Princess Autumn is happy to show off an antique gown.
The title says it all. Here is Autumn, our princess. She’s not 100-years-old, but 9 months, and comes complete with teeth, crawling agility skills, and potential for climbing.
Autumn is sporting a 100+-year-old cotton dress. Notice the intricate stitching and detail as she chews on her hair brush. See the tiny buttons stitched to the opening on the back of the dress. Allow your gaze to appreciate the length of the long dress and long sleeves. For posing and walking, this ankle length gown is divine. For crawling, gnawing, and drooling, maybe not so perfect. Over 100 years ago, this antique gown was handcrafted by a loving and skilled female member of the family. I adore vintage.
Throwback Thursday welcomes Princess Autumn, which is kind of ironic, as she has not even had that many Thursdays…yet.
Summer farmer markets, oh how I look forward to you! Enjoy this throwback post from August 2009.
Place Monge (Paris) fountain on Sunday Market day
In France, one of the things we truly enjoyed was the Sunday market held in the Place Monge town square. One could buy ANYTHING needed for eating, drinking, or giving. One Sunday we encountered a simultaneous flea market, but I could never figure out when another was going to be staged. I so wanted another chance at finding treasures!
On any given Sunday, there was no lack of choices for purchase at the market. Fresh fruit, vegetables, and flowers were squashed in among stalls of stinky cheese and fish, raw meat and poultry. Lucious homemade breads competed for the winning fragrance award with occasional ‘meals made for you right now.’ The entire experience was a delight for the senses. Taking home the goods – mouth-watering sustenance.
Flowers at Sunday Market
Meat vendor at Place Monge
Produce vendor at Place Monge
A meal comprised of market fare from Place Monge
Many years ago, in the Yakima Valley, a Sunday farmer’s market was hatched. Of course, being at church most of each Sunday, we did not frequent the market. In fact, we boycotted it simply because it should be held on Saturdays (our opinion) so market workers and go-ers could attend church on Sunday. Granted, I don’t believe our boycott gained any new members of a church anywhere…
With our recent life change of full Sunday church responsibilities to experiencing ‘house church’ at a local park on Sunday mornings, we decided we would check it out – to see what the rest of the valley does on Sunday mornings. It seems that many residents take pride and joy at what is locally available, fresh from the fields, and the hands of gardeners, farmers, and crafters.
Sunday Market in Yakima
Pleasantly surprised, we found a plethora of aromatic and tasty produce, fruit, home-produced crafts, and food items. Mixed in was a variety of ethnic food stalls (I love the panset and lumpia) and shoppers galore.
Checking out the goods
An added bonus was musical entertainment. Steel drum music was such a wonderful accompaniment to the outing.
My oldest grandbaby (now he is 7) hits the Sunday Market
We encountered people we knew, interacted with community members, and socialized under the hot sun. Purchasing fresh produce and showing off our grandson were top prizes for the day.
Hayden with Papa at the Yakima Sunday Market
I guess the boycott was a misguided waste of time. The Master Gardener did not stick Himself in church and stay there all day on Sundays. He was out among the people, out in the community. Perhaps more productive to relationship building, making new friends, and reaching out is to be where the people are…not where we think they should be, but where they actually are.
A challenge to myself – where are the families in my community on any given Sunday morning? Maybe it’s time I found out…and made some new friends.
I just completed stocking number 5. Or 11, depending on how far back you want to go.
Autumn, the youngest grand princess, wore her Christmas stocking just in the nick of time, since all other stockings are hung by the chimney with care, and mommy and daddy were patiently waiting for Nana to finish sewing for the fourth family member.
Christmas is a very short time away, right?
Making Christmas stockings became a tradition as soon and my honey and I were married. I strip-pieced matching stockings for both of us about 31 years ago. They have been used every year, except this one, when they are hiding in storage. And maybe next year, which will most likely be the same.
After each of our two children were born, I made them giant strip-pieced stockings. Somewhere (again, in the storage unit) are pictures of them wearing their stockings. As adults, Taylor and Chelsie both have their stockings in their own homes. Spouses (and child-of-our-hearts) received their own stocking. All that was missing were the baby pictures in stockings, but, well, they are just too big to wear them!
Jump forward to the next generation of grands.
First came Hayden, our 4-wheelin’ boy. Nana got busy right away to make him a stocking.
Next came Khloe, Princess of the Blue Eyes. Nana stitched and sewed to get her set for Christmas.
Donavyn, the brown-eyed ducky boy, came next. Here he is wearing his stocking beside his baby sister. He barely fits!
Gage, little wild man, made his appearance over a year ago. Nana dusted off the sewing machine and created his stocking.
And finally, Autumn. Last winter, when I was making Gage’s stocking, I cut out the base for another stocking, since we knew grand number 5 was on the way. Good thing for me, as we didn’t know we would soon be shoving all of our belongings into a tiny storage unit. When my Christmas senses kicked in, all I had to do was pull out the trunk with my fabric, dig out the stocking base and Christmas fabric, and I was reading to sew.
Stocking number 5. Or 11, depending on where you want to start counting. For us, it all began 31 years ago.
Actually, it is 53 years – until my birthday in November. Why am I making myself older than I am???
A tiny baby girl was born 53 years ago. When that girl was married, she had 2 children, a boy and a girl. Neither resembled her. YES. She was there for the birth, so she knows they are hers.
Much later, the boy and girl both married their lifemates and produced wonderful grandchilden. None of which looked even the slightest bit like the Nana. Rather, they looked like mommy or daddy or this cousin or that one, or even aunties and uncles. No one resembled short little Nana.
Until now. Nana giggles and rubs her hands together with glee.
Little Autumn, the youngest princess, coming in at barely 3 months old, finally shows signs of having something in common with the Nana!
Autumn’s eyes look like Nana’s eyes. A family resemblance – how nice for me!
Little Autumn and her Nana eyes!
This Nana is happy with even the slightest hint of “she has my eyes.” I would be fine if she had Papa’s height and not my lack. Actually, I am very happy that she is healthy. A slight resemblance is just eye-cing on the cake. Wink, wink.
Yippee for grands.
Do your children resemble you? How about those grands?
I’m sure some people think I just goof off, sip coffee, play in the backyard, eat bon bons, and read great books.
It’s true. I do those things. Occasionally. Or maybe even almost daily.
But I also work. At home.
Last week, my grands and great-niece and their adult caregivers (mom and Nama) hit the road to visit Owen Beach at Pt. Defiance Park near Tacoma, Washington. As the road trip one-way was about 3 hours, there was plenty of time to talk. This conversation came from the way-back seat of our van.
Nama: Audrey, are you talking to grandma (via Face-Time)?
Audrey: Yes.
Nama: Is she at work?
Audrey: No, she doesn’t work. She just goes in her office.
Hayden: (Looking incredulously at Audrey) Nana does that! She works in her office. (Now looking at me) Nana, you write books in your office!
Long-distance-front-seat-to-backseat high five!
Yes! He gets it. I am working in my office. I do have a job. I don’t make much money right now, giving credence to the term “poor starving author,” but I am working.
This writer felt very pleased and encouraged by the voice and total belief in the voice of a 7 year-old boy. He believes in me.
Who encourages and believes in you and your life’s work?
Last night we had a certain granddaughter spend the night, as this morning Nana accompanied her to the Capitol Theatre to watch Curious George. Loads of fun. But this post is not about the theatre and sitting in the very top balcony right against the railing and Nana worrying about Khloe toppling over and she (Nana) spending time calculating the lowered risk due to bodies of other students right below who would break the fall.
No, this story is about our drive home. It wasn’t a really long drive.
But the sheer number of words far exceeded the distance we traveled.
That bit of time spent in the car was filled with language. Wheelbarrows and buckets and shopping bags of words and songs and expressive language.
First, we learned what Khloe liked. And what she loved. This changed with each new view of things we drove past.
Then we heard some songs. On repeat. On repeat.
5 Little Ducks – sang as many times as the number of ducks in a barnyard
1, 2, Buckle My Shoe – sang enough times to cover a classroom of buckled or velcro’d shoes
Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes – sang more than the number of students in her school
1, 2, 3 Jesus Loves Me – new to me and performed for several miles
The Days of the Week – sang a conservative estimate of at least 3 months worth
Row, Row, Row Your Boat – sang enough times to sink a boat, even though one of us (the youngest) got side-tracked and giggly about the ‘life is BUTT a dream.’ No amount of explaining could get her opinion of but to change.
Now Nana is used to this fun with words, but Papa not so much. He tried several times to derail the music train, but it kept right on chugging, occasionally switching tracks, but steadfastly choo-chooing down the path. Who needs a radio anyway?
All this to say, the girl is enjoying language. And singing. And silly words and word games and entertaining herself.
Be silly. Sing songs. Get giggly. That’s what it’s all about.
Never fear. Nana had the grands over for a wild and seriously crazy evening of decorating gingerbread cookies. That is not an understatement.
For the past few years, I have decorated gingerbread houses with the grands. But this year, with 3 boys and 1 girl, six years old and younger, I thought gingerbread cookies would be much easier. I was right.
But we still made a big mess, gobbled too many decorations, and spread icing far and wide. One nice thing about decorating cookies instead of houses was that we could eat our work instead of letting it sit around and petrify into cement.
I’m not so sure the parents agreed. But like any good grandparents, we played, made memories, fed them too much sugar, and sent them home.
Here are a few photos from our Gingerbread Party. Notice the series when Gage decides he is GOING to have his plate and cookie (Nana had to decorate his, as he can’t eat cookies yet). Of course when we are all watching his actions, Donavyn chooses that moment to look at the camera instead of eating the icing and candy off of his gingerbread boy.
Tips:
1. Make the cookies in advance. Definitely. I used giant cookie cutters and made 1 girl and 3 boy cookies. The extra dough was used for normal cookies.
2. Sort candy into individual bowls. That way, each child gets the same things to put on their cookies. Or, I mean, the same amount of sugar to eat.
3. Give each child a cookie sheet as a workspace. Escaping candies and sticky knives stayed right where they needed to be.
4. Forget the fancy icing. Just buy a tub of white icing. It spreads so nice and easy. The icing in the gingerbread house kits is horrible and making a glaze icing that doesn’t spread is frustrating.
5. Enlist someone else to take photos. No way could this Nana help everyone, keep Gage from eating stuff, and take photos. Even with assistance, taking pictures of our completed cookies was the hardest part!
6. Have fun! Eventually we will get back to the houses. But for now, keeping it simple makes more sense. And next year, when we have 5, I think I will have to adopt yet another helper for crowd control.
Love, Laughter, and Life 