The Giving Trees

It's been a while since I've been here. 

We've mostly finished inside the house and I've been painfully lax in updating this.

I'll bring you all up to speed in a few posts later on.

Meanwhile, let me show you something that's happened in the back yard...

We had some trees. Big trees. HUGE trees. Old trees.

And one day, a few years ago we lost a really big branch out of the biggest one.

I called to have them trimmed and found out they were hollow.

The two by the garage had to come down. And I cried.

The trees that had provided so much shade, were now just going. Away.

We left some tall stumps to place planters in the yard.

Now we're talking about a bigger garage and those stumps are in the way.

They needed to go.

Those HUGE stumps.

It took shovels and a chainsaw and an excavator to get them all out.

We had to take out the third tree behind the garage too.

And before we actually did this I had wondered what I would do with them.

Stump #1

Stump #2 - The Monster One

Stump #3

I had joked on line about Crate & Barrel and their furniture made of tree stumps.

Holy Cow! I could make a dresser out of these babies!

Turns out, they're going to be furniture after all.  Elephant furniture.

They're going to be used for enrichment activities with the herd at the Sedgwick County Zoo.

The staff will fill the nooks and crannies with food and treats.

They can move them and roll them. Certainly easier than we did.

Big. Old. Tree Stumps.

When I saw it, I cried again. But for a completely different reason.

And hopefully the trees will be very happy.

Visions of Sugarplums

danced in their heads.

But someone had to make them first.
They're candy, you know.  Those Sugarplums.

My Gram didn't make Sugarplums, but she made a delightful assortment of other candy, including divinity, peanut brittle and fudge.  I remember making all of it with her in her kitchen when I was young.  It meant Christmas was coming and that was a thrill.

My husband's grandmother baked walnut rolls, which are a Polish tradition.  I learned the recipe years ago and have made it an integral part of our Christmas.

My mom bakes sugar cookies and various quick breads, but if I had to guess, I would think that the Christmas confection that Mason will always remember his grandmother making will be the chocolate dipped pretzel sticks.

And so it goes.  Candy, cookies, breads.  Various goodies and delights.  Often made from recipes handed down from one generation to the next.

In the past few weeks, I've had friends who have experienced terrible personal loss, which can be so much more poignant during the holidays.

The one common thread that I have noticed, though, is the continuation of these family traditions of baking and cooking.  All the while remembering the sweetness of learning the recipes as a child and now passing them on to our own, often as hand written treasures.

Somehow that little treat coming out of the oven or off the stovetop becomes a way to connect today with yesterday and it makes Christmas time truly magical.

It was a very good year

1914

So many things happened in 1914.

Many were not good.  This was, after all, the year that marked the start of the first World War.

Others were markedly better.  The Panama Canal opened in August and President Wilson signed the proclamation making Mother's Day a national holiday.

For me, the most important date in 1914 was December 11.
On that day, a girl named Mary Ann was born to Paul and Martha Mason in Baxter Springs, Kansas.

Years later, she would be my Gram.

A century has passed since that day.

No matter what else happened in 1914, I believe it was a very good year.

Mary Ann (far left), two schoolmates & her sister Opal

Mary Ann (3rd from rt) with sister,
cousins & grandfather

Opal & Mary Ann Mason

Chop, chop...

Growing up, I spent more days (and nights) than I can count at my Gram and Granddad's house.  When I was very young, my great grandparents lived there too.  And in their kitchen, I remember watching my great grandmother make homemade chicken and noodles.  I would sit on the counter while my Gram would make me a chocolate milkshake in her blender.  Years later, my son would do the same.

This is the kitchen where I learned to make fudge and divinity and peanut brittle.  Its where Mason learned how to make my Gram's cream cheese dip better than anyone else.  

There was nothing especially fancy about this mid-century, mid-America kitchen.  It had the original cabinets that were built with the house in the 50's.  There was a vinyl floor.  There was no dishwasher.  The countertops were just regular laminate - except for the 24 inches just to the right of the stove, where my granddad had replaced it with butcher block that he made himself.

The house where I spent so much of my first 35 years is gone now.  The city took it down in the name of "progress".  

But before they did, I took that butcher block out and now it's been beautifully transformed thanks to my talented husband.  It's no longer just a section of countertop.  It's a gorgeous "new" carving board that still has all of the knife marks in it from the years of use and memories that were made in that kitchen. 

It was used again this year to carve our Thanksgiving turkey.  
It will be used for the Christmas prime rib.  
And it will always be used to bring back memories of the good times spent in my grandparents' kitchen.

Saturday Evening Post Time

There have been a variety of athletes in my family. My husband and son are both basketball players.  My daughter-in-law - volleyball.  My dad was a track man in college. In high school he played basketball and football.  My granddad played ice hockey.

But over 100 years ago, my great great grandmother's brother, Nathan Hill, was a professional jockey.  (That's him on the far right, with my great, great grandmother and their other brothers.)

And today I get to attend the 140th running of the Kentucky Derby.  The Run for the Roses. 

I stop and wonder how much the sport has changed since my Uncle Nate raced these beautiful animals.  

I know that the training for both the horse and the jockey is more advanced.  Certainly the money involved is more substantial.  

But I saw a documentary on a jockey school not long ago and learned that for most of the men and women who ride and care for these horses it's really not about the money.  The majority of the jockeys will never become wealthy doing this.  For most of them it's about the love of the horses that they ride and care for. 

So today I'll don a fancy new hat and place my first ever bet on a horse race.  I'll drink a mint julep in memory of an uncle I never met and be amazed as some of the bravest athletes in the world race 1 1/4 miles in the  "Greatest Two Minutes in Sports" on the backs of some of the most beautiful four legged athletes I'll ever see.  

One is Silver and the other Gold

It seems oddly appropriate that today would be the day that the Girl Scouts celebrate their 102nd birthday.  Some of my best memories were made in that organization.  With these girls.

We are no longer the bright eyed Brownies in that photo.  We're in our forties now.
Two of us still live in Wichita.  One is in Arizona. And one is now in Heaven.  Today also marks the anniversary of that day.

We had so many good times, the four of us.  Movies, sleep-overs, camping, years and years of school together.

We didn't get to celebrate enough as adults because we weren't always in the same city, or even in the same state.  It as supposed to be a wedding that was going to bring us together again, but that didn't quite happen.

Memories, though will live forever.  I've learned that friendships can be fragile and precious.  We should handle them with care.

So today, we raise a toast to JillyBean.  Love you forever.  We may make new friends, but we will always keep the old.  You, darling, were golden.

Rolling toward Christmas

What are your holiday traditions?

As a child, it was Midnight Mass, all of my grandparents and great-grandparents at our house, getting to open "just one" present on Christmas Eve, and the home made candy.  Especially my Gram's peanut brittle and divinty and fudge.  Those are the things that you get once a year and they bring back special memories.

As an adult, I bake every year.  Occasionally, I make some of my Gram's candies.  This year the divinity and fudge are done.  Every year, though, I make a recipe that was handed down to me from my mother-in law.  It's a Polish walnut roll that John's Nana used to make.

I never met the woman whose recipe I make every December.  She passed away when John was in high school.  I've heard wonderful stories about her, though.

I was lucky enough to know John's grandfather.  Everybody called him Saik, short for Saikowski, which was his last name.  He was a giant of a man.  Big in stature with a huge heart.  He taste tested my first few attempts at the nut rolls, and since they seemed to pass, I kept at it.

So, here I am, lot of years and hundreds of nut rolls later. I didn't grow up with them, or the family that introduced them to me, but I can't imagine what my life, or my Christmases, would be like without either of them.

My grandmother's baby brother

is my great Uncle Lawrence.  And today he turns 92.

Most people would wonder about the things that he's seen in those 92 years.
I often wonder about the things he hasn't seen through most of them.

His sight was slowly taken from him before I was born because of a condition called Retinitis pigmentosa.

And although his eyesight has been mostly gone since he was in his 30's, I can't say that I've ever heard him complain.  In fact, he's probably one of the most inspirational people I know.

In spite of the challenges that came with his lack of vision, through the years he still ran his own business, mastered many home improvement skills, learned to dance and lived independently until the age of 91.

In 1940 he was a handsome 19-year-old.

And this was his birthday in 1942.

I will take him home made carrot cake for his birthday today.
I have no idea if my baking skills are as good as my grandmother's.
I do know that I have been blessed to be her brother's niece.

Bringing in the Wheat

I didn't grow up on a farm.

Up until a few years ago, I didn't know anything about our farm except where it was.  And even that was only in general terms. 

Today, I don't pretend to be an expert and I certainly wouldn't be so presumptuous as to call myself a farmer, but I've come to love the land that has been in my family for nearly a century. 

June is harvest time for winter wheat and this year the wheat looks good for us.  What was green just a few weeks ago has turned into a sea of golden grain.  We are blessed to have wonderful people who farm for us and take care of our land. Without them, this simply could not happen.

 The more I learn about the farm the more respect and appreciation I have for the people have dedicated their lives to working the land. It is hard, dirty work and the hours are ridiculously long. They must do it for love, because it certainly isn't about getting rich. 

I've had the chance to ride on the combines.  I've seen beautiful sunsets and we've run from a hail storm - all during the same harvest. 

I didn't grow up on a farm. But knowing the way I feel about it now, I really think I would have liked it.

A peony for your thoughts

I've been pondering the things we keep to remind us of our past.

They're memories mostly.

Images in our minds of a place or a person.

Maybe the scent of something baking in the kitchen.

Perhaps a song that takes you back to another day and time.

Every once in a while, though, it's something tangible.

Something that you can touch.
A real, physical connection to the people and the places that are gone.

Before the city tore down the house that my grandparents and great grandparents had lived in for over 40 years, I took a knob off of one of the kitchen cabinets.
I also have a brick from the front porch.
They're nice to have, but they just sit in a closet. 

But every spring, when I look out my window, I see peonies popping up in my garden.
And when they bloom, there will big beautiful flowers in shades of pink and purple.

They're the peonies my Gram and Great-Grandmother planted so many years ago.
The flowers from these plants were cut and taken to the cemeteries every Memorial Day. 
Their flowers were put in a vase on the kitchen table as the prelude to my Gram's roses every summer.

 

They're more than flowers.

They're a connection to my past.

They're living reminders of the memories I hold in my mind.

And if I ever leave this place where they grow now, they'll go with me.

Everything old is new again

The kitchen. 

The heart of the home.

Everything from pop-tarts to gourmet dinners come out of this room.  We become obsessed about its design.  I've spent hours upon hours thinking about the most cost effective way to bring this space up to date.

I want it to be current.  Modern.  Efficient.  Timeless.
And yet, I still want to leave it semi-original. True to the age and the style of the house.

So what do I do? 

It's a plaid, plaid, plaid world.

The biggest project in any house remodel is usually the kitchen.

Ours was no different.

Here's what we started with:

60+ year-old appliances.

One short wall of cabinets with minimal counter top space.

Disconnected plumbing.

Worn through linoleum.

Peeling plaster walls.

And wallpaper. 

Lots of wallpaper


On the walls

 


And on the ceiling.


I kind of liked it.




I wanted to keep it.


I got out-voted.



But it all worked out in the end.

A little Deja Vu

We had an ice storm in Wichita this week.

The trees sparkled in the sun.  It was a beautiful sight.

So I took this photo looking south on Perry Avenue.
 

Then it occurred to me that I had seen another picture that looked amazingly similar.

Only this one is 55 years older.

It was also taken in April. 
But this one was taken after a snow storm, not ice.
It's in about the same place on Perry - looking south. 
You can see the same houses.

Years may pass, but some things stay the same.
I do love that.