Don't Miss the Obvious

Some things so obvious-obviously overlooked...

This would have to be the title of my story this weekend. 

My car ran upon an embankment.  Notice I said, "My car." (We tend to blame someone or something for mistakes of our own making.)

While pulling out of the back parking lot, my car suddenly stopped and my tires were spinning-that is, two of my tires.  The other two were suspended in space.

My thinking, "What on earth?"

  

Got back inside and prayed, "Dear Lord, move this car." 

Thought I'd back up...Tires spinning...stuck!

Put in drive, prayed another quick prayer and put the pedal to the metal.

Tires spinning...crunch...crunch...BAM!  The car moved, but not without damage.

Got to thinking today...

How many times have I just pulled out of a driveway, without really paying attention???  How many times have I haphazardly gone about my business with no real direction, aimlessly, casually taking life for granted obviously overlooking the obvious??? 

My last two mishaps involved no other car.  The first time, I encountered a pole.  I was sure that it was Sonic's fault.  I went back to inspect.  Ready to inform my insurance company that the establishment had built the pole entirely too close to the drive-in.  NOT!  I wanted to blame my recent disaster on the way the company had paved the driveway.  NOT!  Again, obviously I had overlooked the obvious!

In my time of reflection today I realize that we must make deliberate choices to stay on the right path or we will miss the obvious and hit the unobvious.

"Since all this is true, we ought to pay much close attention than ever to the truths that we have heard, lest in any way we drift past them and slip away."  Hebrews 2:1 (Amplified)

My nephew had a piano recital today.  Did not want to overlook the obvious beauty of a stained glass window in this very old church.

I wish I could have truly captured the beauty of the old wood.

Lord, may I never overlook the cross!

The blonde boy in the middle there is mine (my nephew):)

"Teach them diligently to your children and talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up."  Deut. 6:7

Since my parents are gone, my sister's children look to me.  May I never miss the obvious opportunities to lead them in the right direction. 

Somebody HELP! Need Entrance to the Blogging World

Am I the only idiot out there???

I need HELP!

How do I enable bloggers to email me?

I don't even know how to ask what need.

I just know that there's a world out there waiting for me that I have never know:)

Where does a girl go, to get her questions answers?

I'm a have-to-do-it-myself learner, but after six months of doing-it-myself I need some advice.

Thank you for any advice you can give.

Nothing More Perfect Than Imperfection

I've come to the conclusion that nothing is more perfect than imperfection.

Been working all weekend to get ready for the Sherman Trail Yard Sale in Georgia next weekend.  Although, I won't be there to get the most fabulous finds in just forever, I had to get the shop ready. 

So I took a loveseat from my living room and replaced it with two chairs from the shop.  I won't miss that loveseat AT ALL!  Had it two years and have sat on it once.  The cushions crawl and will put you slap-dab in the middle of the floor.  So good-bye, good riddance!  Hope to make a big sale on the loveseat so that I can slipcover these babies!

Speaking of imperfection.  These are simply perfect although a little faded but FREE!  The boss gave them to me after a long hard day!  They sit divine!  Just not the right color.  So I'm looking for some slipcovers.  Any suggestions, girlies?  These are green and I am a blue and white girl-like the ocean:)

Looking for just the right Shabby Chic cover so guess who I'm reading...

"My philosophy of decor is that nothing should be too precious.  A child should feel free to put her feet on the sofa, a guest, his cup on the coffee table.  I believe in cozy, not fussy; relaxed not stiff.  I believe in living in, on and around one's things not merely with them."

"A roomy, slip covered chair big enough for a child and a dog or two, with slightly wrinkled, worn fabric and ample arms perfect for plopping your legs over."--Shabby Chic, Rachel Ashwell

I've found the chairs, now which slipcovers???





The Blue in the Midst of an Ocean of White

I fight the blue monster-the one that overtakes me like a wave in the ocean. 

He comes out of nowhere.

Pulling me away-towing me under.

It is dark.

It is cloudy.

I struggle.

I fight.

I beat at the waves.

He slaps me in the face.

I gasp.

I spit.

I gag.

Over.

Under.

Helplessly, I surrender.

I am washed inland.

I see some light.

I cough.

I breathe.

I laugh.

Once more I am saved from the blue monster. 

I am safe for one more day.



Second Row, Piano Side: The Help

Her name was Agnes, but we called her "Doll." 

Mama had to work and  Daddy worked as many jobs as he could find to help "make ends meet." 

In 1962 when I was almost two years old, I met Doll.  She had smooth, brown skin like milk chocolate.   I thought she was beautiful.  She loved us and we loved her.   I didn't understand why she didn't eat at the table when we ate.  We'd beg her to eat with us, but she'd say, "I like to eat by myself."  When Daddy picked her up for work, she always rode in the back seat of the car.  I didn't like it that she had to sit by herself so my sister and I would take turns sitting with her.  I asked Daddy, "Why does Doll have to sit in the back?"  He said, "People may talk." 

Doll dipped this brown stuff that she's pack in her bottom lip.  Sometimes it would run in the corners of her mouth.  She's say, "Come on, child.  We'ze goin to the store and I'm gone buy you some candy."  She always did...along with this little tin can of something that she wouldn't let me put in my mouth.  I said, "Why can't I eat your candy?"  She said, "Child, that be my medicine."

We loved us some Doll.  She had something that made her really sick from time to time.  One day me and Daddy went to get her for work and she didn't come out.  Daddy went in the house and found her groaning.  Our doctor went to her house to see what was wrong.  Daddy said, "She has Sickle Cell Anemia."  She was in so much pain that I could hear her crying from the car.  I cried.  I thought she was going to die.

Mama said, "Don't ever call Doll a 'maid'.  She is our housekeeper and your babysitter." 

Doll cooked breakfast everyday.  We'd have grits, eggs, sausage and biscuits every morning.  She ask us how we'd like our eggs.  I'd say, "Runny." She knew what that meant.  In the afternoon when I came home from school, we'd eat left over fried lace cornbread.  I liked it with ketchup.  Sometimes she'd make homemade apple tarts and I'd help.  She'd let me fold the sides over and use the fork to make little marks in the hand-rolled dough.  Doll taught us how to iron.  We had to iron everything-even Daddy's underwear.

My sister was born in 1965 and I thought Doll loved her better than she did me.  I was jealous.  My sister was "a sweet baby,"  she'd say.  I began to compete for her attention and mama would let her spank me when I needed it.  She spanked me all the time, but I could outrun her.  Mama and Daddy fully trusted Doll with our lives.  We knew that if we were unkind to her, we'd get a tearing up when they got home. 

My Baby Sister and Baby Brother, 1969
The racial tension in the south began to rise in the early 70's.  When I was in the 5th grade the schools combined and there was no more segregation. There were playground riots on both sides.  My friends and I would cheer and chant, "Two, four, six, eight, we don't want to integrate."  There would be all out war.  It was a dog-eat-dog, I'll-show-you, territorial fighting zone.  One day I wore my new "maxi" dress to school that mama had made.  One of the "black" boys, stood on the hem while I was walking.  It ripped the dress at the empire waist.  Two girls of a different color, held my bathroom door shut and would not let me out.  I'm ashamed to say that I brought those prejudices home with me.  I knew that Doll loved me and I loved her, but I was angry at the social issues that were forced upon us.  I took it out on Doll.  In my anger, I called her a "maid." My daddy heard me and he took his belt to me.  I got the worse whipping I have even gotten.  I heard Doll cry and I cried too.  It hurt me that I had hurt her.

The day before my baby brother's funeral, I was in my room with the door shut.  I heard a shrill that sent shivers down my spine.  I said, "What was that?"  Someone said, "Doll just found out about the accident."  At 14 years old, I sat in her lap and she held me while we both cried.  She was there to take care of my sister, but I think we were there to take care of her too.

In later years, I was able to tell Doll how sorry I was for all that I put her through during those difficult years.  She understood.  She babysit my children from time to time.  She'd always say, "Now, you call me when you need me.  You got them chillin to be tendin to.  You don't need to be worrying about cleaning no house."

Doll was a part of our family until she died.  She was seated with the mothers at our weddings.  She'd say, "You always thought I loved Beverli and Brian more than I did you, didn't you?"  I'd say, "Back then, yes, I guess I did."  She'd say, "You know I loved you."  I knew she did...

          

 

Collector of Ironstone and All Things White

In my puniness I am feeling too bad to do anything but go from blogging to bed and back.

Just taking advantage of this time to explore some new avenues like linking. I read something from Faded Charm about White Wednesday and something about Tuesday's Cowgirl somthing from Farmhouse Porch, two of my favorite blogs. 

This is a test....this is only a test...

Different pieces and colors of white ironstone are staples in my small living spaces.  Layers of white doilies are essential.



My newest ironstone creamer, Made in England, is perfect.

Don't you just love the detail in all the old doilies:)  Like a snowflake, each one unique.

I use different shades of white through-out the house.

This star has traveled to every room in the house and now abides in the bedroom against a green/blue wall.





There is some degree of blue and green in every room with the exception of The Pink Room which holds my collection of fenton hobnail milkglass.

This is my sole piece of fenton in blue opalescent.

Just a few pieces of my loves.

Show-offs!

Well, you get the picture:)

Thanks for dropping by!

Bonnie;)

Quilt Rack-Turned Corner Cabinet

Remember the piece of junk beside the road that my brother-in-law turned into a quilt rack for me???  Now, it's a display cabinet.

I am so excited!  I finally found a scale.  It is perrrrfect!  A great combinations of whites, a little rusty and a little chippy!

 It didn't fit in the space where I needed my quilts to go so I painted it blue for my den and....voila! I distressed it some.  I'm not sure I like the white background.  It may wind up blue too!

The shelves give me added space to display some of my favorites.  The seashells in the compote were all found on our annual trips to Hilton Head.  The conch shell was found by my nephew on their recent spring vacation to Huntington Beach.  My favorite Willow Tree and photo of my daughter and me are special treasures that I'm glad I can display.

The blues and grays in this shell are perfect!

I just can't get over this fabulous find!  It was $3 at a yard sale.  The only real deal that I've found in a while! 

Well, my blogging buddies, I may be away for a day or so.  Have some sort of infection.  Achy and flu-like symptoms.  Hoped this would cheer me up, but to the sofa I go:0

Bonnie

Junk Withdrawal

No junk to unveil.  No peace to be found when you are having junk withdrawal.  I need, I mean desperately need to go pickin'. 

Been working on the weekends in the shop!  My creativity has gone out the window.  I can not get creative if I don't see the creations of others-if I'm not in the dig.

 

The Sherman March Trail is the first weekend in May and I have nothing to sell.  Help, please! 

This morning in church the pastor said, "There is so peace in....."

And he went on to list all the many places we look for peace.  Among that list he included, "You can't find peace in a yard sale."

As you can see here, the benefits of my junking.  Ball Jars are great vases.  Jello molds are great candle holders!  These I used at a church ladies meeting.  We ladies understand what these preachers don't!

What???  He hasn't been with me!!!  All my friends and fellow junkers looked at me and laughed.  I think God was somewhat amused too!  He knows he created me to junk!

   

Pulled these honeysuckle bushes right out of the yard.  I wish I could show you the chippy on this chair!  Defnitely not a great photo.  Not sure it's even a great display.  Maybe a good idea?

Thanks for allowing me to vent!  I need a week off to browse the coast and the shops and enjoy the beach!

Happy Monday Everyone (since I'm past midnight my time!)

Bonnie:)



Life on the Second Row, Piano Side: The Days and Months Following the Accident

Mama remained in the hospital for three weeks.  Daddy walked in a daze.  My older brother fought the emotions of the moment by busying himself with friends.  I honestly don't remember what me and my sister did.  I don't remember when we went home.  I just remember the loneliness-the emptiness.  The quiet-oh it was soooo quiet.  No more was there a little boy running in and out of the house.  It seems that time stood still. 

I remember my first day back at school.  I wasn't supposed to be there.  Life was not supposed to go on.  I hated the normalcy of it all.  I hated that no one knew what to say, so they said nothing.  I hated that we were still not all together and even when we were together, one was missing. I concluded that we would really never be all together again.  Normal was not normal anymore.

Every night for what felt like an eternity, we were at the hospital.  Our next door neighbors took care of us, and I grew tired of the jokes and the attempts to distract.  I grew tired of the advice from everyone, "You need to cry," when I had cried all I could cry.  Did they not know that I would love to be able to cry, to feel anything!  All I felt was empty!

When Mama finally came home from the hospital, the house began to fill again with people.  They meant well.  At least it was no longer quiet, but they talked and laughed.  I didn't like the laughter.  How can you laugh when we've lost so much.  My mama laughed and I thought, "How can you laugh?"

There were moments out of the blue when it would hit me-like the day I set the table for six.  I dropped the fork and ran away in tears. 

I wish we had all talked about how we were feeling.  I guess we weren't supposed to "feel."  I guess we weren't supposed to talk about it.  I wish we had.  My sister remembers very little about the years prior to the accident.  She recalls little about her relationship with our brother.  Was it so painful that she blocked it out or do all children forget their childhood?  Was it because she wasn't allowed to "feel."  My older brother and I have forever fought the demons of guilt and regret.  Why, I do not know because we both adored him.  Guilt often becomes an unnecessary load like an extra book in an already heavy book bag.

My baby brother's two best friends, neighbors down the street, would come to play.  Mama would cry.  When she could take it no more, she gave away the swing set, the tractor tire-made sandbox, and the merry-go-round.  It was easier. 

 My older brother graduated high school and went to Trevecca Nazarene University in the fall. We were faced with another loss.  A family of six was now a family of four.  We all grieved.  In my grief, there was anger.  I missed my brothers.  I missed my family.  I missed my mama and daddy.  They were not there-or so it felt.  My Daddy was never there again.  My hero, my idol was broken and I was unable to fix him.  Mama shut down.  In anger, I lashed out, "You aren't the only one hurting.  I lost my baby.  I'm hurting just like you are!  You have two more children.  I will be okay, but my sister needs a mama."  That was a moment of awakening-for both of us.   I will never forget what mama said, "Oh, no darling.  You don't know what you are saying.  I hope you never know how I feel.  You lost a brother.  I lost a child."

Mama was our strong one.  In her pain, she raised her head, squared her shoulders and began to live again.  Daddy began to preach again.  God began to fill the void.   

Children x 4-Family of six.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Who's The Fairest of Them All

I've a few friends who are great photographers.  I watch them work.  They know how to do incredible work with mirrors.

I'm in love with mirrors.  I have one in every room and three in one room. 

With mirrors my very small space is expanded!

Vanity mirrors are my favorite. I bought a child's mirror at a yard sale for 10 cents last weekend.  I remember having one just like it when I was 10 years old.  Admit it, we are fascinated with the image of ourselves. Very early in life, we can't help but look!  Even when we don't like what we see, we are intrigued with ourselves.

I love the way the staircase is reflected in this photo. As in a mirror, others will often reflect our image. 

Somethings we'd rather not see the clutter that is revealed in a mirror. Maybe we need to shine a mirror on the inside to see what kind of clutter needs to be removed  that we may truly reflect he beauty of our Creator.

A mirror reflects another mirror.  As we reflect Him, others will follow. 

A mirror not used for its intended purpose.  I have to ask myself, "Am I being used for God's intended purpose?"

This is my favorite mirror-beveled, old and chippy!  Character is often found in the aged.  We would do well to reflect their image.

In some cultures, a mirror is called a looking glass.  I think it's because we truly see ourselves as we really are.  Yikes.  I am 10 pounds heavier in a mirror than I perceive myself to me!  I'm glad the King is enthralled with my beauty!  I am made in His image, fearfully and wonderfully made.  God, help me everyday to reflect the image you created me to be.

Second Row, Piano Side: Christmas

I know, it's not the time of year to reflect on Christmas Past, but I have some memories that are just fighting to get out.

Please indulge me...

Christmas Eve was always special.  My cousins didn't quite understand how Santa always made it to our house on Christmas Eve before we went to bed.  The truth is Santa lived next door:)

After dark, we'd get together with my first cousins.  We'd play silly games like "Push Button Monster" and "Ain't No Boogers Out Tonight, Daddy Scared 'Em All Last Night."  We must have make up this game because I don't remember ever playing it anywhere else.  Ever heard of it? Sometimes mama would go over the state line the day before to get firecrackers, sparklers, and other fireworks.  We'd enjoy our own 4th of July in December and then we'd go riding around to see the Christmas lights.  We liked to go to the "Rich Section," as we called it, because they had homes with niiiice decorations.  We thought if a house had trees decorated with white lights and Santa and Mrs. Claus on the front porch the folks there must be rich!

Mama would say, "I think I see Rudolph's nose.  See the red light!  Santa must be on his way."  And sure enough, we'd think that we must have been first on Santa's list.

The next day we had two stops to make.  We'd go to my grandparents on my mama's side.  We had a huge family.  Granny and Granddaddy had 8 children and an unheard number of grandchildren.  As a child I thought that everyone in mama's family talked all at one time.  Even Mama said, I think we all would see who could out-talk each other."  I loved Granny's tree.  It smelled good!  The cousins loved to play on the front porch.  I can still remember the glider patio sofa and chairs.  I look for those chairs every time I junk hunt. The swing on the front porch was a favorite among the grandchildren.

Our next stop was my first cousins on my daddy's side.  Daddy's brother died years before and my aunt had remarried, but we continued to get together in the summer and at Christmas every year.  Since we were out of school for another week, my cousin went home with me and stayed part of the week and I stayed with her the rest of the week. 

In Mama's words, "When Bonnie was 1 1/2 years old, Tom (Daddy's brother) and Lois had another girl they named Becky.  She was cute with naturally curly blond hair like her daddy.  Her daddy worshipped her.  When Becky was one year old he had a massive heart attack and was buried on Christmas Eve.  This almost devastated Daddy.  Now there was no one in his family left but him.  Christmas and holidays were really hard for him.  In the fall after his brother's death, Daddy went into a state of depression.  He couldn't talk without crying and the doctor made him stay out of the pulpit for six weeks or until he got better."

Reading Mama's letters makes me better understand why Christmas was always so sad for Daddy.  After Brian died, we never got together with the cousins on either side again.  I don't think Daddy celebrated again until after our children, his grandchildren were born.

I almost forgot the Christmas Cards....

Christmas Card 1961

Christmas 1962

Christmas Card 1963

Christmas Card 1966

Christmas Card 1969

  Christmas Card 1970

See the piano in the back?  I've always loved candles.  One year, I lit the candles and forgot them.  We went to bed and a few minutes later we smelled smoke. The piano was in flames!  We still have the piano. It didn't sell.  It's the only item left at the home place.

Life on Second Row, Piano Side: Mama's Stories About Daddy

Life wasn't always so serious on The Second Row, Piano Side.

When we were in church it was serious business, but even mama got tickled sometimes-like when Daddy said, "Ya'll get comfortable now and take your clothes off."

In the south, we are known for having a bit of a drawl.  Well, when you get to GA Backroads, USA, you'll hear an even different drawl-like adding "er" to any word that ends in "a."  Mama, bless her heart, tried to make sure that Daddy chose his words carefully as he usually preached his sermon to her first.  He could sure draw out those syllables.  For example, Florida was "Flaurder", Atlanta was "Atlanter", Hawaii was "Hiwarer".  He often talked about the missionaries in "Afercer."  The whole church quickly caught on and we'd all be laughing and Daddy didn't miss a beat; he kept right on preaching.  Somewhere a long the way he heard someone say, "Bass-ackwards."  He was too country or niave to know that it was a-- backwards said backwards.  He thought it meant doing something the wrong way. "Daddy, do you know what you said today?"  Mama always critiqued his sermons.

Night Watchman at Trevecca Nazarene College 1948,

asleep on the job?

 

Mama was a stand-by-your-man kind of woman.  She said, "I've always got my eyes open.  It's not your daddy I don't trust; I know women."  A young pastor's wife with a young preacher man had to!  Daddy was only 18 years old when he started the church.  There was a church member who had seizures and she was kinda sweet on daddy.  Mama would say, "Seizures, my foot!  She's got a thing for you."  One night after church, she had what everyone thought was a seizure and fell all over daddy. Mama replays the scene, "Her feet when up in the air and she landed right on top of your daddy. You could see everything she had." I said, "Well, mama that didn't mean she didn't have a seizure."  She replied, "Ask your daddy, he'll tell you."  All Daddy could do was laugh and shake his head at mama's story.

Mama said Daddy had an inferiority complex.  Here he looks like he's trying to be stud muffin!

There was another lady that mama said was "sweet on daddy."  Daddy always visited his members in their homes.  When mama felt it necessary she went along.  I guess she thought it necessary this time.  In her story she writes, "Daddy was always nervous and had to be doing something with his hands. We hadn't gotten in the door good and he was fiddling with this thing on the table. I looked down and he's holding something in his hand.  It was a false 'boobie'.  Daddy got out of there before I knew what had happened."  (Who knew they had falsies back in the day?)

Daddy was a gentle man.  I can only remember two times that he spanked me.  I think he learned from his mistakes with my brother.  Both spankings I got were for laughing at someone.  Both times he came from behind and picked my feet off the ground with one lick of his belt.  Hurting other people was something he would not tolerate.  I don't know that he ever spanked one of the grandchildren, but one time he came close. 

My son was a busy, strong-willed little fellow.  He was about 2-3 years old and was standing on a stool close to the brick hearth.  The stool was unsteady.  "Son, get down from there before you fall."  My son ignores him.  "Son, I said get down from there before you fall."  My son ignores him.  A few minutes later my son is still standing and no one has said a word.  All of a sudden, we hear this loud commotion.  Mama has been watching the whole thing from the kitchen.  Daddy goes to blowing like a woman in labor, pulls off his 50" belt like a whip, jumps up from his recliner and scares my son to death.  All I heard was a thump, thump, thumb as he pulled the belt off and whipped it around in one swing. My son let out a wail that sent chills down my spine.  Mama runs in the den with her hands on her hips, "Daddy, you stop that right now.  You have scared that baby to death.  If you were gonna whip him you should have done it the first time.  He doesn't even know what he's done now.  It's been 15 minutes since you told him to get down."  My son is crying and I'm laughing my head off at the ridiculous exchange that is going on between my mama and daddy.  My how things had changed!  Mama, who was brutal with me at times, would not nor would she let anyone else touch her grandchildren.

My mama loved her some "Daddy" and my daddy loved him some "Mama."  They called each other "Mama" and "Daddy."  I rarely heard them call each other by name.

This was a Piano Side Pose:) 

Fill My Home With All Things White and Surround Me With Color

White is often defined as "without color." 

I could fill my home with all things white and be surrounded with color.

According to Kate Smith of Martha Stewart's Color Line, "Ask any paint retailer or manufacturer what

the top selling paint color is and without any hesitation they will tell you 'White', but when you look at most paint sample walls you don't see a wall of white.  You see hundreds of colors."

White is often associated with purity, cleanliness and innocence in many cultures.  In the past, virgin brides always wore white.  I'm glad there are many shades of white for brides today.

My sweet, baby girl in white-an ivory white. This was the first dress she tried on.

My daughter-in-love in another shade of white.

The color of cream was inspired by the dairy cream.  Ever noticed how many shades of vanilla ice cream there are?  Vanilla bean is a whiter white than even old-fashioned home style ice cream.  I love all shades of vanilla (and all flavors-YUM!).  That's what I think of white-YUMMY!

Antique White has more yellow undertones.  Antique white is most seen in French Country furniture.  I do love french and antique furniture.



See the many shades of white in some of my favorite ironstone pieces.

I do love my dresser stuff-not quite a vignette, but still makes me smile.  The porcelain footed dresser box was my mamas.  Milk glass is my most favorite and it too comes in all shades of white.  The vanity tray is old milk glass and shines as blue when the light touches it.

Although missing a few drawer pulls, I still love my childhood dresser.  It was the typical yellow-white dresser that we see so much, now retired for finer furniture.  I loved my piece and painted it pure white years ago when my love for white began.





The gold was already there so distressing was easy:)

My newest addition of white-a white chenille bedspread from a local shop.  I'm so excited.  Pure cotton feels fabulous!

Up-close detail.  Isn't she lovely?

My favorite tatted pillow.

Kate Smith said in a recent article, "One that understands that they need guidance in making color choices and that,while they may like looking at rooms with boldly colored walls in magazines, when it comes to their homes they are often most comfortable with tinted white."

I totally agree.

We will paint the home place this weekend.  You know what I'm leaning toward don't you-a cottage of whites!