Revisiting Thanksgiving Day, 1999

For those kindred spirits who gather here for the Simple Pleasures series, the party will resume next week. I want to wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving Day tomorrow, and I hope you will join me here for next week's Simple Pleasures event.

In the meantime, a question for you. Have you ever found yourself less than thankful on Thanksgiving Day?

I had one such year in 1999, but I'm happy to say my ungrateful heart didn't remain ungrateful for very long, nor has it occurred since. I learned a valuable lesson that Thanksgiving Day, and I pray I never forget it. Through the years, this story has been shared in a number of forums, but I found myself feeling nostalgic this morning. So, if you'd care to take a walk down memory lane with me, the story is told below.

November sunlight lay in golden patches along the quiet neighborhood street. I sat on the front stoop watching a handful of leaves dance to the rhythm of an early morning breeze. We had gathered at my sister’s house to celebrate Thanksgiving, but I wasn’t sure I had a grateful bone in my body.

The year 1999 had been a tumultuous one. A year filled with loss and pain. In fact, I had already named it the “year of tears.” I could not recall a single day that I had not been overcome with tears. I wondered if the storm would ever subside. Would I spend the rest of my life struggling with this grief, nursing this awful ache in my heart?

It wasn’t like me to be so wrapped up in my sorrow. I had lived through troubling times before and managed to come through with a praise on my lips and a song in my heart. And even now, there had been brief periods of enjoyment, but they seemed to vanish as quickly as they came.

As I wrestled with my thoughts that autumn morning, I suddenly remembered a day when my daughter was in second grade. She came to me one afternoon and carefully handed me four small pieces of hardened clay.

“Mom,” she said, looking dismal, “my world fell apart.”

I didn’t understand at first, but on closer inspection I could clearly see she had fashioned a world out of the blue and green mixture of clay that now lay broken in my hands.

Acting like the typical fix-it-all mother, I gently led Anna Marie into my office and, with a few pieces of tape, put her clay world back together again.

She was not impressed. “But, Mom,” she said with a deep sigh. “It’s got holes and cracks all in it.” Indeed, it did.

For years, I kept that cracked ball of clay in my desk drawer, unable to forget my child’s disappointment when her “world” had fallen apart. How appropriate that I would think of it at a time like this.

Later in the afternoon, we joined hands around the table and paused for a time of prayer. With a voice soft and low, my father said, “Children, we have so much to be thankful for today.”

I cannot tell you the impact that simple sentence had upon me. As my eyes swept around the table, I looked at each member of my family—all carrying burdens of their own. Yet there they sat, strong and in good health, all smiling expectantly, nodding in agreement.

It was then I realized that, at some point during my year of tears, I had lost touch with something vital. Deep inside, I had been crying for the One who could bind up the fractured pieces of my world and fill the cracks with lasting peace and joy. And He had been there all the time.

I knew at that moment that I would be okay, that the storm raging within would pass. Like the pieces of clay that my child had placed in my hands all those years ago, I placed the broken pieces of my world in God’s hands.

As we bowed our heads to pray, the prayer found in the third chapter of Habakkuk became my own that day: “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord. I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Lord God is my strength.”

We returned home a few days later, and I decided to start a “blessings” journal. Though my heart remained heavy, I looked harder to find the good things in my life—things for which I was thankful—and I wrote them down.

The first few months were a struggle, not because there was nothing to record, but because my anger and grief kept surfacing. I could not see beyond the pain. I still wanted to hurt those who had hurt me.

Yet, in time, this simple writing exercise changed me. I began noticing things I had often overlooked, or taken for granted. The bright red cardinal perched on the ledge outside my kitchen window went into my blessings journal. And when I stood in line at the grocery store and overheard the delightful sounds of a baby laughing, I added that to my list. The intricate shape of a leaf. The smile of a stranger at the gas station. Fresh linens on the bed. The moon’s path across the water. All these simple things went into my blessings journal. And a curious thing happened. Whenever I started counting my blessings, my heart had no room for anything else.

No matter what your losses may be this Thanksgiving season, I trust you will find the courage to look around you, and give thanks for all that remains.

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This article appeared in Standard magazine, November 2004.
All rights reserved.

Monday Musings ~ On Home

It is a glorious fall morning, cooler than usual for our neck of the woods. I am nestled in a favorite chair, savoring a steaming cup of coffee. Outside the window, dawn peeks over the trees in a smear of yellow and pink.

In minutes, sunlight stretches into the room in its familiar ribbons of gold, curling around the variegated croton in the windowsill, wrapping around the cascade of books spilling out of the bookshelf, before settling on an old photograph of my mom and dad.

Thanksgiving is just days away—a time when most people turn their thoughts toward home—and as autumn’s sun continues its dance across the room, picking out all of the things that make up my little dwelling, I am soothed by the simplicity of my possessions.

On one end of the hearth sits the old wire bottle rack I rescued from a scrap pile, now spilling over with chunks of firewood. And there’s the rusty bucket I brought home from the Ozarks, making a fine keeper of Texas pine cones these days.

Over in the corner, sprigs of eucalyptus attempt to dignify the ancient milk jug I purchased on a whim at a Mississippi remnant store. That was the same day I scooped up an old wooden box, complete with rusty handle. Its usefulness seems endless. This morning, it lends itself nicely to a pot of yellow mums.

I could carry you through all the rooms in my home, and you would see things similar to these. Old. Simple. Rough. Worn. None of my possessions are of great value. They won’t ever be hidden treasures discovered by future generations, nor drooled over by antique appraisers. Yet it is their plainness, their lack of frills, and their aged appearance that charm me so.

Several years ago, while searching for that perfect something to fill a barren spot just beyond my entry hall, I haunted vintage stores and antique shops, hoping something would catch my eye.

One afternoon, a young woman, seeking to be helpful, showed me a small mahogany table. While it appeared lovely to look upon, it seemed much too perfect, much too ornate to fit among my ordinary furnishings. So, I kept looking.

I drove by a neighborhood tag sale one morning and spotted a blanket chest—scuffed and flawed and very old. Perfect! Plunking down $20, I lugged it home and filled it with enough quilts and blankets to keep my family warm all winter.

When looking at the medley of things I have collected through the years, I am struck by the thought that my home is mostly filled with objects that have been cast out by others. I suppose I should feel a bit miffed about that, but, oddly enough, I find great solace in being surrounded by things with a history.

People often stop in and admire my home. They say things like, “Your house feels so—so warm and cozy.” And I think how lucky I am. Warm. Cozy. That is precisely what a home should feel like.

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A version of this article first appeared in The Dallas Morning News. All rights reserved.

Simple Pleasures ~ A Goodwill Deal

I stopped in at a nearby Goodwill store the other day and discovered these candle votive beauties in a box, in perfect condition. Total price: $6.50 (I saw them in a department store recently for $40.00!) I love the amber glow they lend to my dining room, and just in time for Thanksgiving. A Goodwill deal is always a simple pleasure.

Have you discovered something special for little or no money lately? Whatever your simple pleasure is this week, I hope you'll share it here at the Simple Pleasures series. Each week, you'll find a friendly crowd, and a creative crowd. If you're new, please visit the Simple Pleasures page for complete guidelines. The main thing is to stay on topic, enter your permalink (email me if unsure what that means), don't link up until your post is active, and include a link back to the party (or include a Simple Pleasures button in your post, if that's easier). That's pretty much it. I can't wait to visit with you.

Monday Musings ~ On the importance of thank-you notes

Occasionally, I resort to lazy blogging. Today is one of those lazy days, so I hope you will overlook the method and still take something away from the message.

Receiving a thank-you note in the mail these days is a rare occurrence, at least that's been my experience in recent years. But that doesn't mean writing thank-you notes is no longer important. The way I see it, and the way I was raised, is if someone is kind enough to buy you a gift, to pick out a card just for you, to package the item and see that you receive it, either by standing in long lines to mail it, or by taking time out of their day to attend your special event, then the least you should do is take a few minutes and write to say "thank-you."

Maybe people are no longer as courteous as they used to be, or as grateful, or something, but, in my opinion, not sending a thank-you note to the people who cared enough to remember you with a gift shows a real lack of manners and class. I'd be curious to know your opinion.

I wrote about this subject recently in The Beaumont Enterprise. You'll need to click on the image (twice) in order to read it. Again, my apologies for lazy blogging.

My Encounter With A Former President

With a lot of publicity being given to former President George W. Bush this week, on the release of his presidential memoirs, Decision Points, I thought it nothing but appropriate that I share my personal encounter with the other former President Bush—George H. W. Bush. It occurred in the fall of 2000.

I’ll try to make this as brief as possible, but a bit of background is needed.

One morning, Stan and I drove to College Station to visit the George Bush Library. As long as I’ve been old enough to notice, I’ve admired George and Barbara Bush for a number of reasons. One, I think they are modest and down-to-earth people—the kind of folks a country girl like me could share a pot of pinto beans with and feel totally at ease. But more important, I always appreciated the fact that Mr. Bush displayed great leadership skills during his presidency. As former Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney said, “When George Bush was president of the United States, every single head of government in the world knew they were dealing with a genuine leader.”

The George Bush Library impressed me so much that I came home and wrote about it, and on September 24, 2000 the piece was published in The Dallas Morning News.

A few days later, I walked to the mailbox and discovered a package addressed to me. The return address was from my then-editor at The Dallas Morning News, so I thought nothing of it, except I noticed it was a lot bigger than the normal envelope that Bob usually sent my tearsheets in, following publication.

I opened the bulky package and inside was yet another package, addressed to me, in care of The Dallas Morning News—with a return address from the "Office of George Bush."

My mouth fell open. I think my knees even shook a little. What on earth was going on?

Inside the package was a personal note from the former president, saying that he had read the column I wrote about his library, and how much he enjoyed it.

He had enclosed an inscribed soft-cover copy of his fascinating book, All the Best, and said he hoped I enjoyed reading it “half as much” as he enjoyed reading my article. And then, in his own handwriting, as a post-script to the note, he penned, “Dayle – We ran out of hard cover copies—not one in the office—so sorry.”

By this time, I was in full-blown shock and sitting down. And there were tears in my eyes. Silly perhaps, but to think that a former president actually read what I—a real nobody in the great circle of writers—wrote in a newspaper was humbling enough within itself. Add to that the fact that he took the time to dictate a letter, then add a hand-written note at the bottom, then inscribe a book to me, then have someone get it all together and mail it to me, in care of the newspaper, well... I was deeply honored and humbled and overwhelmed. And that’s putting it mildly.

A few days later, I wrote to thank him for his kindness and generosity, and to let him know he had given me an unforgettable moment as a writer. 

Even a decade later, the memory of this still warms my heart.

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 Linking up with Cindy.

Simple Pleasures ~ An empty dishwasher

Welcome to another week of Simple Pleasures. I know we're entering into the busiest season of the year, and I considered putting this party on hold until after the first of the year, but even if only a few of you can show up each week, I'm going to press on, Lord willing and the creek don't rise. After all, this party is all about s-l-o-w-i-n-g down, and what better time to slow down than in the busy holiday season? If you're new, please visit the Simple Pleasures page for complete guidelines. The main thing is to stay on topic, enter your permalink (email me if unsure what that means), don't link up until your post is active, and include a link back to the party (or include a Simple Pleasures button in your post, if that's easier). That's pretty much it. I can't wait to visit with you.

Do you see what I see?

Yep ... it's empty.

That can only mean one thing.

The dishwasher-unloading fairy has been in the kitchen,

although I prefer to call him, and he'd prefer that I call him, The Man.

The joy of discovering an empty dishwasher is my simple pleasure today.

What's yours?

On A Perfect Day ~ Get Outdoors

When the day is too perfect to stay inside, I retreat to the backyard, and soak it all in.

Delicious autumn!

My very soul is wedded to it,

and if I were a bird

I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.

~ George Eliot

Linking up with Susan at Outdoor Wednesday

 

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The Airing of the Quilts ~ It's Party Time!

Welcome to The Airing of the Quilts, a two-day link-up blog party. I don't know how many people will be attending this little event, but whether it's two or 22, thank you for linking up. I'm excited to see your quilts and read your quilt stories. If Mr. Linky cooperates, you should be able to link up until midnight on Saturday. Again, thanks for coming to the party. Can't wait to visit with all of you.

As I begin writing this post, I honestly have no idea if I’m going to showcase my entire quilt collection—all 16 of them—or just go with a few. I think I'll just start writing and see what happens. How's that for having a plan?

Before going any further, I must mention my sweet mother. (That's her with me at a quilt shop in Fredericksburg, Texas earlier this year.) She is the reason I fell in love with quilts. I have yet to undertake any piecing or quilting of my own, but if I ever do, she is the reason.

I’ve written about my mom's incredible dress designing and sewing abilities, but she is also amazing when it comes to quilts. In my opinion, her piecing is exceptional. She is 78 and has more energy than I do. Quilts are her preferred hobby these days. She can whip out a quilt top faster than anyone I know. She doesn’t do the actual quilting (except for her baby quilts), but the real artwork is in the piecing, if you ask me.

OK … let's get this party started!

I’m starting with one of my newest quilts, and certainly one of my favorites. I’m not a quilter, so having designed and selected all of the fabrics for this one makes it extra special.

I failed to get pics of every step (aren't you lucky?), but after selecting my fabrics (which was a whole lot of fun), I took them to my mother, who had already made templates for the pattern I'd chosen. She cut the fabric accordingly, and stacked it into little piles.

I chose a maple leaf pattern, and specifically wanted a variety of blue backgrounds for each square, representing the sky. This is one of the first squares my mom completed. We played around with sizes and decided on a total of 48 squares, for the finished product.

The next step was for me to take the squares home and play with the arrangement of colors, and direction of the leaves. What you see here is not the final choice, and please pardon the messy guest bedroom. It doesn't always look like this; I promise. :-)

Next, I had to select the fabrics for the border, sashing, and backing. (I hope I used the right terms there.) I wanted to use a mixture of prints (that's them on the ironing board), but wanted them to be cohesive and not clash with the star of the show, the leaves. I think you'll agree that the final results are breathtaking.

. . .

I almost get goosebumps every time I look at this photograph. Seriously. One of my favorite aspects of this quilt is the various directions of the leaves, and, particularly the placement of the center squares. (Click on image twice for an even closer look.) Didn't my mother do an amazing job? And the machine-quilting is gorgeous!

I was also very pleased with the little star "points" at the corner of each square. (My quilt terminology is lacking; I'm sure one of my talented fellow-bloggers can straighten me out on what exactly to call them.) Even though this is the only place this "star" fabric appears, I think choosing it for this distinct purpose enhances the overall appeal of the quilt

 

When you pick out the fabric, and design a quilt, from start to finish, it almost feels like I felt after after each of my books were published; it feels like one of your children.

This quilt is one I will cherish the rest of my life.

I think it is spectacular to behold!

. . .

The next quilt I want to share with you is one of the oldest quilts in my collection,
and one of my favorites. 

Is this not divine?

This wonderful quilt was made by my mother's maternal grandmother, Clara Ruth. It was probably completed in the late 1920’s. My mother is 78 and never remembers a time when her family didn’t have this quilt, and she says it was pretty well worn the first time she remembers seeing it. My mother slept under this quilt every winter, until she married in 1949. I simply adore it!

Even though I don't use the quilt much, out of respect for its age and history, I do enjoy using it occasionally, always admiring its rustic beauty. I like to think Great-grandmother Clara Ruth would be pleased that it still brings joy after so many years.

. . .

One of my favorite photographs of my mother, Audie Ruth, with her mother, Lora Lucille.

This was taken a month before my mother married (at age 17) in 1949.

My great-grandmother, Clara Ruth.

She made the quilt shown above, and the beauty below.

This stunning quilt is another one that was pieced and quilted by my great-grandmother, Clara Ruth. It was made in the 1930's, and is a feast for the eyes ... or, in this case, a party on a fence. The star pattern is so festive ...

... and the colors are simply amazing. (Click for larger view.)

The stiching on this quilt makes me smile.

. . .

As I'm continuing to write this post, I can see I won't be able to share all of my wonderful quilts with you; it would just be way too long and drawn out, but I must show you a few more.

. . .

I blogged about this delightful quilt back in May, but must show it again. One of the oldest in my collection, this quilt was made by my mother's paternal grandmother. Her name was Edna, but she was called Kate. She made this quilt and gave it to her son and new daughter-in-law (my mother's parents) the first winter after their marriage in 1924. It was a custom back then. If your son or daughter got married, you gifted the newlyweds with a quilt for their first winter together. I must say I rather like that cozy custom.

My great-grandmother, Edna (Kate).

My mother says she was one of the sweetest women ever born.

I wish I had known her.

. . .

This scrap quilt is another favorite. It's one of several I have that was made by my father's mother, Anna Estelle. Maw Maw was one of the kindest souls. I regret that she passed away when I was only 12, but I'm blessed to have known her, and I cherish the memories I have of her, including the quilts she made.

I love the hand-quilting on this quilt.

Not perfect, but that's why I love it.

This quilt has been used a lot, and I continue to use it, with pleasure.

Maw Maw is also the maker of this beauty.

I love the combination of colors. So vibrant, they are.

(Click on image for larger view.)

My precious Maw Maw and Paw Paw, in the mid 1960's.

. . .

If you're still with me, I've got two more quilts to share.


I'll save the rest for another day, or year. ;-)

This beautiful scrap quilt was made by my mother in 1991. It’s the first quilt she made me out of scraps from her sewing basket. These fabric pieces represent many of my own clothes she made me as a young girl and young adult. It was hand-quilted by a friend’s sisters in Turkey Creek, Louisiana.

This quilt has a lovely border stitch, with my mother’s initials, and year of completion, embroidered on one corner. I use this quilt every year, and, don't faint, have washed it successfully twice. I wasn't willing to trust anyone else with the cleaning of it, so, after consulting with "experts," I took a risk and it paid off. All of the fabrics are washable (cold water, of course) and I have a terrific washing machine with various delicate cycles. It also dried beautifully in the dryer.

. . .

And now, here's the final quilt on parade today  ...

This fabulous king-sized quilt was designed and made by my sweet mother, as a gift for my and my husband's 30^th wedding anniversary in August. I nearly fell over when she presented it to us. It was machine-quilted by a local quilter and the results are amazing. I also blogged about this quilt back in August.

I selected some of the fabrics many years ago, but never followed through with designing a quilt. I had forgotten all about that until my mother surprised me with it. Imagine my shock! She selected the border and backing fabric, which she is a pro at doing. It compliments the quilt so well.

Embroidered around the bottom is a personal sentiment,

commemorating 30 years of marriage.

It is spectacular to behold!

There are more quilts where these came from, but I just couldn't get them all in a single post. I hope I haven't worn anyone out as it is. Thank you so much for joining me for The Airing of the Quilts. I can't wait to visit with all of you.

To read about my baby quilts (for any grandchildren I might have), click here.

To read about my amazing friendship quilts, click here.