……If Teacups Could Talk…the continuing saga

            Well, it’s been a long six months.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love the TeaRoom. I mean, who wouldn’t?  Pretty things all around, peaceful tunes, nose-tingling aromas...and something new everyday.

            You wouldn’t believe the mixed bag we get in here. There’s your regulars for starters. Young and old, readers and talkers, singles and gaggles. They all think this is their place. And it is really. They’re what makes life go round in here. I know all their names now and who likes to sit where. Kind of comforting really. The unknown can be so...well...frightening.

            Case in point. Last Tuesday, it was a little on the sleepy side, everyone at the beach, I guess. We were all just lazily sunning ourselves on our tables, when a couple came in, all hoity-toity. He was dressed in a pin-striped suit. On a Tuesday afternoon.  In North Delta, mind you. It was white linen, and he had topped it off with a white straw panama, slung a little low over his left eyebrow. He made a big point of removing it with what he must have thought quite a flourish and then pulled out the chair for his lady friend. She was stunning, at least I suppose those are the words she mouthed to her reflection in the Ladies’ Room mirror. “I am stunning....and don’t I know it.” She wore a black couture dress, almost a ‘40’s look, soft tucks on the bodice, pencil thin to mid-calf and I must admit she had the hips for it. The seamed stockings put the whole thing a bit over the top I thought, as did the feathered cloche she wore tilted to accommodate the long French roll curving up the back of her head. She held elbow- length kid gloves (it was July! in North Delta!) She set them down ceremoniously by her plate and began fussing at an imaginary speck on her napkin.

            “Charles.” she said. “Charles, I don’t care for this teacup.”

            “Of course you don’t lovey. It’s not you. Let me see what I can do.”

            He sprang from the table. It’s the only word that aptly describes the motion.  I looked to see if perhaps there was a thin elastic cord connecting the two. She yanks---- he jumps, but could detect none. I surmised it was  a movement he had perfected over the years, no stimulus required. He held one up for her approval. Apparently it did not satisfy. He tried another and another.

              Thus began his desperate yet tenuous foray around the TeaRoom. It was obvious he longed to please her but it wasn’t entirely clear whether the motivation was undying love or unmitigated terror. By the time he approached our table, I must admit I was hyperventilating. " Don’t pick me. Don’t pick me."

He had barely made a move toward me when she let out howl. Yes it really was a howl…of disgust. “Don’t even think about it Charles. It is just too revolting.”

            Okay, so now I was mad. I never pretended to be Wedgwood or Winton. I’m thick and heavy-set. I know that. But I can keep a cup of tea warm twice as long as my dainty cousins with their wide tops and whisper-thin sides. Why some of them are so curlicued on the handle you can’t even get your finger in there. But around here, we don’t show favouritism. We’re all just delighted to be here, to be used and loved.

            Charles continued to sputter around the tea tables, flinching with each new barb Daphne flung his way. It wasn’t nice I know, but we were all hoping she would choke on her tea…if she ever got some.

            Well I was so transfixed on the drama surrounding her ladyship, that I hadn’t noticed two (plump would be too kind) ladies sit down at our table. They wriggled into the chairs, their bottoms ballooning over the sides and banged the table with overly zealous breasts, sending salt shakers and flower vases in all four directions. They were quite indistinguishable, except one had long wiry grey hair, loosely pinned up with wide old-fashioned pins, while the other had been recently dyed and  ‘Brillo’-ed.  The latter produced an interminable stream of tissues from her bosom and mopped her face and neck, the struggle to be seated obviously taking a rather large toll.  The other kept a hanky secured in the garter of her roll-down stockings and nearly upset herself, chair and all, trying to retrieve it.

            Finally, they had more or less settled in when the curly one, Enid burst out crying. She picked me up. She turned me over. She set me down. Picked me up, all the while dabbing at her eyes and exclaiming. Oh no, I thought, not twice in one day. I’m going to get a complex.

            Her companion, Mildred tried to get a handle on what was going on, but Enid just sat there blubbering and holding me to her chest. I was starting to suffocate, the mothballed calico folds of her tented dress smothering my throat. Finally, Enid composed herself and held me out for Mildred to see.

            “It’s just a cup Enid. Get a grip. Put it down so we can order.”

            “It’s not just a cup Millie. I can’t believe it. It’s so beautiful.”

            “No, this is beautiful.” And she proffered the delicate black one with pink cabbage roses sitting at her place. “Cecil bought me one just like this when we were courting. He knew how I loved my tea in the evening. It was all he could afford, but to me it was the loveliest thing I’d ever seen. I drank my tea out of it every night for fifty-two years. Oh what comfort it gave me, especially after Cec passed, just having that bit of him with me.”

            “Oh Enid. Whatever happened to it?”

            “I don’t know. It wasn’t there when I got home from the hospital when I had my hip done. I guess Alice or that homemaker lady threw it out. How could they know they were tossing out my memories?”

            The two of them chatted on, Mildred’s round hand now placed firmly on Enid’s forearm, her sweet murmurings and empathetic glances belying her odd appearance and questionable origins.  I found myself turning my head, feeling uncomfortable about listening in on the tender words shared across their table.

            It was an exhausting afternoon, but a reminder once again about things like appearances, and things not always being as they seem, about pretences and heart-felt sentiments. I had let myself go from despair to elation in a matter of moments because I forgot for a while who I was. I am sturdy and clean, and functional and pleasing to look at. I forgot how proud I am to be me and that I don’t need to impress anyone to be happy.

            Well, tomorrow’s another day. Yes tomorrow I promise to behave better, to be the best little teacup I can be. You’ll see. If you come in for tea, I’ll show you.

Oh, and I know I’ll like you…just the way you are.

P.S. Pick me! Pick me!

 …… If Teacups Could Talk…….

 This is a story that I wrote during my TeaRoom days, for the amusement of our customers.

            I wouldn’t say I’m the prettiest teacup necessarily, but I do have an interesting shape.  At least that’s what Mom always said.  And I’m pleasant enough, almost perky, I’d say.  Sometimes a person just needs that bold splash of yellow to lift them right up out of their socks.  Know what I mean?

            I suppose I have lived a bit of a sheltered life up till now, most of it tucked away on the bottom shelf of Doreen Souter’s big old cherry china-cabinet. Talk about dust!  We were all choking on it, even the chintz tea set, pedigree and all.  It had been so long since I’d seen the light of day, I couldn’t even have told you what Doreen looked like now.  To me she would always be that soft, sweet-faced young bride, perched on the edge of her sister Gertie’s green fortrell side chair, cheeks flushed and oozing oohs and aahs as she pulled yet another box from scotch-taped umbrella-strewn paper and held me up, proud and glowing.  “Another teacup and saucer!”

            Sometimes that picture was all that kept me going during those hard years, that and the hope that sprang up in my heart every time I heard the tea-kettle whistle for tea.  “Pick me!  Over here!  Remember us?”  But all I ever heard was the clunk of a pottery mug on the counter.  How she could enjoy her cuppa in that, I’ll never know.

            Well anyway, a couple of months ago I was minding my business, curled upon my saucer, dreaming of tea parties in some far-off fairyland, when a weathered hand reached in past the cut-glass butter dish and the silver mint tray to the corner where I was dozing.  I couldn’t believe what was happening.The hand scooped me up, rather lovingly I felt, and brought me squinting into the chandeliered light of a dining room.  Soon I was joined by other china cups and saucers and before we knew what had hit us, we were up to our necks in hot sudsy water.  Oooh, it felt good, that kind hand stroking and rubbing my smooth skin.

            I sat upended on the dish rack and positively sparkled with anticipation. My mind fled to fancies of afternoon teas and baby showers, events I had only heard of but knew I was destined for.  I would coddle a fine lady’s tea with all the poise and grace and dignity of a royal tea service. I glowed.  I know I did.

            While I was still daydreaming, the hand grabbed me by the handle and I don't know if I was more nauseous because of the somersaulting or the horror of what was happening.  I was crammed with other cups into a mandarin orange box, separated from my saucer for the first time ever.  I can’t put into words the things that went through my head, the awful ache of hopes and dreams once again dashed. I repeated over and over, “Not the thrift store, please not the thrift store.”

         When I came to, there was another bright light and the sounds of rustling paper as a different hand unwrapped me and held me up to the light.

            “Oh look at this one,” she said.

            “Oh stop it,” said the other one, “I can’t stand it.  It’s just too sweet.”

            “It’s Aynsley,” said the first.  “Look inside.  There’s a flower on the bottom.”

            “My stars.  Would you look at that.”

            I tried not to puff myself up, but I won’t deny I was enjoying the attention. I sat proud as the Queen of England on my saucer as I was carried into------you’ll never guess.........the most charming little tearoom.

            The lady set me on a vintage floral tablecloth, draped over an old treadle sewing machine table.  A sweet silver teaspoon was nestled against my handle and a hand-embroidered napkin tucked under my saucer.  I wanted to pinch myself.

            Before long, a chubby little hand was adding spoonful after spoonful of coloured sugar into my bowl and then pouring lovely cold milk and just a bit of hot sweet vanilla tea on top.  The hand stirred round and round.  It tickled.  Not just my tummy, but my fancy too.  The little girl giggled and held out her pinkie just so. She wore a big old floppy pink hat with the veil dipping to her turned-up nose.  Her older companion stared at her with an achingly sweet look that said she’d never seen anything so precious. 

                    

            After they left, it was off to the kitchen for another bubble bath, and then before I knew it, I was sitting at a different table, this time by the window.  I was basking in the sunshine, humming along to the old hymn playing in the background when a gnarly hand hooked into my handle and then turned me bottoms up to look at my markings.  The old woman cradled me with her other hand, before cupping me against her flowery dress, then put me back on my saucer and traced my petals with a bony finger.  Then she sat, vacationing in a far-off place.  The younger woman with her poured her tea......  Earl Grey, steeped exactly two and a half minutes.

            “There, Mother,” she said, “Just as you like it.”

            “Yes, I suppose I do,” said the old woman, taking a sip, her lips lingering on my fluted rim.

            Well that was just the beginning.  There were lots more after them: the chatterbox teachers, the sticky-fingered boy, the love-sick teenagers, then the journal writer, the nervous Nellie and the portly man with his whisper- thin wife.

            I don’t mind telling you, I was about worn out by the time the lights finally dimmed at closing.......not so much by all the handling, but by the feelings playing out across those tables, feelings of promise and wonder, of friendship and yearning, of gratitude and remembering.  I’m sure I could happily die now and go to cup and saucer heaven, but another day awaits.  There are stories yet to be told, new hearts to console, new teas to savour.  So much to share.

            If only teacups could talk.

           

            Yes, pity.

           

Being Glammy

(Little Davis calls me 'Glammy'. I'll take it!!)

Thinking about the precious times I have with the grandboys. Can't recall any that cost much money......seems there are so many things to do that just require a bit of time and effort.

Down at the cabin, we go on an adventure in the woods.

We have a secret trail to the beaver pond that noone else in the family knows about. The boys wear their beaver and frog backbacks that I found at the thrift store. They have stuffed them with their water bottles, fish crackers and paper and pencil in case they have a need to 'study' something. We trudge through the underbrush, over and under logs, the boys picking up stick swords and slingshots along the way in preparation for the wild beasts that will surely bound out at any moment. They play that I am the princess (of course) and that they are the knights.

Jerod and Davis showing their knightly mettle

We sit on a log and eat our snacks, discussing weighty matters, then leap to our feet as a buffalo or panther lunge out of nowhere bent on consuming the princess. Thankfully the wild beasts are thwarted by the valiant efforts of her brave escorts. Along the winding up and down pathway, we discover amazing treasure and scoop it up on pieces of bark to bring back to the castle

The adventure doesn't take too long and the delight it brings is so precious that I have to say 'yes' once again. The years are slipping by and I know these days will soon be just a memory.


Now baking is another thing. I can hardly recall a single time when their first words upon meeting have not been, "What we baking today, Grammy?"

Baking is the best fun ever. We wear matching aprons.There's egg-cracking and scooping the eggshells out of the batter and one more chocolate chip and sugar-testing and cocoa-tasting against Grammy's advice and sprinkles gone wild. Sometimes we need to combine adventure and baking by going into the woods in Fort Langley to pick blackberries.

 We bake tiny food for a teddy birthday celebration. This of course necessitates making invitations and delivering them to the other stuffies by peddle car and hanging streamers and choosing a special gift from the toybox for the birthday celebrant.

Playing trucks and responding to emergencies is important work.

Oh, and the dollhouse. It's mine....an antique....... a gift that I hinted loudly about one recent Christmas and received from my kids.(don't ask!) Unlike my great nieces who organize and reverently play with the little pieces, the boys have a different approach. They try to see if all the furniture will fit in one room. They hang the Grammy doll from the chimney by her toe and shove the Davis doll's head in the little porcelain toilet. Paper flames leap out the windows as firefighters climb up the trellis to save the house from destruction.

An old favourite is' Grammy Gonna Get You'. Here are the boys 'hiding' behind a tree waiting for me to catch them.

We make bird pie. It is a complicated recipe requiring dump trucks, and boards for ramps and a wheelbarrow. We gather dead grass for coconut and dead-headed blooms for cherries. All manner of twigs and  dirt and other garden refuse magically combine with buckets of water to produce the delicacy that apparently the birds consume in the nighttime.

We tell funny stories, make buildings from milk cartons, put together puzzles, make roads from the dominoes, create giant bubbles, free the zoo of plastic animals from their little suitcase......all great fun.

But nothing on earth could ever match the belly-laughing fun of Grammy's secret weapon.......Frank the farting  (yes you read correctly) mouse. There is something about little boys as you know......and Grammy's aren't supposed to approve let alone participate, so it is doubly hilarious.(I will let your imagination run with this one!)

I hope you find ways to make memories with your little people. There are so many simple inexpensive  ways to communicate your love to them by just entering their world and being a child again. Getting off the couch and really being with them creates a climate where they will ask you the important questions and be receptive to your answers. It will build trust for the years ahead.

 I am reminded that Jesus said we must have faith as a little child. Their little souls are so fresh from heaven and it is a small leap for them to embrace the love of God when we teach them. They are not seeking answers to the hard questions or looking to solve all the world's problems...they simply believe. And in that there is rest.

Perhaps we should be more like them.

SEASONAL PSALM

My adorable grandson Jerod, looking fallish

It's changing season time again soon and it reminded me of this prayer God gave me all in an instant one day. 

Like me, you have probably found yourself in each of the seasons of life at one time or another. I am reminded that although my circumstances may change, God remains the same...constant, loving, in control.....and that gives me peace.

Lord Jesus,

            It is springtime in my life. You have awakened me from a long, cold, hard winter, dug around in the dark soil of my life and unearthed tiny green shoots, full of promise and hope. You have watered me with tears of joy, smiled on me with your pure warm sunshine. I am thanking you Jesus for this time and this space.

Lord Jesus,

            It is summertime in my heart. I am in full glorious bloom, alive with colour. My roots go down deeply, my arms stretch to the heavens. You have created beauty in me beyond my wildest dreams, shown favour to me, set me in a high place. My heart sings... O thank-you Jesus for this time and this space.

Lord Jesus,

            It is fall in my heart. Summer’s beauty is slipping away. It is getting darker now and I can feel the chill in the air. I fear for the cold, the death to come. I am stripped of my glory, but I trust in yours. And so I say.... Thank-you Jesus for this time and this space.

Lord Jesus,

            It is wintertime in my heart. I am frozen, paralyzed, buried by winter’s debris. There is no beauty here. Summer is a distant memory and I doubt the surety of spring. Here in the dark, I know one thing only. You share the dark with me. And though I don’t understand, I will say.... Thank-you Lord Jesus for this time and this space.

  O God of the seasons, O God of my life,

  May I trust in  your goodness, come joy or come strife.

  Enfold my heart, Lord, in your knowing embrace,

  Content in this space, O Lord, by your grace.

LATE BLOOMER  

            This is a pic of my never-blooming hydrangea which has finally decided to exert a bit of effort and pop out this delicate mauve bloom. There is also another bud….but that’s it…..thousands of leaves though. I am excited but wondering why it took so long. It was nurtured, fed, watered, properly pruned but obviously had a mind of its own.

            Maybe you know somebody like that….all the reasons in the world why they should blossom, but for some reason they don’t. They may have enjoyed a wonderful childhood, had a life of ease perhaps, were shown love, yet somehow just never found their place in life.

            Often, people have developed an incorrect view of themselves. Maybe they have compared themselves with someone who has unusually astounding talents or abilities and they have measured their worth against that unfair advantage. Perhaps they have been found wanting in a particular area and been criticized openly. A physical condition or anomaly may have prevented them from feeling safe enough to spread their wings.

            It is sad to see people not reach their full God-given potential. Often it takes only a kind word, a smile, a genuine interest to change the course of a life. I’m sure we all know of someone whose life direction was altered by the attention of a teacher, or aunt or coach who saw beyond the awkward or introverted or angry to the beautiful soul hiding inside.

           Years ago when I was eleven or twelve, a pastor’s wife, Mrs.Tattrie took my sister Judy and I under her ample wing. She often invited us for Sunday dinner and afterwards let us play with her marvellous salt and pepper collection. 

            There was a little toaster that popped out brown and white bread and a washing machine whose wringers held the salt and pepper. We loved being there because she made us feel important and special enough to touch her things. She taught us to sing harmony and impressed on us a reverence of God’s word. Her efforts made us feel valued.

           I have in recent years begun to make it my mission to take a bit of sunshine with me wherever I go. Sometimes that’s hard, when life has dealt you a low blow, or you’re feeling under the weather. Yet if regularly practiced, you will become quite adept at it and receive so much in the giving that you will hardly feel the small effort you exert. Grocery clerks standing long hours on their feet, often listening to complaints, begin to beam when you ask them about their day and show interest in them. They stand up straighter and suddenly seem to enjoy their work. It takes only a minute to compliment a stranger on her outfit or hairstyle or praise a child’s excellent manners or good behaviour. 

         It angers me to see moms and grandmas in grocery stores speak condescendingly to or about their little charges in front of them or complain that school can’t start soon enough. Or why must my daughter have to field intrusive, insensitive questions and comments in hearing of her sweet adopted boys. What is the matter with people? How few years we have to mold and shape and infuse their little psyches with a sense of confidence and security and wonder and possibility. They all have such potential. Why would we choose to squelch rather than foster their growth?

        In spite of everything, some people rise above adversity and yet thrive. But some need a little more love and tenderness and we can give that can’t we?

        Just think how great it will be when you see them finally bloom?

MOTHER’S CHINA

                        I laid the table for dinner today. Company’s coming……an excuse to dust and bring out the good china. The linens are pressed, flowers arranged, silverware gleaming at each place. I start to bring out the dishes. Oh how I love them, a century old, roses hand-painted on each cobalt blue-rimmed plate.

                        They had fallen into my hands serendipitously one day, calling my name quite clearly from an antique vendor’s booth set up in the local mall. I had  been ‘chinaless’ for several years having sold my exquisite, expensive Royal Doulton settings to put food on the table for my newly single self and two young children. They cried when the china went out the door, knowing full well my love for beautiful things and my passion for entertaining. Surprisingly, I felt detached almost immediately, grateful they had been provided for just such a purpose, and confident that someday, somehow my table would once again be graced by beautiful dishes.  Now, here, years later, they beckoned, more perfect for me than imaginable, complete with history and intrigue and at a price that just happened to match the exact sum of an unexpected tax-refund cheque I had received that day in the mail. I laughed inside as I hastily made my purchase, literally bursting with thankfulness to a God who cared about my insignificant heart’s desire.

                        I bring out the plates now, one by one, fingering each lovely piece. My eyes divert to a corner of the cabinet where stacks of other rose-patterned plates are piled high.

Mother’s china.

              It’s mine now…..an odd legacy from a mother whose sense of the aesthetics was so highly unrefined. She  was after all not about lace or matching towels, classical music or fine dining. She was definitely more sensible shoes, six o’clock news, brown bread, and ‘eat your crusts’. Ever a daughter of the Depression she bought for economy and function, grace and beauty seldom entering the equation.

                        She offended my sensibilities often growing up........ like the year she bought me a black workman’s lunch pail to carry to school. When I ‘accidentally’ broke the handle Mom improvised with an old shoelace. My mortification was complete. I never could explain to her why I constantly rearranged the furniture or bought her a flat of pansies every Mother’s Day hoping that this was the year she would be seduced by their tiny faces…… that her soul too would be fed by beauty.

                        Our lives diverged long ago, both in proximity and emotionally. It was easy to see that we were cut from different cloths. I so wanted her to affirm me at the point of my creativity. And perhaps in retrospect she too longed for understanding and acceptance of her matter-of-fact, no-frills approach to living. I often regretted our lack of closeness and struggled with feelings of “I wish” and “if only” when it came to our relationship.    

                        The last couple years of her life, Mom failed badly and the time came that I had dreaded, when she needed to move to a nursing home. I was however to find unexpected treasure. At a time when I was feeling less needed by my own children, God in his wisdom allowed Mom to become the child and I the mother. She was suddenly so small with a vulnerability about her that allowed me to care for her in a way that I never could when she was the boss ……and she always was! The tenderness that we shared was a special gift I never imagined possible…… pure, sweet, selfless, full of love. I wanted nothing from her, just her contentment. I can’t begin to express the special joy of that second chance, of seeing her freed from day-to day trials and responsibilities and reliving the carefree days of her youth.

                        Now here today, I think about those days before Mom passed away. I take out one of her plates and lay it on the table next to mine. I realize, surprised, how well they complement one another, hers sturdier and plainer, mine finer and more ornate but both echoing the same motif and providing intriguing contrast. I alternate plates around the table now and am struck by the arrangement. I purpose to set the table like this from now on, hers and mine side by side, the effect of the whole more interesting and beautiful than the part. I will celebrate our diversity Mom, and carry you too side by side in my heart.

                        ……I miss you Mom.

P.S. I wrote this some time ago and no longer have my china….but I have hers.

       As a tribute to my mom, I have named this blog after her….Lucille.

PIECED TOGETHER.......

           Well it’s been 3 weeks since I started this blog thing. So far so good. Over 1800 views and viewers from Venezuela, South Africa, Poland and the UK. as well as the US and Canada.

 I am gripped!

            I'm uncomfortable with the word ‘blog’ though. It really is quite an ugly word….somehow a bit too close to ‘smog’ and ‘blob’ and ‘clog’ and ‘slob’, none of which conjure up the warm fuzzies I was hoping to invoke. It would be far lovelier if it was called a heartsong or a mindblossom or a brainsparkle or something else equally poetic.

            Sometimes I fear that one day I will have nothing to write about and then my brain starts igniting a thousand little firecrackers of thought that take me in new and strange places and then my fear is that I will never have enough days to put it all into words.

             It interests me that we have our own unique way of expression. Some go quietly about life letting their kind actions speak for them, well others talk about what they are going to do and somehow never get to it.

              Some express themselves by slamming a tennis ball, or kneading dough or emoting through Chopin at the piano.

              Many present a smiley face to the world and then go home and cry themselves to sleep. What is it that makes us think we have to maintain a certain public persona instead of being real with the emotions we are feeling?

               Often we do not use the unique gifts of speech and dialogue at our disposal. So often a misunderstanding arises from a misperceived motive, or a tone of inflection reminiscent of an unpleasant encounter from the past. We are wounded people often unwilling or unable to move on to wholeness and healing, hanging on and nursing and rehearsing old hurts and reacting to them long after the sting is gone, giving them the power to bind and strangle us from embracing new life. So often we feel alone, as if we are the only ones who have experienced hard things. We feel entitled to our cynicism and wear our shoulder chips proudly.

               When we have the courage to share our hurts with another, we are often surprised that they respond in kind and perhaps reveal similar or even harder events from their past. It is why community is so important. The sharing of sadnesses and joys unite us as fellow sojourners in this world. We are not alone.

               My experience has been that my sad, hard, hurting times have provided the most fertile ground for growth. They have rooted me in reality and given me opportunities to test my mettle but more importantly my faith. Sitting on the sidelines, eating bonbons and counting my money does not do that. It sounds inviting but the shallowness would slay me.

               I want to be that person that can walk along side you when you are needy because I have been there too…….been there and left there because of hope and a faithful God who has carried me more times than I would have wished. I have been to the depths but I have risen to the heights and my soul must sing.

                I think life should be described as a big patchwork quilt ..…its pieces all different, and in contrasting hues, the light and the dark. Early in life, they are just a pile of scraps, but over time and through the living out, they assemble themselves into some sort of meaningful pattern.

                Each of our quilts is unique and has the potential to be beautiful but only if we allow all the squares to be sewn together. If we decide to focus on only the darker squares we will have a very dull quilt….our covering as a person will not be attractive. We need the balance…..The brights will shine brighter when contrasted with the darks….don’t resent them. The bold prints will complement the tiny ones.

               The lesson:

                Live the life you have been given…not uninvolved or fearful, helpless or resigned but using your God-given abilities, talents, the help of others to make your way.

                Know that just as surely as the clouds roll in today, the sun will burst forth when you least expect it.

                Accept the hard truth that the myth about life being a bowl of cherries is just that…….a myth.  But when you do get that bowl of cherries from time to time, relish every single bite.

                Life is rich. When you get to the end I hope you will have made an awesome pattern!

SNEAK PEEK

Uh-oh! I need another trailer.

 This one is just about done! 

Managed to get down to the cabin for a few days and do a 3-day blitz on the little vintage trailer project.

The biggest job was the painting but it made a huge difference, brightening things up. It took two days, with help from my daughter Feona. (she threatened me if I did not give her her just desserts.) Just to be clear I was wearing a turquoise top and red shoes and shorts. Feona wanted to take a pic but I was not properly coiffed, having eschewed the shower in favour of getting at it. We are both graduates of the 'get-er-done' school of industry which means we don't stop until it's finished even if it bout kills us! We have our own methods which differ from those of my husband. He wanted to make sure that I had washed the walls first (huh?) and peeked in several times to offer a drop cloth. We finally accepted and set the pacquet on the counter unopened.

The third day was spent sewing curtains and pillows and tucking in all the little things to Lucille it all up perty.

I still have plans to put in a black and white checked floor and paint the outside with a turquoise stripe    (natch!) and maybe recover the bench seats. 

Check here http://mslucille.blogspot.com/2014/08/im-in-heaven-life-actually-my-husband.html to refresh your memory, then have a drool at my pics.

I painted the interior walls and ceiling white and the kitchen cupboards and the insides of all other cupboards red.

I made all the curtains except the 'bedroom' ones from 2 checked tablecloths the previous owner left behind and then lined them with a red and white polkadot fabric I scored for $4.17 a yard. They are reversible and I have already reversed some! The 'bedroom' ones are from a $1.00 thrift store pillowcase.

The 4 pillows for the benches cost me $8.99 for fabric and I used the pillows left behind in the trailer.

The pillow on the bed with the puppy is from a piece of needlepunch from a thrift store ($1.00) and the little one is from scraps from my fabric stash.

The duvet cover was $7.99 at Value Village and I had a quilt to put in it.

The teeny tiny bathroom (porta-potti for the real camping experience) had a little skinny door.....15" which made it hard to move around in there so I removed it and made a curtain from a tablecloth I had. (thrift store)

I bought the red coffee pot for $5.60 and the two plates for $1.00 at V.V. as well as the little turquoise chevy car ($3.20) which is also a phone!

I made the dictionray-red phone print for $.30. I will tell you how in another post. 

My big splurges were: sheets            Homesense    $19.99

                    furry turquoise throw (nap-worthy!)         Homesense     $24.99

                    signs, clock, cutlery tray, red button         Hobby Lobby half price

                                 Eat cake napkin  Homesense     $  2.99

Everything else is stuff I had. (I know, I know!).....red cutlery, mugs, recipe book (thanks nephew Josh), kitty tray, dress potholder, nightie and hanger, apron, tablecloth, strawberry jug, cream and sugar, cookie tin, turquoise pyrex, tiny lawn chair, turquoise vase, glasses and everthing else I have forgotten....all thrift store finds.

Hope you are inspired to transform a space on the cheap! It makes it way more fun!