the REmissionary

inside job?

Remember that post all about outside looking in? Well, I’m still outside, trying to look in. Every day I pass this government building, and I wonder what’s inside. I’ve never actually seen a building under wraps like this, and for such a long time. I wonder . . . could it be the offices of the Dept. of the Interior under there? Or maybe the local chapter of the FBI?? Whatever the case, it’s definitely an inside job! Will they ever have The Reveal, or will they leave it as an undercover job forever??

move along, nothing to see here

undercover work?

dept. of the interior?

dept. of the interior?

FBI hangout?

FBI hangout?

long shot?

Oh – by the way . . . I’ve been doing a little inside work of my own, and hope to have something to show for it soon. Not that it will be a :star: attraction, but it will be fun to share. :lol:

outside looking in

Once again, it’s time for that wonderful, mind-bending Friday Photo Challenge. This week it’s about ‘inside.’ There are so many ‘inside’ photos on my hard drive that it was hard to choose. But choose I did – these are a few of my favorites. Each gives an illusion of something being inside something else.

this looks like it's going right inside the red rock hills

Come on inside – the walk is great!

These red rock hills are in Oregon, and that path looked like it disappeared right inside the hills. We were on the outside looking in . . . it beckoned to us to come follow where it led – so we did.

dunno what was going on inside his head to ride like this on the freeway

dunno what was going on inside his head!

This fearless fellow didn’t seem to have a lot going on inside his head. We were sitting in a loooooong line of stopped traffic on the interstate in Ohio, and he came scootin’ up the high-speed lane beside us, trying to get farther up the line of traffic. They even go BETWEEN lines of traffic in California – scared me so bad the first time it happened! If you look at his bike, it looks like we’re ‘inside’ that little shiny thing below his gas tank – see the reflection of our little red car? See us waving and yelling “Hi world”? Oh. Well, pretend you can see us, OK?

looks like one building is inside another

looks like one building is inside another

This was in St Louis when we went to see the Arch. As we were walking down the street, I looked up and saw that reflection. It looked for all the world like that building had swallowed up its neighbors.

What says ‘inside’ to you?

Is there an app for that?

Times are changing .  . . kids nowadays have different challenges, different influences – even a whole different vocabulary – from when I was growing up. But some things just don’t change. Kids still have deep, searching questions about the meaning of life, and parents still struggle with how to explain.

Yesterday while having lunch, I was browsing various WordPress sites. I saw that the weekly writing challenge is all about our thoughts on aging.  Ask a baby what aging means to him, and you’ll probably get a giggle and a ‘ga ga goo goo.’ Ask a kid what aging is all about, and he may tell you it means getting big enough to be independent and make his own decisions. Ask a middle-aged person, you’ll probably hear about plans for retirement and all the things that can be done when one doesn’t have to work any more. Ask an old person, and he may reflect upon how quickly time has passed and how much these kids have changed, and how foreign the world feels now – not at all like when he was a kid himself. Ask me and I’ll tell you it’s every one of those things, and then some.

Anyway, Sunday night we were at our friends’ house after church, along with her daughter’s family. We were having a wonderful time around the piano singing old hymns, and around the dining table having coffee and conversation, while the kids ran in and out and all around. We were talking about old times and how it was back in The Days. We reminisced about when we were young, and talked about dreams and plans for the future. Yes, even old folks have dreams and plans for the future . . . they just look different from the younguns’ plans.

We began comparing our perspective on the world as kids to that of kids in today’s world. My friend’s daughter recounted something her kids had said just the other day. Her little four-year-old had asked her a very deep question.

Mommy, why does Grandma call pants britches?

Mommy replied,

It’s just a generation gap, honey.

Her six-year-old piped up,

What’s a generation app? Should we download it?

That says it all, I think.

Daddy, are you downloading the generation app?

Daddy, are you downloading the generation app?

The Saturday Sewing Circle starts Thursday

I am forever putting things down and forgetting where I put them. Thursday about 10 p.m. I was feeling kinda lost, and I wondered where I put myself. There I was, wandering through the house – Spencer at my heels, helping me look. He thought he’d found me in the kitchen, right near his doggy dish. But no . . . I found me in the sewing room, making a cute heart mug-rug. I found the idea for it on a new blog I just started following, called annearoundthecurve2. She has a link to the tutorial for these, if you’d like to try them also. I love her coasters! They’re done with reverse applique, a technique I’ve tried on purses in the past, but didn’t know it had an actual name. I used some of the lining fabric from the tote I made last weekend, and a piece of flowered fabric in my scrap bin. The little blue coaster I made in January; the heart one is bigger – more a mug-rug than a coaster. I like big mugs, what can I say?? These are so fun to make, and so quick, that I think I’ll make a pile of them when I’m feelin’ all scrappy and sewy but don’t want to start a big, involved project. Hey – I might even personalize them and embroider a name or something!!

Well, it’s Saturday, and I found myself back in the sewing room at 6 a.m. I thought to myself, “Lubby ol’ girl, why don’t you just start a Saturday Sewing Circle?” Which is what I did. I went around in circles in my sewing room, remaking things I’d already made. Why can’t just do it right the first time! Ah, but that is one of those deep, dark mysteries that rule my life. I decided the tote I made last weekend needed a flap added. I didn’t have any of the flowered fabric left, but I did have quite a bit in that keychain. So I took the keychain apart and used it for a flap.  I even redid the coin purse – just did not like those pulls, so I took ‘em out and sewed them together to make a bigger loop on one side, and had a tiny piece for a pull on the other side. Yup, I was going in sewing circles, but I don’t think all this remaking was a total waste of time, because I do like the tote, the coin purse, and the keychain much better now. 

What are you doing this weekend?? Got any big makes going? Got any big remakes?? I’m going to make myself scarce now, and find something else that needs done/redone around here.

Did you hear that? I hear my name being called . . . .

What? What’s that? Oh, I need to make some bibs now? OK, be right there!!

Gotta go now, y’all. Have a wonderful, blessed weekend!! :lol:

Our house is a very, very, very small house

what our house might have looked like

what our house might have looked like

As I think about this writing challenge about our earliest memories of our house, serenity and sadness fight for control of my emotions. I don’t know if these memories are all from one day, or if they’re melded together from the whole pre-schooldays experience. I don’t even know if these memories are all from the same house, we moved so much. Whatever the case may be, they’re mostly good memories of days gone by. 

It was a dark house . . . small and grey, and black in places where the tarpaper peeked through holes where siding used to be. There was a round light fixture on the ceiling that didn’t work, but we had a big glass lamp filled with clear oil. That was our light at night; we used it to get from the kitchen to the bedroom and anywhere else we wanted to go. I don’t have a lot of memories of that house, only a snatch here and there.

It’s summer, the door is open, and my mother is sweeping the dirt floor. I’m fascinated by that; how does she keep from sweeping the whole floor away? She sprinkles water on the floor first – to settle the dust, she tells me. I wonder why she bothers to sweep dirt, but after she’s done, the floor feels nice and smooth to my bare feet. That dirt is as hard as the asphalt on the road to town, unless I spill my water again. But Mother doesn’t get upset – she just sweeps some dirt on top of the spill, and when it’s dry she sweeps it out the door to the yard.

There must be more than one room to this house, but I only remember the kitchen. I always seem to be heading out that kitchen door to play. The kitchen is shadowy; the windows are small and the ceiling is low. In one corner is a table and a bench. My brothers and I sit on that bench behind the table.  Mother and Dad have chairs that look huge to me; I like to crawl up in Mother’s chair and pretend I’m a baby in a high chair. But Timmy is in the real high chair, the one someone gave us. Mother says we’ve all used it, and now it’s little Timmy’s turn. I still want to sit in it and be the baby for awhile longer, but Dad laughs at me and tells me to grow up and stop acting like a baby. I’m four years old, not two, he reminds me again. I won’t let him see me cry. I have a favorite spot in the kitchen, right behind the big stove in the corner, where I like to hide when he says mean things to me. I can fit in there and no one can see me behind the wood bin.

It’s a noisy house, with lots of screaming and crying and yelling. The other kids make a lot of noise too! There are seven of us in the house: me, my parents, two of my older brothers (one is living with my grandmother, but I don’t know why), my little brother, and my new baby sister. She’s Mother’s favorite, I suspect. My big brother says that every time there’s a new baby, it becomes Mother’s favorite. I don’t remember being the favorite, but before this new baby came along, John (I call him Don-Don because I can’t say John) always teased me about being Mother’s pet because I was the only girl. He can’t say that any more.

There’s a strange lady in the house today; I don’t know what she wants, but she’s smiling at me and trying to talk to me. She looks like she doesn’t really want to talk to me but feels like she has to. I bet it’s because I’m staring at her, wondering what makes her clothes smell like flowers, and why she doesn’t want a piece of the chicken I’m eating.  She doesn’t look like she likes chicken. I don’t think she likes our house, or she wouldn’t look so unhappy when she thinks I’m not looking.

Outside I go! The yard is my favorite part of this place. It has no grass right in front of the house, just lots of dirt that is great for drawing in, and for making little roads, and for mud pies. Mother showed me how to draw hopscotch, and I play that by myself for awhile, until I get tired of it and go try to play marbles with my big brothers. They won’t let me play, but I can watch. Don-Don gets mad when he loses his marbles. Ha Ha!! I laugh at him and run before he can catch me.

Well, folks, these are my earliest memories. What do you remember from your childhood?

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