Looking Down

Let me start by telling you about me and looking down.

I. DON'T. DO. LOOKING. DOWN.

Well, the fact is that I do, but let me explain that it is the fact that in order to look down you have to go up that is the problem.

I do go up.

I would not be able to be a hiker if I didn't sometimes go up. Up is where the best hikes are.

~

When I was eight my sister was eighteen and a recent high school graduate. The family tradition was a graduation trip--the whole family. Our trip took us to Chicago, where we had a room on the seventeenth floor of the Conrad Hilton Hotel. Once we got moved in, my Dad took my sister and brother and headed down the hall. Being an obnoxious and curious eight year old, I followed. I think my Mother knew where they were going and had more sense.

Where he was taking them was to the fire escape so that they could look down. I realized what my mother knew already about herself and probably about me--WE. DON'T. DO. LOOKING. DOWN.

~

 

but

 

~

Knowing this, even for the past sixty years I continue to go up--and stand petrified as far from the edge as I can and look down.

Yes. I have, over the years, been to the top of the Washington Monument, the Empire State Building, the Space Needle, the roof of St. Peter's Basilica, the roof of St. Isaac's Cathedral in St. Petersburg, and who knows how many other UP places.

~

 

Let me tell you the story of going to the top of the dome of Santa Maria dei Fiori in Florence--the world famous Duomo.

 

I spent a college year at Gonzaga in Florence. Having made many weekend excursions to various parts of Italy, some classmates and I decided to do some local touristy stuff. To get to the cupola at the top you climb a stairway between the outer and inner shells of the dome. It is narrow and steep and winds around the dome to reach the top.

 

As we were going up, others were coming down. That included a small group of Franciscan Friars in their brown habits--one being a very diminutive older (to us) balding (or tonsured?) man whose voice we heard as we came nearer and continued as we went up and they continued down. What was he saying? Well, roughly translated from the Italian which I spoke quite adequately at the time: "If I ever--puff puff--get my hands--puff puff--on the idiot--puff puff--who talked me into--puff puff"...and the rest faded as we moved farther and farther apart.

 

 

 

So, as each opportunity to go UP comes along, I think of that little friar so many years ago, and the fire escape in Chicago, and I go UP  and stand back petrified and look down.

 

~

 sometimes
~

When I was in India in 2000, my group went out to the edge for a group picture.

You can see them here making their way to the edge of the cliff. You can see that they would be looking down on the valley. there they are on the edge.

 

without me.

When we traveled to Russia in 1998, we hiked in the Stolby National Park in Siberia. It is a famous place for rock climbing. I climbed to the top of one of the large boulders and my son or husband took my picture looking down.

They had to do that because otherwise the rest of the family back home would not believe I had done the climb. They know I don't do UP.

 

In fact, when the whole family went to Silverwood Theme Park a few years before that, hubby and I had ridden one of the larger roller coasters. When we regrouped for lunch the kids did not believe me, so we had to ride it again with them as witnesses.

 

In 2010, when we hiked in the Highlands of Scotland, we were climbing some of the Corbetts. The Corbetts are "mountains" that are between 2000 and 3000 feet in elevation. Munros are over 3000 feet. You can see here that we were looking down. Elizabeth is much closer to the edge than I am.





After Scotland we traveled to Wales, where we hiked with Liz and George and looked down on the sea.

 

 

and then to London, where we looked down on the Thames, the Houses of Parliament and the Embankment from the London Eye.



 In Seattle, we have looked down from Seattle's "Big Wheel" and from the Space Needle.

 

This Spring we looked down into the Grand Canyon at Phantom Ranch.

 

And a couple of years ago I looked down the stairway at Maryhill Museum at Sasha and Lisa.

On one of  our first snowshoeing treks we looked down from Nisqually Vista at the snowboarders below the glacier.

 

It was certainly not the only occasion at Mt. Rainier to look down.

White River

Road to Sunrise from Sourdough Ridge Trail.

Busy day at Sunrise.

 

But my favorite picture looking down is this one from a flight from Seattle to Phoenix about twelve or thirteen years ago.

 

 

 

 See if any of the other headbanger members are like me, not wanting to go up, but finding some way to take a picture looking down. Their links are in my sidebar near the top.

 



Pictures from the Past

Lew proposed the theme Pictures from the Past. He was thinking back to film days. I was thinking even farther. (I do admit that I did not personally take any of these pictures...

especially this one. --that cutie on the left is me.

This is a favorite picture from my Dad's albums. I had always thought it was of him, but it is a friend taken by him.

This, on the other hand, was my Dad.

another favorite.

The gent in the tartan tie was my father-in-law, taken in front of his business establishment, which was an ice cream parlor when the cops were looking, a speakeasy when they were not.



I don't know who is in this car in front of my husband's grandfather's business.

Pictures from the past.

I don't know if the other headbangers will have gone this far back. I may be disqualified by not using my own photos. See what they have come up with from the links in my sidebar.

Memories

I'm in Arizona Hanging out with grandkids--especially doing some stuff with Aiden.

I have figured out how to get a picture I took into the blog from the camera using my new Chromebook. I had my daughter download it on her computer and e-mail it to me. So I can participate in this week's "Memories" theme with my fellow headbangers.

There may be a more direct method to get the pictures on this tiny computer, but I haven't found it yet.

I had figured I would not be participating this week, but in the conversations by text that led me to a quick trip with minimum luggage to help out in a family emergency, there was one that could not help but be shared.

I went to bed Thursday night undecided, and woke up Friday morning and texted Karen that I was coming. Karen texted Mary and she responded that when Aiden heard I was coming, he asked if I could bring some of my oatmeal cookies.

Aiden is one of the quiet ones, and since we often only see him once a year, you can't be sure what he remembers. Apparently he remembers the oatmeal cookies that I brought last fall.

We made them Saturday afternoon. Now we have the memory not only of the cookies, but of baking them together.  

The other Headbangers--who are linked in my sidebar--will also share their memories in their headers this week. Not sure they can match this one.

Here is the recipe for Grandma's Special Oatmeal Cookies

3/4 cup butter, margarine, or shortening
3/4 cup white sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1 1/4 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp salt
2 3/4 cups oatmeal
1 cup raisins
GRANDMA'S  SECRET INGREDIENT

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Grease or spray cookie sheets.

Cream together shortening and sugars till smooth. Beat in eggs and vanilla.

Stir together flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt and gradually beat into the batter. Stir in Oats and raisins.

Finally add Grandma's secret ingredient--a bag of butterscotch chips.

Drop by teaspoonfuls onto cookie sheets and bake about ten minutes or until golden brown. Cool on a wire rack.

Serve to hungry grandchildren---or hungry grandpas.

Headbangers--ROMANCE

Twenty six miles across the sea
Santa Catalina is awaiting for me
Santa Catalina, the island of ROMANCE,
ROMANCE, ROMANCE, RO-MANCE!!!!!!

Craver, did you do this to us? This song from before your time is running through my head worse than any other in a long time.

Yes, Craver gave us the theme of Romance for this week, and here we go seeking romance. Wonder what he had in mind--hmmm--check out his blog and the others which you will find in my sidebar to see. You will get the male version. They will have their headers and posts ready by Wednesday afternoon.

So, here, for the distaff view of romance.

I just checked on MapQuest, and it was not twenty six miles across the sea, but more like fifty across the land.

This lovely lady lived in Riverside, where she attended Riverside Junior College, edited the college yearbook, wrote college and social news for the local paper, and helped her mother run a huge boarding house.

This adventurous young red head lived in San Gabriel. He had graduated from the University of California at Davis, having studied agriculture, and returned to help his dad manage their orange grove.

Continuing his agricultural studies, he spent one or more semesters at the Irrigated Agriculture Experiment Station in Riverside. Guess where he lived when he was there.

 

 

Jane liked to say that since she was the one that brought the food to the table, Howard thought he was falling in love with the cook.

 

 

His studies over, Howard returned to his smudge pots. When he could, he made weekend visits to

Riverside. Well, it wasn't Riverside itself that was the attraction.


But since it was depression time, stamps were cheaper.


On a shelf that I can't right now reach I have a box. It contains two years worth of letters from Jane to Howard. And one or two letters from Howard to Jane.


I always thought it so very romantic of my Dad (of course, you knew this was my mother and dad, didn't you?) that he saved every letter my mother sent--sometimes two or three a week. And wondered why she didn't save his like that. I just realized that I have another box on another shelf containing all the letters I sent my sweetie when I was a student for a year in Italy, and maybe one or two from him. It wasn't that I didn't save them. He didn't send any. Was my dad that way, too?

Ah, well, romance, romance, romance, ROMANCE!!!!

1934!

A job!

My dad was offered a job managing a ranch in the California desert. I don't think I ever wondered what was growing out there at that time--except rattlesnakes. It was early in irrigated agriculture.

A job! A job meant that they could get married. Quick, before Lent starts as there were no weddings during Lent.

And the living room of that big boarding house was the setting for the nuptials.

Romance, romance, romance, ROMANCE!!!

The job at the ranch included the house, and every month or so the owner would come for the weekend and the folks could take a break, get away from the ranch, come back fresh after a few days.

Then after a while the owner started leaving his laundry--maybe some other chores for my mom to do between their visits.

It didn't take long. Dad informed the boss that he had not hired his wife as a laundress, it was not part of the bargain.  And then he quit.

I told you he was bold and adventurous.

And romantic.

Dad passed away of Parkinson's and cancer in late 1994. Mother followed twelve weeks later succumbing to her own cancer. I truly believe that they each kept going those last few years for the sake of the other.

One of my nephews spoke of going to work that January afternoon that Mother died. The sky was stormy over the Pacific, but suddenly the sun broke through the clouds displaying a beaming pathway to heaven. When he learned that she had passed right about that time, he said he just knew it was Jane on her way to join Howard in time to celebrate their 61st wedding anniversary together.

ROMANCE!

 

When I posted, I did not know that this would be the week that Christine joined our Headbanger family. So I am no longer the only representative of the female side of things. Welcome, Christine.

Linen

Sandy is back with us for this week's Headbanger challenge and has provided the theme of "Linen". My guess is that she and I have the advantage over the guys with this theme, but they are wily and creative, so we will see what they manage. You will find their links in my sidebar, and the headers should be up by late afternoon Wednesday..

Other than a couple of blouses I have had that I remembered were linen each time I had to iron them to make them presentable, my thoughts of linen take me to my Nana and the hand work that she did. I recently came into possession of some pieces of this when my niece moved to a smaller apartment and gave me a box of things that had come to her through her mother. This included three tablecloths, this embroidered one:

And two others with Nana's drawnwork embroidery. Nana had made one for each of the daughters, daughters-in-law, and the older of the granddaughters. I am the youngest grandchild on both sides of my family by about five years, and by the time I was old enough that she would make one for me, she was no longer able to do this fine work.

 The M would suggest that this one belonged to my aunt, Mary Marguerite (Marnee).

 Each side and each corner has a different design.

In addition to tablecloths, Nana did a lot of drawnwork making items for church such as altarclothes and amices. (An amice is a part of the priest's vestments--no longer used--consisting of a rectangle of linen worn around the neck and shoulders under the alb.) Nana made an amice for each new priest of her acquaintance on the occasion of their ordination. (Nana knew a lot of young priests.) She also sent one to two popes.

When I was very young, I would watch Nana work on the drawnwork and she taught me how to do it. I guess that is what piqued my interest in doing decorative sewing for church, though the techniques I use are more those I gleaned from quilting--the handiwork done by my Methodist Grandma. I have made altar hangings and appliqued vestments for several years.

In preparing for this post and the theme, I decided to see what I remembered of what Nana taught me.  I drew out the threads in a sample piece:

and found a tutorial on hemstitching, the first step, at this website: Needle n Thread.

The hemstitching is done along both sides of the drawn threads area.

Next I looked to this website for further help in remembering what to do: Mary Jane's Farm.

 Here's where it starts to get a little wobbly, and I am going to find a better embroidery hoop, another piece of fabric, and give it another start before going on to try working the designs. When I have more to show, I will show it here on this blog.

This is Nana in approximately 1908:

45

Gail gave us the theme of Tattoo. I will pass on this theme for two reasons.

1. I have nothing--absolutely nothing--that I can post. I thought I might have a pic of my son-in-law's Ironman tattoo, but not. I thought oh, the tattoo as the drummers. But nothing. If I had known in time I would have taken a picture of the beat beat beat of the heartbeat--also called a tattoo--on the monitors while hubby was in the hospital. I won't send him back to the hospital just for a picture.

Visit the other headbangers from the links in my sidebar to see how they have handled this one.

2. Our 45th wedding anniversary is Sunday. So.........

 And here we are flanked by the good examples--60 years and 55 years--till death...

Why did we have our wedding photos printed on such weird paper? It doesn't scan well. We should have kept that in mind 45 years ago.

ABC -- Q

After temporarily abandoning my ABC quilt project to hopefully pick up where I left off next round, we come to the letter Q. What could I post but a quilt. This one was made by my grandmother for my brother Don. I do not know the name of the pattern.

You can find other ABC Wednesday posts listed here--even ones posted on Thursday.

ABC Wednesday--D

The quilt block I have chosen to represent the letter D in this round of ABC Wednesday is the Dogtooth     Violet.          The irregular shapes and many bias edges of the pieces make it a challenge to match all the points and get everything to square up, so my sample is a bit off. I think the tans  should be a bit more intense color and the outer pink lighter for a better impact.

If you were following my blocks back at the letter B, you may remember that I did not get the block sample made. the block was Block Island Puzzle, and I couldn't figure out what or where Block Island was. A commenter from the team--Cheryl--told me it was off the coast  of Rhode Island, and that sparked the memory of why it sounded so familiar. In 1635, my ancestor (not sure if a great great great great great great great grandfather or uncle) John Oldham was murdered on his boat off Block Island. He had had a rather checkered history, as he had been kicked out of Plymouth Colony on two occasions--one of them having to do with pulling a knife on Miles Standish. So, I guess you could say that Block Island Puzzle is a family block. So I had to make one:

ABC Wednesday Round Eight is here.

ABC Wednesday--O is for...

What a sweetie! Wonder who she is.

Coat to the left--Hat to the right.














Headed to Camp.

Not sure who is driving at Grandpa(hubby)'s Grandpa's place of business.

Just a few friends at Grandpa's Dad's place of business.  He's wearing the tartan tie.                     

This is ABC Wednesday--O---Old Photos from my hubby's family.