Not Forgotten.

 

Not Forgotten.

 

Sharon Dickerson brought some material and pens for marking my mother’s “Flower Garden” crocheted spread. It is king sized and quite heavy, but it is also beautiful. About the nearest date was between 2000 and 2005 for its completion. So that is what is sewn into the piece of material on the back along with her name and mine and Jennifer’s names and phone numbers. NOT that we will have those numbers forever, but who knows. We had the phone number Lewis started out with years ago and kept until 2018, so that is a long time to have a number. Actually, discovered recently that the number is still not in service—probably meaning that it is still available. But have this one memorized—well, mostly remembering it when pressed to think about it. Shaking my head here.

 

The sweet young woman who cleans my house is here today. No way could this old woman do what she is doing all at one time. Can hardly do just the minimum any longer. Still make my own bed and take the quilts to the washing machine and dryer, but this vacuuming stuff is just not happening. And somehow, she manages to kill the dust bunnies and make the surfaces nice and clean without dust and dog hair. Not sure how she does it, but am happy to have it done. And the house smells wonderful when she is finished. Celebrations of cleanliness!

 

Put another poem on here today from one of Hanan’s collections. Too many of them are sad beyond words, but this one is not too bad. At least it was understandable to me. It is not quite as uplifting as the book called Notes and Quotes from John Rhoads, but this stuff is from the child who became a man in the shadow on his father’s love. He and Lewis had problems for years because, as much as Lewis loved him, the kid just was never that responsible in the way that Lewis thought he should have been. But that happens between many a father and son. Well, between many a mother and daughter, for that matter. Not the case between this mother and her daughter, but stuff happens in lots of families.

 

Looking at this bookcase next to me. It really needs to have all the shtuff removed and only some of it returned. Vitamins, candles, oils, hand salves, lights, Tylenol, pet tape, calendar, books, pictures, more books, blood pressure cuff in container, tissue, pen holders, lights, metal sculptures, paper towels, oil paintings, photos, and a branding iron. Yep, a branding iron. Daddy made it for me years ago, and no one would understand its meaning except my kids.

 

The title for this particular blog post was “Not Forgotten.” Sharon said that those who create quilts and things of that nature should be remembered for their work—thus the patch on the back with all the information. To tell the truth, Hanan’s poetry means just as much to me as that Flower Garden. And he was right; his books of handwritten poetry will probably end up in an attic somewhere. One of his friends asked for some of it to use in his music, but how does one choose a poem to give away for a song? Maybe it will be a decision to make on a better day than today.

 

Loran is almost ready for the living room, so will take my fur babies to the bedroom and get out of her way. Meanwhile, if you will, please say a couple of prayers: Connie is not feeling good at all with a bad sore throat. The other prayer is for her sister Rebekah who has not checked in for three days and was last in Maryland waiting for the weather to clear so she could fly back. That lack of contact has Connie worried even though her sister may be fine. Rebekah is notorious for letting her phone die. And now that mine has decided to only speak to me when it feels like it, can understand totally how that might happen.

 

Rest well, my friends, and know that you are loved. He holds us all in His hands.