I have this habit that I didn’t realize I had. Craig pointed it out a while back. Then I started noticing it.
It is I guess a sort of self-soothing, thinking, unaware thing I do when I’m lost in thought, anxious, bored, reminiscing or what not.
Usually it involves just my left hand, but I have been known to do it with both hands.
What is it?
I rub my thumb between my second and third fingers in a back and forth motion, generally across my nail, in an absent mind sort of way.
Once this was pointed out to me, I tried to pay attention to when I did it or the occasions I did it. It seems to be something I do when I am deep in thought and definitely a tactile means of self-soothing.
I wondered for a bit why I did this. I wondered was this something I learned by observation. All the while, rubbing my fingers.
I had this nagging feeling that I had seen the behavior somewhere. A sort of comfort behavior.
Then I remembered this picture.
Grandmom deep in thought while we were probably driving to Maine.Here is the same finger pose. Pensive thinking, fingers ready.
I love this picture.
This person I loved with all my heart.
When I rub my fingers now, I also remember my Grandmother.
I’m connected to her again. I remember her love.
Sigh.
Rub. Rub. Rub.
It’s self-soothing when you miss someone.
I am now on a mission to discover how many family members inherited this trait or learned this behavior.
Cleaning Supplies for Spring Cleaning (Photo credit: Chiot’s Run)
When I was younger I remember my Mother would go through her big Spring cleaning stage. We cleaned each room from top to bottom, inside and out. We wiped the walls, baseboards, floors, windows, cleaned curtains, linens, emptied closets, and believe it or not, we aired the furniture outside and polished and cleaned it before we brought it back in! I remember how the room felt when it was completely empty and then that fresh and clean feeling afterwards. The exciting part was putting things back. That’s because we never seemed to put things back in the same place. That was where the fun came in, re-arranging. Starting fresh, springing forward, and starting over.
As I got older, I don’t remember Spring cleaning being such a big production. Mom scaled it back. We still did a lot of main cleaning, you know, like windows, curtains; a wipe down of the molding and baseboards, but the furniture didn’t make it outside for its sunbathing time. The furniture always seemed to have a re-arrangement time, at least once or twice a year, and that stuck with me. When I thought about my own Spring cleaning, I thought of Mom’s scaled down version. You know, minus the sun-bathing furniture.
Fast forward during the time in our marriage when Craig would be traveling and he would never quite be sure if I would have re-arranged the furniture during the day when he came home late at night. I’d get this itch just to shake things up a bit and move things around. I think I tried as many combinations as possible there for a while. I think he bumped into a lot of things too. (Thanks, dear for putting up with all that.) 🙂
I don’t know if the boys caught the Spring clean itch or not, but it was not for lack of trying when they were young. Both boys completely changed what rooms they called their bedrooms here in this house three times over the years. We’d do my own mini-version of Mom’s Spring clean on a bedroom. Well, the furniture never made it outside, but it did get a good cleaning.
Before we landed here, there was this period of time in our marriage that we moved every year, one year we moved more than once. The joke was, it must be time for a Spring cleaning, the movers are coming! We had moving boxes with different mover’s stickers on them. When we moved here we thought it would be for just a short time also. That was over 19 years ago.
Somehow life just caught up, and I just didn’t do the whole deep Spring clean thing like I used to. Sure, there would be cleaning (duh, please), but not the top to bottom, inside and out, that sent a breath of fresh air stirring inside me. I’d get the occasional rush (gosh, that makes me sound like an addict) from a mini-Spring clean of a junk drawer or a closet re-do, or one room cleaned, but there would always be something else I would have liked to get done. There is a feeling that is hard to describe that comes over you when you know that your home is clean from top to bottom, all at once. I understand my Mom’s change in her Spring cleaning now that I’m older. Her house grew, and the stuff grew.
My personal taste is not easily defined. In some areas I would like a modern/minimalist area, and in others I like a “make yourself comfortable-mix it up with family heirlooms”. I guess that is why the expression “eclectic” came up. It’s for people like me who don’t know what they are, or who start out with just a little bit of stuff and they and their family accumulate more things they like or have been given them and then just add on. They say you should surround yourself with only things you love. Well, often those things “don’t match”. So eclectic it is.
Like I said, I understand my Mother’s change in her Spring cleaning now that I’m older.
I used to sit and think how nice it would be to have every area of the house gone through from top to bottom and in between.
To sort through the accumulation of things that have been put away for the time “when we get to it”, and to actually have decisions made on things to keep, sell, donate or purge.
The task could seem overwhelming at times. Where to start, when to start, and then sometimes, even why bother starting?
Over the years we had accumulated enough things that I felt our house was bursting at the seams. I’m not suggesting anything like the TV show hoarders. I just felt that we were in a serious need of a thorough Spring cleaning.
After sending items for #2 son’s new apartment, two loads to an auction house, multiple trips to donation facilities, giveaways, and some purging, almost every inch of the house has now been gone through from top to bottom inside and out.
While we finalize the last minute details of things that need to be done, I’ve re-arranged what little furniture and things we have left, for old times’ sake.
The furniture will get its’ sunbathing and fresh air time while being loaded on the truck.
Well, it is Spring.
And the movers are coming. Yes, the movers are coming.
I am drawn to the different colors that I see being painted across the trees and landscape. I have vivid memories of white birch trees in the New England states, their aged and peeling bark shooting up to the sky, while orange tinged yellow leaves hung on to branches or playfully danced across the back country road while I hung out in the back of our family station wagon driving home from a trip to Maine.
I remember the colors sweeping the hillsides and mountains in the distance, like giant bouquets of yellow, red and green.
I remember pressing leaves between wax paper as a child. The redder the better!
I remember years later, pressing leaves with my children. Sigh.
Then I remember the crisp, clean scent of apples.
The smell of a big batch of apples cooking down for applesauce.
My mom’s rosy applesauce.
I’d help her make applesauce. Somewhere I have her handwritten recipe, even though I don’t really need it. It is one of those recipes that is a memory ingrained. I can smell a good, fresh, apple and I can remember making it. And, also want some. 🙂
Especially, if it is Fall.
I’m the only one who eats applesauce in the house anymore. So, I don’t need to make that much.
I had a few apples that I had left from a trip to the grocery store. Not too many, but just enough.
When I was in High School I couldn’t wait until I could pick the electives I really wanted. It wasn’t too hard to choose. We had a three “tracks”. College, Business, Vo-Tech. I knew I wasn’t going to college. Isn’t wasn’t something I ever considered. Growing up, college was never discussed as an option. My parent’s didn’t encourage it, in fact the Watchtower Society spoke against it, and it was considered a disfellowshipping offense. It was assumed that I was going to get married and stay home, or possibly work outside of the home. My sister was a secretary at an engineering consulting firm, and my parents seemed okay with that, so I figured I’d take business courses too and maybe do something like that. (For a brief time I had secret dreams of being an airline stewardess, or actress/model to go and see places. Oh, well I guess that isn’t a secret anymore is it.) 🙂
My electives involved various business classes, Accounting, German and my personal favorites of art classes and wood shop. I also tried my hand in drama and music. I looked forward to my art class every day. When I was able to, I had art class daily, and shop class daily. It was in the art class that I tried various mediums. I was fascinated at the projects that my art teacher worked on. Once she constructed a miniature house in the classroom (remember my fondness for miniatures?) Not once did I think about going to an art school, or becoming an art teacher. Please don’t think I’m saying that in a bitter way. It’s just a fact. It didn’t cross my mind. It wasn’t an option that had ever been discussed or promoted in my home. It was just the way it was. At that time in my life, I accepted it.
I loved art class. I loved to paint. Particularly with oils and watercolors.
However, somewhere along the way I stopped painting until the end of last year.
We are talking a long hiatus. Ahem, a real long time……over thirty years. Oh, my, I am getting old! 🙂
Anyway, Craig presented me with a gift certificate for watercolor classes last Christmas.
Well, let me tell you….my, how the quality of the paints and the paper changed from when I painted last! I’ve learned new things too! What a treat it has been to pick up a paintbrush again! The class rekindled the creative spark that I had put on the back-burner for far too long, or had let others discourage.
So now I am painting again.
Thanks again, Honey, for the classes, and the continued encouragement!
I hope you don’t mind if I kind of “toot my own horn”, okay, I’ll say it, “brag”….. but I’ve just taken two pictures for entry in the State Fair!
Juglans nigra or black walnut, a Portland heritage tree. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
When I was younger I used to go visit my Aunt Anna Lemmon. Well, she was actually my great, great Aunt Anna, however, she was just Aunt Anna to us. I always liked visiting my relatives and hearing what they said, and also wandering around and looking at everything. The Aunts, (I had another great, great Aunt, named Lily) lived in orderly, well kept homes with their possessions that they had accumulated over their lifetimes. So, I was used to seeing old (i.e., antique) items and would often be told what they were used for and by whom. There were always fun things to look at, and interesting stories. (Alas, I wish I could remember all their stories).
Aunt Anna’s house was located outside of town on a bend and had a wide wrap around porch (I think that started my fascination with miniature dollhouses with wrap around porches) and had a barn with a fantastic “miniature” black iron” fence surrounding a black walnut tree. This fenced in area always fascinated me, I would go inside it and wonder why the tree was fenced in, where the walnuts so special? I knew that we would collect the walnuts, and my Great Grandmother while she was living would make a mean black walnut nut-bread. (My Grandmother faithfully followed after her, and gave me the recipe, however, it never tasted the same.) Apparently, I must have commented about the fence being pretty short for horses or ponies, or about the special walnuts and was promptly corrected that the fenced area was a “proper croquet” area. After that, I would visualize ladies and gentlemen playing croquet inside the fancy black iron scrolled fencing, in Victorian dresses and garb playing a game of croquet.
At the side door of the home was a plant she called a “money plant“. I had never seen a plant like it. When it dried it was pale, round, and papery with an almost transparent quality. They were quite fun.
The kitchen and dining area was combined, and she had a big hutch with a wide assortment of salt and pepper cellars and shakers along with various tea strainer or brewing baskets, one of which was in the shape of a miniature teapot which I usually wanted to play with. (are you noticing an common interest here?)
There was a steeply curved staircase to get to the two bedrooms upstairs, even being younger, tall and lanky, I remember the awkward turn.
Aunt Anna’s, late husband, whom I only knew as Uncle Bill, was known in the family for his wood-working skills. He produced the tables, chairs, toys, working miniature Grandfather clocks (woohoo) that he gave and/or sold, and at least two (that I’ve seen) detailed inlay tables all from the wood off their property.
I don’t recall exploring the barn, perhaps I wasn’t interested in wandering there, or knowing my Mother, she would have kept me away from the barn with warnings of poison ivy, as I was highly allergic to the stuff. However, it is more likely I was too nosy about what my Mother and Grandmother were talking about with Aunt Anna during our visits.
Most of my recollections of her house come from when we walked through it after Aunt Anna’s death. Both Aunt Anna and Aunt Lily (who had passed earlier and had left her estate to Anna) did not have any children to leave their estates too. Aunt Anna left her estate to my mother and her three siblings (the connection is my maternal grandfather who had died at age 30). The siblings best decided they would distribute the estate by having a sort of “bid” on items they wanted at the estate and then subtract that their share of the value of the estate.
Prior to the days of the “bid”, Mom took me (I can’t recall if my sister went, however she probably did) and we walked throughout the house. Mom wanted to she if there was something that I wanted to remember Aunt Anna by. I choose a wooden vase with some dried money plants in it, a black box from an upstairs bedroom and the miniature teapot brewing basket. I don’t recall if when I moved out if Mom asked for the wooden vase and dried money plants or if I left them, however, I have the other items, along with some of Uncle Bill’s handy work, a miniature Grandfather clock (one he did not get finished), a Chinese checkers board he made for my Grandfather, and a side table.
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Part of my Clutter Cleaning Process A.K.A. C.C. is going through things that I have accumulated that were Aunt Anna’s, my Grandmother’s and my Mother’s and other family members and I will have to decide what to let go off.
Part of this process is also about finding things. I came upon this piece of paper that I wrote in 1973 (ahem, when I was younger) at the time they were closing Aunt Anna’s house.
The Lemmon Estate
The grass is green and blowing with a breeze, of an early summer evening.
Horses of every color are running in the wind, before they are hitched and leaving.
The sun is red and gold, a sight to behold, and everyone is dreaming.
The children run here and there, saying catch me if you can, the shine on their face is beaming.
The house is white and green, tall and kind of lean, as it reaches for the heavens above it.
It brightens with it’s lights, as the sun is sinking right, and on the porch, everyone can be seen.
I glaze at this sight, of peacefulness at night, and wish that I could live there.
I could sit all say, without being afraid, and never want to move away.
I open my eyes to catch a better glimpse, of all these marvelous things.
I strain and strain my mind, but nothing still remains, as I go to turn off the alarm ring.
Today, I will see, the place of which I’ve dreamed.
But now it is lonely and crumbling.
I look at that old house, and move my eyes about, but dirt is all I see around me.
Ah, memories. Things are just things, however, you can still keep the memories.