November 12, 1918

November 12, 1918. Fairmont, Minnesota. WAR IS OVER the headlines screamed. Still in the middle of a pandemic.

My parents found this newspaper in my grandparents' things. Newspapers were a little different then. So and so was on vacation, someone else had company. "Calf show Delayed due to influenza. Set for December."

"The Boy Scouts... pulled turnips Saturday afternoon for Joe Mills, who is still in bed as the result of the flu. He is getting stronger, and we hope he will soon be around."

Joe Mills was my grandfather! My father was not even born yet at this time.

Family memories... not mine, not even my father's. I remembered when my parents decoupaged this piece. They got the frame from the thrift store and it had the most adorable cat and dogs playing tug of war. I was mad for awhile that they got rid of that print and replaced it with an old newspaper.

But this is history from Fairmont, Minnesota. It's been sitting out in the garage. What do I do with it?? But it's family history (but it's big and clumsy and I have nowhere to hang it) You ought to save it, someone might want it! (who? Remember the book...)  

Every day one at a time

The usual motto applies. I guess it's a good life motto, one day at a time. Not sure how to make it through otherwise. It doesn't seem like it ought to be a difficult day today. But I am reminded of Judy all the time, and I guess it can go one of two ways. Up, or down. Up, and I am laughing at some obscure memory, like sitting at the dining room table with Judy and my dad and watching and listening as they threw puns back and forth at lightning speed. Or how protective she was of me when I was little even though I must have been a pain in the neck, being seven years younger and having to share not only a room but a twin bed with a 4 year old. But she was always sweet to me and never had a harsh word, even though when I think about it and if I was the older one, I would get frustrated. If she did, I never knew about it.

The down is harder. I keep thinking of all I should have done for her. But I can't go back, for one thing. And the other was SHE didn't tell me anything about what was going on. 

Got some more stuff dealt with today. Tomorrow is take out the garbage day and the can is pretty full, but I am going to see if I can fit Just One More Thing in it. And there's an empty box to fill and take to donate. Some things got washed and packed away again, like the picture below. My dad gave that to me when I was just a little girl. 

A new thought about keeping or letting go... is it pulling its weight? Truthfully, I only want things I am actively using, with few exceptions. So some things went in the garbage... that strainer that is rusty around the edges, the whisk that has lost one of its arms, that spatula that needs gluing but WHO CARES any more, I've done without it for awhile. Now, can I talk myself out of one of those ratty old blankets THAT MY MOTHER MADE?? Of course that's the kicker. I am not tossing my mother, it is worn out from being loved. 

Be brave, little piglet.

Great-Grandma Mills' amber glass trinket dish. Ruthanna Terrell Mills,  1843 - 1916

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Peace and Quiet, Pandemic Style

 This doesn't have much to do with creating, directly, but it does have much to do with peace of mind, so I guess it does have something to do with creating, indirectly. 

This swing was my grandma's swing. It's from the 1940s I think, which makes it around 80. 

As a teenager, I slept on this swing every night I could, summer and sometimes winter. I loved the feeling of just being alone, introvert that I am. My household always had extras in it, so escape I did.

When my parents sold their land, this spent a year in a storage shed, then moved with me. I haven't used it the last few years, it got piled up with stuff and dusty, and I was too busy lazy to clear it off. Well I've been feeling desperate for peace these days, so I did it. The arms need refinishing, again. My mom made the cover for this sometime in the 70s but since it has been on a porch and not in the sun, it's in good condition. I cleaned it with upholstery cleaner so it is good to go. I don't think I can get hubby out there to just sit, but I've spent quite a bunch of time out there just thinkin and gazing into space. Ahhhh. No political rantings, no pandemic news. Just quiet. Hubby hung up his mom's wind chimes, and they are deep and soothing. I think next is a small table so I can do some crafty stuff out there. My mom and dad and kids made a mosaic tabletop many years ago, but I have to figure out the legs, since it was attached to a typewriter table, which I've been using as a craft table, so maybe I'll use that and figure out what else to do for a craft table. No hurry, I'm not going anywhere. 

The Mills Family Swing

Talking to Myself

It’s either this or talk to myself, and I already know what I’m thinking.

That from Julia Scotti, a comedian on America’s Got Talent.

I like it.

I’m missing my dad so much today. He always ENCOURAGED me.  There's a hole in my heart left by my dad. I know he’s with me in so many ways, I am remembering his encouragement, his you-can-do-it and his proud smile when I conquered something.

I conquered the kitchen floor. I gave up hope of new and patched and refinished the old. I refinished the counter top in the kitchen except in that one spot. I installed the new blinds. I washed and scrubbed. I can do this. I don’t know why I am so reluctant with this last hole.  I CAN do this. I am capable. I am smart.

I look forward to the day when I will no longer feel like I need to hide my talents and skills from anyone because they don't have confidence in me and so I don’t want to share that I really do. I patched the floor and refinished it. It’s a big deal to ME… not so much to him. It mostly inconveniences him. I’ve been trying for ten years to get a new floor, because of the burn marks. BUT I PATCHED THEM. It looks like a new floor, actually like a new kitchen. One more patch for the counter top, which I could not convince hubby that it needed to be replaced. I’ve filled the scratches, and am patching the holes. A new cook top! Only took ten years to convince him we needed to replace it. We used only one burner for years. Finally it sparked when he was using it. So he believed me.

So I assume this is a guy thing. Well,   I don’t want to put up with THAT nonsense; but in some ways I am, when I am hiding what I am doing, like fixing the kitchen faucet, doorknobs, hinges, lamps, installing a drip system, refinishing furniture…  kind of strange to think about why I do this, and there's that piece of my damaged heart that needs fixing. 

Anyway. Holes. Fixing holes. Fixing hearts. Remembering that God is not part of time or space. Life is bigger than anything I can imagine. My dad is not dead; he’s still somewhere, puttering around. I have no idea what any of this looks like, but it isn’t over; and I don’t have to understand any of it. I picture God delightedly laughing at my efforts of understanding. I am His, and He knows me, and someday I’m going to dance with Him. And my dad. And Aaron. And Marilyn. And Edith. And Helga.And Dennie. And Anne. And....  And Uncle Alan and Aunt Marilyn. And…………………….so many gone.

2 Lazy 2 Sort

Thomas Deachman Mills 

December 5, 1924- March 17, 2015 

My father was one of the most organized men I ever knew. His shop was always Just So, and Must Be Left in Perfect Condition or ELSE. He swept it nightly even if he hadn't been doing much. His tools were always hanging in perfect order on the wall. He could tell at a glance what was missing and he would FOR SURE find out who was doing what; they would get a scolding about they were HIS tools and one should not JUST TAKE THEM. Always ASK. Sometimes HE was the one who had misplaced it; but we really wouldn't get an apology if wrongly accused. He would just wink and tell us it had been found.

My dad was the manager of a Montgomery Ward store for awhile. It was just a tiny catalog and appliance store in a small town. When they closed that store, he brought home a bunch of "good stuff" including one of those spinning nuts and bolts display things similar to this one. Now he might have said, "no that was from the Stockton store" I don't remember. He was always a Scrounger. He would get all sorts of useful stuff just for helping with the clearing out a house or store. I guess that's where I get my scrounging ability (or curse sometimes) from!!

Anyway. He had it in the shop. Each section was sorted into different sizes and it was sometimes my job to sort a bucket of assorted nuts and bolts into this spinning contraption. At the time it would have made a good punishment because I just hated doing it. I am more the kind to have a drawer full of the stuff and have to search when I need something.

He also had a row of cans on a shelf with an assortment of things he might need; hog rings, fence tension bars, small hinges and braces, and many of Those Things I have no idea about. Each can (tobacco cans, coffee cans, Crisco cans back when they were metal) was Labeled Properly. I remember a day when he had me mark each one because he said I had such good handwriting.

But way down at the end was a special can. He had taken the handle from an old coffee carafe and attached it to a can. It contained a very random assortment. It's the only one I saved from that row of cans because it said volumes to me. Even though he often insisted upon perfection, He knew all my cans would be like this one. So this can makes me smile. There are some things I recognize in here but some I have No Idea.

As I get older, I get more like my dad, with all my little containers Properly Labeled. I take comfort in being orderly. I can see how calming it is to carve some kind of order from the chaos of life. I don't have rows of nuts and bolts, mine are more crafty: crayons, felt pens, watercolor trays, chalk pastels... and notebooks full of stencils, masks, screen printing screens, and rubber stamps.

Missing you today, Dad. Father's Day is coming up and even though you aren't here to celebrate, I will honor you. I'm so glad you were my father. I learned much from you. Life can't be expected to be Orderly and Peaceful, but we can learn to see and be the best in every situation. On one of the last days of his life, he told me he had figured out why he was still here. He said, "I understand what I am supposed to be doing now." I asked him what. "I'm supposed to brighten the corner where I am."

And he certainly did. He made people smile at the worst of times. He sang "Show me the Way To Go Home" in pig latin almost to the end (as goofy as that is, it was kind of a symbol of our relationship... we spoke often in pig latin. By the last day I couldn't sing it any more. It became showing him the way to a different Home... and I just got too choked up. Haven't been able to sing it all the way through since!)

 He always had kind words in the midst of his misery. He made friends with every nurse and aide and had many telling him their troubles and their life stories. He was just that kind of man.

 I had the honor of being with him those last few days. We spoke of Heaven, and of letting our bodies go. He asked me what I should do. I told him his body was just wearing out.  We talked about Mom and I taking care of each other. I didn't get to be there when he died, he waited until no one was with him. But I got to say goodbye, and I will always be thankful for that.




What's this? I have no idea. But it will stay in the 2 Lazy 2 Sort can at least until one of my kids says, "what on earth did Mom keep this stuff for??" and it will get tossed into the dump heap. 

As my father would say, It's a thing that screws on to the doomaflatchy and holds up the whatchamadoodle. Doesn't everyone know that?

in memory of Dad

  I think I have my head swirling about. I told myself that today I don't have to DO... just BE. I've been running around so much I kind of feel like I am in a whirlpool. I wanted to make some hot glue stencils but can't find the glue sticks. Found the glue GUN though.

Thinking about my dad. The things he created-- anything wooden. Furniture. Buildings. a house! He and my mother designed it and were their own contractor.  He made the house with cement block. Plenty of wood in it though. He made the most beautiful exposed aggregate sidewalk.  A greenhouse. a couple tree houses. A barn. A chicken coop within the barn. Walls, doors. Shelves.

My uncle Lloyd loved to do stained glass, and my dad did some of that. He painted ceramics. He built a wooden car. Made toys. He taught my children (those who wanted to learn!) the basics of wood working. They helped him build walls, a tree house, a doll house.

It didn't dawn on me until recently that my father was an artist. He made the most amazing garden at the facility where he lived. When he could no longer garden, he made photo albums of activities, pets, people... and of course the garden He inspired other people to get involved too.

Inspiration for my journal page. Picture to follow when it is dry and photographed.

motivation and art

Wanting to do some creating other than washcloths. I mean, that's good, but it isn't really expressing anything, it is just distracting myself from the stresses of my life. Today I gathered prompts. There was an idea expressed on Art Journal Junkies facebook group to decorate a deck of cards and then put prompt words on each card. Then when stuck, grab a few cards and get going. Then I found some sentence prompts, here: http://www.blacksburgbelle.com/2010/10/50-art-journal-prompts/

Today I went to help my mom with the display about my father. She has some wonderful things lined up to display. I think my favorite is his Bible-- an old, tattered thing. My dad was not a Bible scholar, but he was a seeker, and lived his faith by loving people and helping them cope with Getting Old and having to Live in a Facility. Along the way, he did stained glass, ceramics, and a LOT of creating with wood, including chicken coops, a barn, fences, tree houses, furniture, and a house. And gardened. And gardened. Fruit, vegetables, and glorious flowers.

Remembering. Joy and sorrow mixed.

So tonight I will clear off the table, wash the dishes, declutter the living room.... and go to bed early. And tomorrow, some art journaling. About my father. His compassion, his loving. His faith, his actions.

Dad, I miss you.


 

more washcloths.... and flossing!

Today I spent some time watching a video about drawing faces. I ordered a Stabilo All pencil because it is recommended by the video lady. I also spent some time in a facebook group called Art Journal Junkies. Oh I am inspired. Now I want some Inktense blocks, too. I also need to figure out some color sprays. and then there's hot glue stencils to try. Oh my. I have a lot of stencils already, but this will add some originality instead of always having to use manufactured stencils.

I also finished a set of washcloths. These are diagonally knitted.
Not sure what I am going to do with them. Maybe donate to the Rag Quilters. I need to get involved with SOMETHING in the community. I know it's a good cause. If we have a garage sale, I could sell some there... we will see.

The other thing I am excited about is my embroidery floss holder. In cleaning out L's house, I inherited a bunch of embroidery floss and such. I wanted to add to the stash, but have a way to actually access the stuff when I wanted a specific color and not have to paw around in a box or bag. I found a zipper notebook at the thrift store, put those card collection pages in it, and put scraps of floss by color in the pages. It doesn't hold it all yet, I need more pages. But it is a good start. I am excited to get back to doing a bit of counted cross stitch. As if I need a new hobby. Not exactly new, but I haven't done any in a long time.

The more orderly my craft things get the more excited I am about being able to spend some more time crafting. I have been spending a lot of time knitting and crocheting. I just downloaded a karate uniform and a denim jacket for American Girls... I have to watch it, I will just plan and plan and never Do. I don't really think I need to worry about it.

Tomorrow, my cousin J and I are going to help my mom plan a display about my father. It will be a bittersweet day.

Enough rambling.

SAD and glad...

My dad and his great-grandson

my father died and I am sad and glad.

Mostly sad. Mostly deeply sad… but glad because his suffering is over, glad because he knew us until the end, that I had the blessing of saying goodbye and releasing him to the Lord. Thankful that he was pretty active until a few days before, that his mind was pretty clear, thankful that my brother came for a few days, but incredibly sad that I have lost my daddy, He was the best dad and I am so thankful that I got to keep him so long. Ninety years is a long life. My parents would have been married seventy years next month. A long, lovely marriage. Such a gift to have been a part of their lives. Thank you, Lord...
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September begins

September already. New photo challenge--will add them as I take them.

 Morning - a picture that is taken in the morning, like you in the mirror when you first get up! Or not!

My dad in the morning. Taken with my phone on "sepia" which I wasn't trying to do. But I liked the way it turned out.

"S" for September - anything that starts with the letter, 'S.'

sedum. And no I have no idea what variety. I used this same sedum once before when it was full of water. I liked that one a lot better. But this one's interesting too.

Sad, smoky sunset... and a reflection in the water running down the street during a drought. In Placerville, lawns are not being watered, everything is brown and tinder-dry. In Lodi, people are still watering with abandon although we have been told to conserve. However, posting this reminded me that there was a hose trickling on the lawn this evening, so better go check and see if I'm being a hypocrite.

Inside out (color-wise) cactus SPINES

right side out cactus spines.

Reflection - we've done this before and it's time to revisit it.

Over My Head - everything from Combinatorics (high math) to the moon and stars.

over my head. This was a surprise. The outside of the tree is dead and brown. It was a shock to see the inside so green. Gave me some hope that the tree might live through this dry, dry spell.   This tree is at Gold Country in Placerville.

this was over my head. But on the window. He begged me to take his picture.