and multiple practices to another trying to figure out just who needs to be where and when – including ourselves, but it is such fun to look and see and stow away a gift idea or two for friends and family. But, as I was clicking my way around this sweet, sweet site, I found Portia the pig. She stole my heart. She looks like she is ready for an afternoon at the art museum followed by tea at a lovely little spot that also sells antiques and other vintage goodies. Portia would ask for two lumps of sugar and then sneak another while no one was watching.

Portia is the creation of Sweet Nellie. You can read, and follow the creations of, this wonderful artist here and buy these delights here. I am headed back to The Baby Gardner to visit Portia. Maybe I can't resist and Portia and I will be sneaking sugar lumps together.

My mother's hands...

My teacherly and wise friend, Casey, shared with me, and a group of enthusiastic teachers a wonderful piece of writing from her blog. Casey is like this. Sharing. She shares sentiment, hope, teaching ideas, and herself at every opportunity. She smiles readily and moves many into being the best they can be as teachers.

Casey is a great person to go to Starbucks with and drink coffee and, well, shop. On one such adventure, we bonded over retro coffee cups. She bought more than I did. The mugs were on sale, but the memory of sharing this purchase with her priceless. Casey’s blog is a mixture of who she is, who she has been, and how she is moved and changed by her students. You should read it.

Casey’s story about her mother’s hands touched me and reminded me of my mother, her hands, my hands, and of a story of my own.

My mother is a delightful person - even more so, because she does not realize this. This is easy for anyone, but her, to see. Evidence of such is seen in her wonderful, caring and giving friends who love her. Her family loves her as well; although we may struggle to make that point utterly clear often enough at times. She is talented and smart. Her quilting and design is perfection and her love of craft inspires many who sew with her and learn sewing from her.

Many years ago, I attended a lecture given by my mother on the subject of crazy quilts, one of her passions. I am proud of my mother and sat quietly and listened intently from the front row. Not long into my mother’s talk, the woman sitting next to me leaned over and whispered into my ear, “Are you her daughter?” I nodded yes, but was a bit surprised that this woman would make the connection between the woman behind the podium and myself. What could she have possibly seen to make this connection?

My mother is petite and well spoken. I am tall and don’t think a whole lot before I open my mouth. She is soft spoken. Not me. She is shy. I am shy, but I don’t think anyone has ever noticed. She dresses impeccably. According to my closet, high tops go with anything, even pearls. My mother wears her hair freshly cut, finely combed, and neat. I have a mass of frizzy curls which sometimes looks good and most of the time looks messy.

Beyond what this woman sitting next to me might have been able to observe, there are also those intimate differences you can’t see, but need to experience, between my mother and me. My mother and I are not alike in just about as many ways as we are alike. The likenesses have taken a long time to recognize, or maybe it is a long time in maturing. My mother is a rock. I am falling gravel. My mother is responsible and neat. I am forever looking for something fun I would rather do than being neat. My mother is organized. I want to be organized, but quite frankly, it is the want I must enjoy. My mother keeps a beautiful kitchen. I have a kitchen. My mother is done with her Christmas shopping and her gifts are wrapped. I am thinking about what needs to be done for Christmas.

After my mother finished speaking, I looked back at this woman and asked her how she knew I was the speaker’s daughter. She smiled and said, “You have your mother’s hands.”

Sewing To Do

Blogging is such a pleasure. It allows me to write and to share with my readers the things that are most significant to me and also, occasionally, the things that are not so significant. I feel welcome here in this place for artists of all types.

One of my favorite blogs is A Dress a Day. She recently posted a sewing to do list. I have posted a portion of mine and encourage you to do the same. This is certainly not a complete list, but it is some place to start. Right?

1. Lady Eleanor shawl. Nancy, of Getting Purly With It, has made a few. Check out these beautiful ladies.

2. Curtains for the new house. Struggling for creative inspiration, but that will come as the boxes disappear.

3. Pillows for the couch. Some bold retro mixes.

4. Babette blanket. I plan to use a heavier weight yarn to make a my size blanky for my knitting chair.

5. Aprons – one good work apron for each day of the week.

6. Amy Butler lounge pants from her book In Stitches. I have several vintage flat sheets for this project.

7. Wrap around skirt. A couple for summer.

8. Mondrian dress. I love this dress and want one only second to the Campbell Soup dress.
9. Trimmed towels. Also, from Amy Butler's In Stitches.

10. These super pretty berets.

It is a cold, windy, and dark day here in Southwest Missouri. The kids are out of school early for a teacher’s work day and I am under the weather and home for the afternoon. We cuddled up under quilts and watched the new Tinkerbell movie. It is delightful. Tink and I go way back. We relate to one another even though I am a frizzy haired brunette except on Halloween when my hair is always purple. We are both concerned about the size of our hips, and compensate for our hippyness with a highly attuned sense of fairness which often brings about small, but fearless, temper tantrums. In other words, we both have attitudes and flaunt them shamelessly.

While cuddled up, I have been working on a few Christmas surprises to put under the tree and because I am sure that my children, extended family and friends are regular readers, if not comment writers, of my blog, I can only share a few hints here.

Nearly done awaiting blocking and loving.
In progress for one of my tiniest but bestest of friends. She loves pink!
It is lightly snowing and our dedicated mail carrier has just rattled the mailbox. It is so cold and windy outside. She must be freezing. The kids are hoping for a snow day tomorrow for more cuddling. I am off to grade papers and John will be writing tonight.

The best thing about packing...

The best thing about packing is, of course, unpacking. I am determined to have a nice home for the holidays. This doesn’t mean that I will be pushing myself to finish every single room, every single box, as this would be impossible. I am lucky and further along than I thought I would be because of a wonderful family and terrific friends. My kitchen is done, thanks to my super mother, and the living room is nearly done. The movies and music are stowed away and the big pieces are in place. Pictures, art, and accessories will come as discovered. At least we have a place to sit.

I plan to be ready to put our tree up next weekend after the Christmas Parade. This is really a two day job, but I am always in denial of that. Also, I have some concern that our tree might be a little on the large size for our new living room. Despite my planning, small hints of Christmas have crept out of boxes…

In the meantime, I am focusing on grading, unpacking, and Christmas gift making.

And, we are moved...

I happened to glance at the kitchen island to find evidence of what I needed to survive this move. The picture is worth all that it means.

To say that I hate moving is probably not true. I mean, hate is such a strong word. To say, I hate when people do not do the right thing is quite accurate in my book. We have moved and every box is in the door, or in the garage. There are curtain rods strewn about, leaves and snow tracking footprints on the floor, and the sewing room is filled to the brim with everything sewing and everything else that is struggling to find a new home.

John and I slept in the new house Friday night. When I arrived at the old house, the movers were pulling in and our friends Kenneth, Jon and his son, Henry, were standing in the front yard. Thank you, guys. You have made my heart sing with your gift of time and lifting muscle. We appreciate you so much. Henry, you rock!

The big part of the move was Saturday. By big move, I mean I hired Two Men and a Truck to show up and move those pieces that are too heavy and, coincidentally, would cause me the most heartache if broken: the piano, the hope chest, my grandmother’s china hutch, and the antique dresser. Let me just say that these two strong, young men were the best possible representatives for their company! They were spectacular in ever way. Nothing was broken and they were polite, hardworking, and good natured. One gentleman shared he had been through this same experience this past month and has been busy moving others in our like situations. This is sad.

Just after the piano was put into place it began to drizzle then rain. We worked the rest of the day, small load after small load. Tired, we were back at it Sunday morning. Did I mention we woke up to snow?


The move was wet, slick, slushy and cold, cold, cold, but with the help of my parents we managed to finish our move around dinner time on Sunday. The old house is clean ready for the bank to sell. Cleaning the white unsealed kitchen floor one last time ruffled my feathers a bit, but it is over.

I still feel a bit displaced in this new house. Thirteen days ago we were just puttering along through busy schedules, grading, writing finals, driving to cheer practice and living like we always do. Everything happened so fast. Now, I wonder if I can settle in and trust that this will not happen again. This will be hard.