Like clockwork...

For as long as I've known him, Tom has been fascinated with antique clocks. It runs in his family - his Uncle Herman and grandfather were both "clock guys" as a hobby... and so, four or five years ago, Tom bought a videotape series on how to take them apart, clean and repair, and (most importantly) reassemble various kinds of key-wound pendulum clocks.
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What I never expected was the fun for ME in all this! When Tom joined the National Association of Watch and Clock Collectors (NAWCC), I thought it would be a nice club for him to be involved with - but I had no idea that "The Clock Guys" would be so welcoming of Spouses as well! Through this group, Tom and I have both met some of the lovliest, warmest folks around. Plus, the meetings all involve display/selling/swapping/talking about some really, really fascinating antiques (right up my alley).
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Tonight, we are just back from the Southern Ohio Regional convention - one of the larger ones going. For three days we've been immersed in looking at and talking about every imaginable type of old timepiece, from tiny ladies' wristwatches to some ginormous "Tall Case" (Grandfather) Clocks. And through it all, there's laughter and joking and tall tales and the cameraderie of people with a common interest and a common heart... one that goes "tick tock", for sure.
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Annnnnd.... look what followed us home! -------->

Backyard dreaming...

Due to a... difficult... neighbor, I haven't done any serious gardening for the past four or five years. Sad state of things, being uncomfortable in my very own back yard.

But Monday, NEW NEIGHBORS moved in next door - I am ecstatic. So, here's my little patch of green (with a light snow cover). I'll be talking about it a LOT more in posts to come. For now, let's just say that I have a lot of weeding to do - and am dreaming of a truckload of mulch.

Back home, back to the yard, back to myself again.

On St. Patrick's Day, I love to celebrate our family's Irish roots. Like so many families in this town, we have ancestors that came here due to the Irish Potato Famine in the 1800's.
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This is my great-great-grandmother, Julia O'Hearn Brown ("Grandma Brown"), in a portrait made in 1897. I have sortof adopted her as my Patron Ancestor, and imagine that I see some resemblances between her and my own self - if nothing else, our names and our pale blue eyes!

According to my grandmother, our dear Nannie, Grandma Brown was a seamstress and did fine sewing for the ladies in the Cherokee Triangle - a very hoity-toity area at the time, I'm sure (and still quite lovely today).
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And here is her husband, Patrick Brown ("Grandy" to the family). I don't have many details on him, but I hear that Uncle Bernie is researching the Irish side of the family as we speak! I can't wait to get to know Grandy better...
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I am theorizing, though, that he and Grandma Brown attained some measure of affluence... their portraits are large, beautifully done "crayon enhanced photographs". The frames are ornate Victorian filigree frames with real gold leaf. I have Grandma's hanging in the dining room, but unfortunately Grandy's frame has gone missing. He's safely tucked away behind the dresser till I can find a replacement!
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And this is one of their lovely children - Julia Marie "Lula Mae" Brown Asman, my great-grandmother Nana.
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Nana attended a boarding school for young ladies - I have and treasure some of her notebooks from school. She married a doctor (way to go, Nana!) and spent much of her time volunteering.
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I remember her at family gatherings at Mother and Daddy's... where she would play a mean ragtime piano for us!
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So there we have it. My little claim to Ireland, such as it is... I started this morning with my bowl of McCann's oatmeal, and have my green on for sure. Next is a trip to the workshop, where I will put on Celtic music and do some sewing - as I was taught by my mother Joan, who was taught by her mother Juliana, who was taught by hers, who was taught by Grandma Brown, who was a seamstress and did fine sewing.
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Julia, Julia Marie, Juliana, Joan, and Julie. Life spirals on out. Smile on my face. Erin Go Bragh!

On a lighter note...

...MUCH lighter!!! Here's ten inches of ashy dark blonde plus gray hair, on its way to Locks of Love.
(This one's in memory of little Mom.)

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Short Hair. I has it.

Valentine.

Snowy Valentine's morning... the choir isn't singing today, so Tom and I took the morning off from church. We exchanged our Valentines over breakfast, and now Tom is in his workshop. Even though the sound of the table saw is cutting into the Mozart on the stereo up here, I have to smile. Table saw means happy Tom, working on getting our new bathroom cabinets installed.

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So while he works, I'm "working" too - although my task this morning is a little more on the interior. The little meditation I read upstairs has really grabbed me - It speaks of some of the things that refine a life and make it what it is: all the disappointments, the mistakes, the failures big and small. All those things that, bit by bit, can carve and shape the soul into a finer path.

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I've been feeling this for some time now. I'm realizing that I have lived my younger life with great passion and not a whole lot of self-control. Oh, nothing illegal, immoral, or anything like that. But prideful. Arrogant. Exploding into so many directions at once that it's no wonder crash-and-burn has happened so often in my life. No wonder I've found myself butting heads with other people.

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In so many cases, I've found myself moving on - leaving a job, a singing group, a business endeavor - because it was simply too exhausting and painful to continue. I don't know if some of the wounds will ever really heal. I don't know if I'll ever want to speak to some of the people again. But the important thing, I think, comes simply in the moving on.

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The point now is the Peace. I'm beginning to feel like the rough spots are being smoothed out, the arrogance is being tempered into experience, the adrenaline-filled angst is being replaced with Calm. And I'm realizing that I'm not the one doing this, really... it's being Done. All I have to do is listen, and gratefully learn.

My Symphony

(William Henry Channing, 1810-1884)

To live content with small means;
to seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion;
to be worthy, not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich;
to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly;
to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages,
with an open heart;
to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely,
await occasions, hurry never.

In a word,
to let the spiritual, unbidden, and unconscious
grow up through the commonplace.

This is to be
my symphony.

(Kind of says it all. - J.)

Morning reflections

Every morning before I come downstairs, I sit for a minute in "my" corner. Tucked in by the back windows, overlooking the garden, in an old chair that was my Popaw's favorite. I read a daily meditation ("Simple Abundance" daybook), look for any interesting birds, maybe write a little bit, settle my head for the day. This is a fairly new habit, one that came with the new upstairs back in February, but it's one I've come to treasure.

This morning, the word is Winter. A light blanket of snow, everything gone to sleep. Christmas is Done With, ahhh. The toughest Christmas yet, with family struggling to be merry in spite of our missing Light, our little Mom.

But we did it. We managed. We're through to the other side of Christmas now, and now I sit here looking at the snow on the just-waking world. "Winter Into Spring" by George Winston is playing softly, started by Tom, and completely appropriate.

The Monday after Christmas - a big sigh of relief. Back to some kind of routine, back to daily life, back to Home. This is probably my favorite week of the year, these days between Christmas and New Year's. Days of ending and beginning, all at the same time. Days of resting, thinking deep, gathering up for a fresh new start. The potential of these days sparkles, like a skyful of stars, just waiting to be touched...

Changes...

2009 has been some kind of year. First of all, after two years of clear scans, my little Mom's brain cancer resurfaced and finally took her from us. More on that later, as I heal from the shock of having the smiling heart of our family Gone On Ahead.

In the midst of all this, Tom and I made the decisions that The Finch House at Thieneman's would close, and that I would resign my greenhouse job. These did not feel like hasty decisions, did not feel like "because of Mom" decisions - The closest I can come to explanation is:
It Was Simply Time.

And now? I'm Home. Home. Home.

Home to heal, yes. But more and different as well. Home to think, to work, to settle. I'm looking at it as a time to lie fallow, to wait for the next God Breeze to fill my sails. Time to get the house in order, to cook good nourishing meals, to start to do things for other people.

There will be more outside work in my future, I'm sure. For now, I'm considering this a time of self-employment. The Finch House is still here, back to its original incarnation: Herbal crafts, garden talks, classes. It'll also be hitting the cyber-bricks of eBay to (hopefully) sell the remaining garden shop merchandise. Beyond that, we'll see.

And still, at the grateful heart of it all, there's Home.

I'm still here.

I'm just submerged for a little while, that's all. Or, Not Enough Thyme On My Hands! Craft show season caught me, then Christmas... hopefully I can start updating more frequently after the first of the year, if not before!

Autumn on the Way

...and here it is! The first Sweatshirt Morning of the season! I was puttering around in the kitchen, making fresh hummingbird nectar and a crockpot of bean soup, and the breeze through the open back door raised a few goosebumps on my arms. Sixty-seven degrees, with last night's downpour picking back up again.

I love cool, rainy mornings. Somehow it's a relief to have the sun covered up for a little bit, and to be just a little more grateful for that hot cup of tea. Bonus - I don't have to go anywhere today. I can just be home home home. Snug. Kettle on the stove. Fresh box of Earl Grey tea and some of Mr. Harry the Bee-Man's honey from the greenhouses, Woody crunching through her breakfast and giving me an occasional "weep!". Home.

There's a book with an idea that I just love - The Deliberate Home by Susan Miller Cavitch. The introduction starts out, "The purpose of this book is to remind people that we have enormous freedom to creatively design our lives at home...Home is a haven, a private world where we have infinite possibilities - choices we can make about how we want to live." It then goes through different things that make up Home - from "clearing the land" (metaphorically speaking) to gardening to crafting to feeding the family, promoting emotional health, raising children, welcoming others, and keeping the Sabbath. I have read chunks of the book, but not all the way through yet - I just love the idea of it. And mornings like this make me want to dive back into it, grab all the ideas, and make my own home a snug, candle-light-glowing, dust-and-clutter-free refuge filled with the sound of Celtic music and the smell of freshly baked bread. (And a totally weeded garden, going to sleep for the winter.)(And a hand-knitted afghan or two.)

Whoops. Reality Check Time!

I get this way every Fall, just when Sweatshirt Days start happening. This year, I'm finally consciously realizing a few things: firstly, all this does not happen at once! It happens fifteen minutes at a time, in between real life stuff. Secondly, it especially does not happen with me seated in front of the computer. Thirdly, having part of it happen is better than going into Fully Frozen Procrastination Mode and winding up with none of it.

So, I've got a crock of bean soup going, and will be making cornbread to go with it (that counts as freshly baked bread, I guess). I can put the Celtic music on any time I'd like - scuse me, be right back... Okay. Music is a "go". We can eat with candles on the table tonight. And the garden, while far from perfect, is better than it's been in years. Cool, so far.

The rest of it? Well, ask me six months from now.

...the afghan, however, might take a bit longer. I really ought to finish the one I'm on first - and I started it somewhere in the early 1980's, for two friends' wedding.

(Yes, Nancy and Dale, I still have "that dog I'm knitting for you". Somewhere.)
(Um, does your living room still have rust and cream colors in it anywhere?)