A Lasting Legacy

A Lasting Legacy: The Bagley Family History Since 1628

Published in 1997, this book introduces my Bagley ancestors. They were common folks in simple surroundings in a distant time. Each life was significant and praiseworthy. Most of the material I included was verified by at least two sources. In some cases, where a record was lacking but circumstantial evidence was abundant, the words "probably" or "likely" were used.


During the years I worked on this book, my heart was turned to my fathers. I hope to learn more about them in the future.

Do you hear Voices?

I lost my voice! I have to totally rest it so it will come back. While it's lost, so am I. I had really planned to use it today: a meeting, phone calls, errands, playing with grandkids...but it's given me some time to think. My grama had a stroke and couldn't speak for the last 10 years of her life. She couldn't use her hands very well, so she couldn't write either. She sat in her wheelchair and observed, listened and smiled. I wonder what she wanted to say. Did she have good advice crowding her mind? Did she feel frantic about guidance she couldn't give? Did she wish she could tell us how she felt about us?

If my voice never comes back, these are a few things I hope I've communicated:

1. Laugh a lot. If there's nothing funny happening, watch reruns of MASH, Cheers, Seinfeld and Frasier. Learn to laugh at your troubles and you'll never run out of things to laugh at.

2. Read everything that interests you. Nobody can read everything, so choose what you like. That will lead you to more and more subjects and you'll always be interested and interesting. Books provide friends and places to go.

3. Find some little kids to hang out with. Teenagers are awesome, too. It's especially great if they have parents who will take them home later. Kids are always honest, unpredictable and funny.

4. Pray about everything. If you do your best to work things out, and pray with faith that you'll get answers, you will.

5. Count your blessings. A song by Bing Crosby says "When you're worried and you can't sleep, Just count your blessings instead of sheep; And you'll fall asleep counting your blessings." It usually doesn't put me to sleep, but it makes lying awake more enjoyable.

6. Chocolate is a health food. You will feel safer and more secure if you have some handy.

7. Travel, or watch the Travel Channel. Find out that there are good people everywhere. Celebrate the differences.

8. Vote. That's the only way to earn the right to complain.

9. Learn the value of retail therapy.

10. Listen to the Beach Boys in the car. It will remind you that life is fun!

Do you have anything to add? Let your voice be heard!

Be Afraid...be very afraid!

What are you scared of?
I have always thought of myself as a wimp. Although I've had a lot of adventures they aren't the Survivor kind. If I wasn't afraid of boats and actually made it to the island, I'd be kicked off first.

I went to lunch with my dear friend who has always seemed very brave to me. She rode horses, jumped off cliffs, and flipped U-ies in the snow in her VW. She even dumped a guy because he wouldn't make a right turn on a red light. She just had it together, and knew how to hold her own, even with 3 older brothers. She would pick me up on her horse and I'd ride behind her hanging on for dear life. She had a boyfriend who let her keep his shotgun for 3 years! (I'm the mom who says "You'll shoot your eye out!") And she even liked cats. I'm scared to death of cats. When they walk behind you on the back of the couch???? YIKES! Anyway, on the way home from our lunch I thought about a few of my fears:

1. Bees.
I haven't ever been stung, so I don't know why. It's a bad thing to be scared of bees because it takes a lot of the joy out of being outside. My dad was very scared of bees, too.

2. Heights.
Being up high with a barrier is OK, but looking out over something that I could fall off is terrifying to me. I'm actually afraid I'll jump! Isn't that strange? I just realized my dad was scared of heights!

3. Spiders.
I was visiting Gabi, and I had just said goodnight and closed the door to my bedroom, when I saw a giant, hairy spider. I screamed and started trying to kill it by throwing my shoe at it. Brad came to the rescue, killed it, and all was well. The next day I was tending the kids and I saw another spider on the floor. I was the only adult! I knew I had to be brave and handle it myself, so I got the telephone book, heaved it on the floor, and then jumped on it with all the energy I had. I could still feel the spider! It wouldn't smash! I was horrified and didn't know what to do, or how to protect the kids from this invasion of arachnids! Jake was 6, and he was watching my display from the kitchen. He calmly walked over and picked up the book, and then picked up the spider!! "Why are you jumping on my plastic spider?" he asked. Silly Oma. I'm just re-reading this post, and I'm amazed to remember that my dad was scared of spiders. My mom always killed the insects and creepy crawly things.

4. Water in my ears.
I loved to swim when I was little. I even took diving in college and learned to do back flips off the high dive. One time I had water in my ears that wouldn't drain, and I got an infection and my eardrum broke. Since then even the thought of water trickling down my ear gives me shivers. Dad used to swim with his head above the water. Was he phobic about water, too?

5. Little places.
For a long time I was afraid I'd have to have a CAT scan someday and go in that tube. I could give myself panic attacks about it. Then a few years ago I had a horrific headache that wouldn't go away, and I finally went to the emergency room, fully expecting that I had a brain tumor. I think the doctors thought so, too. I had to have the dreaded CAT scan. A nurse came in just before it and asked me how I was doing, and I burst out crying. She comforted me, saying it was unlikely that it was a brain tumor, yada, yada, yada. I finally told her I was more afraid of the CAT scan. She gave me a shot of something, and I don't even remember the tube at all. Dee does. He reminds me all the time that he's seen the inside of my brain, in slices, and there was nothing there. I'm sure he means no tumors.

OK, I just read this through and I'm reminded that my dad was very claustrophobic. Hmmm....Did I inherit my fears through DNA, or the power of suggestion? Or are they from real events that happened in my past? Did I play in a tiny stairwell with bees and spiders, toddle to the top and fall off into a wading pool? My friend's dad was very daring. Did she get that DNA or is it all in your upbringing? If so, I'm sorry kids.

Now it's your turn to list five fears. What are you afraid of?

Learning History through Repetition

I was talking to my Aunt the other day and she commented on something my mother always used to say. " What do you mean 'She always used to say?' I never heard her say that!" I felt bad and left out. But then I thought back....I often responded to mom's comments with a kind, but exasperated, "Mom, you've already told me that"...(a thousand times!) Maybe that was part of her plan so I'd never be in the "I don't remember that" category. Maybe I really didn't listen the first time.

In order to spare my progeny any of those moments, I've decided to repeat myself. (Maybe I've decided this before, I don't remember.) This is to help them pass on my stories, wisdom and advice intact to their own children. So when you hear (or read) my words and think "Mom...get the Alzheimer's test" just think of all the embarrassment I've saved you when someone says at my funeral, "She always used to say..." and you know the rest.

(This entry is actually a disclaimer to anyone who recognizes anything I say as having been said by me before. I now have too many posts to read through every time and make sure I haven't already mentioned some interesting bit of my history. Just think of my blogs like you do favorite movies and books that are good over and over again. Maybe I'm repeating myself for a good reason. We'll never know.)

I Flashed Her

I am of an age when I have regular Power Surges. These are random hot flashes brought on by hurrying, worrying and movement of any kind. Since I never know when I'll suddenly break a sweat, I carry cotton bandanas in my purse, and have some stashed in every room and in the car. My kids and grandkids are all used to seeing me with a sweat band when I vacuum, play at the park, carry babies, etc. I have hoped to bring this look into fashion for women of a certain age. After all, Gangstas wear them and look cool.

Moving on, I have a routine when I shop for clothes. I gather up everything I could possibly want to try on, in every size applicable, and head to the dressing room. Immediately I take off all jewelry, which suddenly feels hot in the small space, and put on my headband. Then I start trying stuff on. Yesterday, I asked the saleswoman if the red skirt came in another size. She said no, so I decided to try the first one on. Under my levi jacket I was wearing an orange T-shirt. I put on the red skirt. I liked it, and looked at the price tag, which I couldn't see. Realizing I had left my glasses in the car, I put on my prescription sunglasses to read the tag. At that moment there was a knock on the door, and the saleswoman said she had found the other skirt. I unthinkingly opened the door, and realized how I looked when I saw her expression! Bottom to top: black Mary Jane style shoes, long red broomstick skirt, bright orange T, sunglasses, and an American flag bandana. I think she had a hot flash!

Listen Up, World!

I could really improve the world if people would just listen to me!

We live downtown. Lots of downtown businesses have moved to the suburbs in the past few years. I remember when I was a teenager working downtown, and the streets were crowded with people shopping, going to lunch, dinner and movies. The theaters are now boarded up, the office buildings have their own cafeterias, kitchens and vending machines, and the shopping is in the malls. The streets are barren. There is a huge development in the construction stages that will hopefully bring people downtown again, and there are lots of city council planning meetings and newspaper articles wondering and worrying about how to bring life back to our city. I have sent some suggestions to the Mayor's office and have yet to see them put into action. So I will suggest them here.

Families live in the suburbs. Give them a reason to leave their neighborhood: a beautiful carousel, street vendors, gelato stands, a unique family-friendly restaurant (like Rainforest Cafe), a fabulous kids' bookstore with story times, (think "You've Got Mail").

Let people park! Don't invite people downtown and then stalk their cars for parking violations. Relax!

Put something in the vacant windows. There are lots of buildings that look bedraggled and empty, with "For Lease" signs decorating the front. Why not paint the exterior, and put art, or other displays in the windows? Let stores use the space for free advertising, and make the street interesting while there's vacancy.

These are a few of my great ideas. I have suggestions about health insurance, prescription drug coverage, and education, too. On occasion, when I've been especially motivated I've written my congressman, or my newspaper. Does anyone read my letters, or do they just hit the delete button? Most of the time I don't care. They're busy and important and there are probably lots of great ideas floating around that have to be studied and analyzed.

This week I read about a bill before our state legislature to lower the driving age for ATVs from 8 to 6! Six years old! Kids that don't know left from right... can't tie their shoelaces...think Dora's backpack really talks! I don't know...when I read about things like this I wonder who is running the world? And why aren't they listening to me??

Creative Studies

My post graduate work (after I graduated from High School) wasn't what I'd imagined. I was so excited to choose my own major and just take the classes that interested me. Bag geology, good-bye geometry, sayonara physics, and hello creative writing! The summer before I started college I practically memorized the class descriptions in the catalog I had. I wanted to take poetry and literature and psychology...and major in German. I could hardly wait to select my subjects and jump around to learn everything I wanted to learn. I was very disappointed to find there was a structured curriculum, and required subjects that had nothing to do with my interests. Even my chosen major didn't allow for exploration. It was all outlined, and didn't include most of the classes that sounded fascinating to me. (Who gets to take those classes, anyway?)

I bucked the system, and against my counselor's advice, skipped a lot of courses outlined for freshmen, and signed up for classes that called out to me. From a diploma point of view it was a mistake. I dropped out after my sophomore year, and if I ever went back to finish, I would have to start all over with basic requirements; my 2 years really wouldn't count for anything. Except I don't regret the eclectic choices I made.

The internet has finally given me a chance to create my own curriculum. I spend hours studying and looking up very random topics. It's a private library for me. Recently I heard someone say they thought blogging was a total waste of time. Blogging has taught me more than many creative writing classes I've taken! Scholars study anthropology, current events, geography, psychology, child development and literature, and nobody questions the value of that. I have explored a lot of these very topics in the blogs I read. It's just learning in a different format.

When historians research, first person accounts and original sources are the prize! It would be so great to read what my mom experienced during the depression, or have a journal of my grandpa's journey from Sweden to America at age 17. Pioneer diaries, Civil War letters, Pearl Harbor headlines...these are turned into history books and documentaries. Won't blogs contribute, too? Blogs are archives of the future. Philosophy is the study of what people thought and wrote down. The Bible is a collection of histories and spiritual experiences, that people wrote down. I realize that not all blogs are of this quality, but I feel that record keeping is NOT a waste of time.

I don't have a diploma, but I feel that I have an education. Life has been my university and my major is Creative Learning.

So how do you feel about blogging? Leave a comment!

I took a survey that had interesting questions about this. Here's the address if you want to take it.
(The survey was at http://www.whydoyoublog.com/ )

Worth the Risk

Heroes, 1984

I remember my active mothering days, when getting up in the morning was a risk. There was the day Micah set the field across the street on fire and I watched my neighbor doing a Hopi-Indian type dance trying to put it out. Another time Peter gathered up all the used firecrackers in the gutter after the 4th of July and sold them to his friend for $3 of his brother's savings. The $3 turned out to be three $20 bills, and I had to defend my 4-year-old thief to the lawyer father.

One day Josh decided to cover the shower drain and fill up the bathroom to make a swimming pool, which I didn't discover until water was leaking under the door. And who can forget the razor incident when Heidi shaved off her little brother's eyebrow? Or the day Amy backed up the truck and hit Dee as he was pulling in the driveway, wrecking 2 cars at once? There were times of heartbreak, like the day Gabi was asked to give up the lead in the Road Show because there was a bratty girl demanding the part and the director was a wimp. And the day 11-year-old Marta sobbed, "Nobody respects my opinion!" (Everybody does now.)

I remember that I felt like a revolving door. I was spinning 'round and 'round, while everyone ran in and out to live their lives. I sometimes wondered if I had a life of my own, or even if I was a person anymore. I gave myself so completely it didn't feel like I had any of me left. It was overwhelming in every way.

Now that I'm an inactive mother I realize the truth of the scripture in Matthew that says "He that loseth his life shall find it."
While I was focusing on my kids I actually became myself. They were really teaching me. I look back at the experience and understanding I gained, and know I could not have designed an education or career that would have provided me such intense personal growth. It almost seems selfish now, considering how I benefitted.

As I observe the active mothers around me I am in awe of them. I can't believe I did it. But I rejoice every day that I did.

Gathering History

We spent last week gathering history along the banks of the Brandywine River. We were winding down lanes, searching the woods for ruins of old mills. Doesn't that sound romantic? I love research trips with Dee! It's like we're detectives searching for lost loved ones, and reuniting families.

Dee is writing a book about a pioneer family who started a very successful local flour mill. There's a family tradition that several generations have owned mills, dating back to Revolutionary War days in Pennsylvania and Delaware. The mill is celebrating it's 100th anniversary with the publication of their history, and we set out to discover the truth of their story.

Chadds Ford, PA, where George Washington lost a big battle, is where we started. A fabulous historical research library nearby, housed in an awesome old building, has a collection of newspaper clippings dating back to the 1700's, plus diaries, letters from Civil War days, local histories, and much more. We spent several hours at a big oak table, surrounded by handwritten accounts in spidery writing, reading, taking notes and making copies. With the dates and names we already had, we were able to find more names and locations, which led us to some old Quaker cemetaries in surrounding towns. We found graves, with more info and dates, mill sites, and evidence that this family originally came to Pennsylvania with William Penn. It was overcast, and atmospheric as we climbed over headstones taking photos to document our findings. We found an incredible bookstore housed on 4 floors of a 200-year-old barn, packed with information. We interviewed a couple who told us about Quaker marriage traditions, and explained documents we had discovered so we were able to place the families in specific congregations at the right times. With the help of old Bibles, wills, and deeds, we realized that the family had come from England almost 150 years before the Revolutionary War, establishing homes and farms, using their skills to feed and sustain communities. Unsung heroes.

The Brandywine area is dotted with plaques honoring soldiers and prominent citizens, telling stories of hardship and courage. Books are written, museums filled with artifacts, and buildings restored so we will remember their names and contributions. The only difference between a famous hero and all the others is that we don't know anything about them. When we gather the history of someone's life, they suddenly become important. They are no longer lying in the dust of graveyards or gathering dust in an archive. They are real. Their names are Levi and William and Hannah and Jemima, and we saw where they lived, and worked, and buried their babies. They knew winters without heat, sickness without medicine, hope without end. And, yes, they owned flour mills.

What do you think?

Dee's advice is "Think over everything you say, and don't say everything you think." This is fine for someone who can think inside their head. My head is like an overstuffed, unorganized scrapbooking drawer. Until I dump it all out I don't know what's in there. Then I sort through and discover random bits and pieces that I have to try out in different ways, and finally figure out a way to put it all together. You are the victims of my organization attempts. When I dump out my mind and sift through the junk, the dust settles in my blog.

Dee has never had the experience of laying awake regretting the dumb things he's said. He didn't say them. He hasn't called someone frantically after a conversation to try to restate what he meant, because he meant what he said the first time. I regularly say everything I think before I've had time to think it through, and then regretted it. Of course, Dee doesn't say much. Nobody knows him very well. He doesn't tell everyone he meets his life story, and the life stories of everyone he knows, before they've finished lunch. People know me! They can tell my anecdotes better than I can, and correct me on the details. When I mention a topic, even my in-law kids can complete my sentence (or paragraph), and have now turned it into a game called "Twenty-five Words or Less." I can't even tell it in 25 words or less!

I wrote a poem about 30 years ago about keeping a diary. It was called "Mama's Minutes" and it said "Mama had a diary she kept beside her bed, I'd see her write by candlelight, She said it cleared her head." I'll probably always have to clear my head by saying everything I think. It gives me a chance to think it over.

Listening In

I love "listening in." I remember when I was a little girl I could listen in on neighbors who were talking on the phone because we had a party line. I sat on the floor under the kitchen table so I could listen in on my mom's conversations with her sisters or her friends. That's actually how I learned about the real world.

Dee is a great listener. We've been invited to join people for dinner when his not so subtle stares and expressions have indicated he was already a part of their conversation!

One time we were at a restaurant in Amsterdam and the three people sitting behind us were speaking English. We started listening to the man directly behind Dee. He was telling a story of when he was an emergency room doctor and a man was brought in by ambulance. The man and his wife had returned home to discover a robber in their house. The man chased him to the sliding door and then banged into it, breaking the window and cutting himself in the process. When they returned home from the hospital, the wife tried to clean the blood off the drapes with a solvent, and then poured the rest down the toilet. The husband went into the bathroom, sat down, and lit a cigarette to relax as he finished his business. Then he dropped the cigarette into the toilet. The solvent was still clinging to the side of the toilet bowl and the spark ignited, and blew up! The poor man's butts (both) were on fire! The wife called the ambulance, and the same ambulance men came to rescue him. As they were carrying him down the stairs on a stretcher the wife told the story of how it had happened and they started laughing so hard they dropped their patient and he fell down the stairs, and broke his arm! Not a good day for him.

As we listened in on this story, Dee was shaking with laughter so hard his chair was bumping against the chair of the doctor behind him who was actually telling it. We were trying not to be too obvious, as we snuck a look when they left their table. The man was very familiar looking, and Dee recognized him as the doctor who had been on TV locally because of a recent story about Barney Clark's heart operation. Without thinking Dee blurted out, "Dr. DeVries!" The doctor turned and Dee galantly stepped up and introduced himself, complimented him on his medical work and wished him happy travels. The doctor was somewhat confused, but responded politely and went on his way. Since then we remind ourselves to be more circumspect by warning each other, "Dr. DeVries..."

I am reminded of this because reading blogs makes me feel like I'm listening in on someone's private conversation. I'm often entertained, I learn more about real life, and I gain empathy for people I don't know and the struggles and challenges they're having. It's giving me depth.

I read an article by Alvaro Vargas LLosa referring to the internet: "The web's orderly chaos leads to high social ends." It said, "The result (of the information age) will be an enhanced awareness of other people. That will probably not be enough to eradicate fear and mistrust altogether, but it will hold it in check, and the world will be freer and more prosperous for more and more people." Listening in has given me a new perspective on the world. I think it's an opportunity for growth.

Friends Through Time and Space

What's happened to my friends?

I'm on my high school reunion committee with the assignment to search for "missing" classmates. As I pour over their names I remember so much about some of them. I know who made out with whom and where. I know what books their dad read. I know when they got their first bra, and where their mom hid the key to the freezer in the garage where she was keeping dozens of cookies for her Christmas Open House, ("uh-oh...sorry mom. They were??? Stop yelling!")

These are the friends I grew up with, who influenced me for good and bad, who understood me when my world seemed like a rollercoaster that my parents were oblivious to. (I had great parents...I just kept my ups and downs away from them since they didn't seem that interested in the enormity of who I sat by at lunch). I've lost track of most of them. We've had lives and marriages, kids and grandkids...the rollercoaster has had huge hills and I'm sure we've all been motion sick lots of the time. The friends of my past helped me become myself.

I married my true best friend and the old friends became the memories I told him about as we established our new life together.

Then I found the friends that helped me raise my kids, those I've worked with and served with, cried with and loved like sisters. I think of them often with love and gratitude as I use their recipes, remember tending their kids, unwrap a Christmas decoration they gave me, or sing one of the songs we sang together. Their support kept me upright through times I wanted to lay down and cry, or lay down and die, and they helped me laugh and remember how fun my life really was. I don't see most of them anymore, although some I would count as true sisters.

Now I have 7 kids and 7 in-law kids who have become my best friends. Sixteen grandkids share my time and energy with me. I have siblings who I've realized are true, and lasting friends, and aunts I have used to replace my mom. Trying to stay connected to all these folks leaves me little time or interest in making new friends. I've made some recently, but these are surface friendships without depth. We haven't got deep background, or years to invest in getting familiar with all the ups and downs, and ins and outs of each others lives. There's an understanding that we are friends for here and now, with no huge committments of getting involved in the nitty gritty. We already have people for that.

This brings me to my point. Why do I get such enjoyment from blogging? Reading about people I'll never meet, sharing interests and experiences and thoughts with total strangers? Or writing something heartfelt and sending it into the great unknown wondering if I'm connecting with anyone at all?

I read a quote that says "Get a life in which you are not alone. Find people you love, and who love you. And remember that love is not leisure; it is work." Luckily I have lots of people I love and who love me. My life's work is actively loving them. It's everything I care about doing. But for leisure it's fun to have random people who take no work at all. I can choose several blogs from different facets of interest, learn from them, be entertained, be stimulated and inspired, and never know if their kids are on drugs, or their mom has cancer. They are available whenever I am. I don't need to get dressed or pick up the house, drive anywhere or even know where they live. It's a selfish relationship. I can give whatever I feel like giving, and I can take as much as I want. But I think what I give and take adds something to me, replenishes me somehow so I have more to offer the people I love. I picture the blogosphere like space, and I can go out there anytime and get my batteries recharged by millions of stars, and come back a brighter person. And that's what friends are for.

Quotable

"In spite of illness, in spite even of sorrow, one can remain alive long past the date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things and happy in small ways." Edith Wharton

It's a Wonderful Life

I believe in life after death, but I believe in life before death, too! I just read something negative about aging and it made me think of a lady I know who is 96. She just got back from a trip to China. She is planning on going to Alaska in the spring. On the other hand, I recieved a Christmas card from a friend who is 57, telling me about the various tests and scans she's having, how she's scared to be alone in case she has a stroke, how her husband is visiting their grandkids after Christmas but she's not going because she's afraid to fly...which of these ladies is living and which one is dying? Getting older doesn't have anything to do with it!

I see advertisements lately that push one product or another (often meds, or beauty products, insurance, retirement accounts, etc.) that make it sound like if we eat better, prepare more, or have the right hair color we won't get old. I've even heard people comment that if so and so had lost weight, or had the right doctor, or whatever, that he wouldn't have died, insinuating that a wise person wouldn't be so irresponsible as to die. That seems silly to me. The older we get, the more likely it is that we'll die. And if we don't die first, we will get old! I'm not being morbid. I just think that instead of worrying about aging, we should concentrate on life! It's too wonderful to miss.

I'm now past middle age (if middle age is halfway) and I have all the experience of 57 years. That gives me some perspective and I hope some wisdom. I love knowing what I know, and I can't wait to learn the rest! I remember my 30-year-old body like it's an old friend. I'm trying to become friends with the one I have now. I look at my grandchildren and marvel at their soft skin, and unwrinkled hands, how darling they look while they are so perfect and innocent, how confident and un-selfconscious they are, unaware that their legs are short, their tummies protruding, that they are bald and toothless. I realize I was that way once upon a time, too. I don't even remember myself then. I'm sure I didn't appreciate the way I looked and how everything about me functioned efficiently. It took getting older to learn that. I actually think I'd rather appreciate things than be too innocent to even notice them. Experience is worth the price of aging.

The inside of me is still young. My 90-year-old grandma once told me that she always felt the same inside, and when she looked in the mirror she was surprised at the old lady that stared back at her. She couldn't believe the mirror! I assume my 96-year-old traveling friend thinks that way, too. I'm afraid my 57-year-old friend believes the mirror.

Christmas is all about the birth of Jesus who gave us the chance for life after death. But first He taught us how to live this life. It's wonderful!

Christmas at Grama's

Christmas always makes me think about the past, friends, family and often my Grama Bagley. She was chubby and plump (a right jolly old elf) like I have become. She had gray hair most of the time although I do remember her having a tinge of blue or pink when that was the Grama trend. She wore dresses and aprons, and nylons rolled at the knee so they would stay up without a girdle, and she wore black grama shoes with laces and stacked heels. She was definitely soft and squishy like a giant stuffed toy.

I remember going to her house at Christmastime to bake sugar cookies. She had really cool cookie cutters and she'd roll out the dough with flour on her kitchen table and then I got to cut the cookies out. While she transferred them to the cookie sheet, I'd eat the scraps. Scraps from dough that has already been rolled out is even better than the actual cookies! She decorated them like an artist. She even used paint brushes, and her Santa Claus cookies had coconut covering the frosting for the beard. She used red hots, and silver ball candies and sprinkles, and the frosting was made with real butter so they tasted as good as they looked. Grama could decorate cookies very fast, and my feeble attempts usually left me disappointed and impatient. There was a room behind the kitchen that wasn't heated and was used to store old furniture and boxes of clothes. That is where Grama set up a table with a big marble slab where she would dip chocolates. She made the fudge, caramel, divinity and nut centers first, and then smeared some melted chocolate on the slab. She quickly rolled the center in the chocolate and made a tiny swirl decoration on the top to indicate which center was inside. It was fun to watch her at work.

In the living room a quilt was usually set up. The furniture was pushed back to line the walls of the small room and the kids would play under the quilt while Grama and her friends sat around chatting and quilting. Their legs all looked the same from that vantage point, with the rolled stockings and clunky shoes, knees apart as they reached under the quilt to stitch. I learned who was "expecting" and what that implied while I was laying underneath the quilt staring at the pattern of stitches. It looked so different from the design being created on the top, with all the pieces of contrasting fabric telling stories of log cabins and sunflower girls and building blocks.

It occurred to me that looking at the quilt from the bottom was like looking at life while we're in it. Heavenly Father is seeing the beautiful pattern from above, and knows how it will all turn out, while we're wondering if anything worthwhile can come from the pokes and knots we see from our perspective down here. I'm the age Grama was when I was little. It would be so fun to visit her as she was then and as I am now. I really think we would be good friends. Maybe thinking about her this way is a way to visit her. Merry Christmas, Grama