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.

A sandwich and a song

Tucked in the corner of the kitchen is a charming arched doorway that leads into a cozy little breakfast nook.

And above the chair rail in this little room, hangs this wallpaper with snow white dogwood blossoms, emerald green leaves and the most amazing vivid red birds on it.


















When I was young, we would visit my Grandmother and Uncle Leroy and we would sit in this room and have sandwiches.  And butter brickle ice cream from the deep freeze.

And while we would sit, my Uncle Leroy would whistle, like a songbird, and tell me that the birds on the walls were singing for me.

And, of course, I believed him.

That little room felt like a forest full of birds to a little girl.

And I loved it.

 
I still do.