Bittersweet and the little soap company

Don't forget your wrap.

I remember my grandmother telling me, "don't forget your wrap", when it was cold outside, and I was leaving to go outdoors.

Have you ever heard that expression? I had not, until the day my grandmother Lola said it, and I remember thinking, that must be how they referred to outdoor gear back in the olden days.

I've never heard anyone call it that since my grandmother, and probably won't. It's also comforting that the reference came from her exclusively.

Funny how these thoughts come to mind at certain times.

Thinking about that word today, and I think about soap wrappings. I think about the variety of ideas, and the assortment of soap wrapping packages I've had over the past ten years, gobs!

It reminds me a bit of when I was a little girl dressing my Barbie dolls in one outfit and another, then another, always feeling the anticipation of what she would look like wearing that special new dress or pant suit!

I feel the same way when I wrap my soap, except the fact that I'm a big girl now, but still like to play dress up with the bars of soap. Who would have thought! Dress up with soap, not I, not I at all. I always say, "whatever floats your boat", that's what you should do, whenever all possible!

Wait until you see our new Spring outdoor project! Can you feel my excitement? Lennis, bless his heart, built the coolest brick walkway leading down our huge hill. The hill has always been a challenge, and a thorn in our yard, as it was difficult to travel down the hill to get to our back yard. I can't count the number of times I have fallen down the hill.

Not any more! We now have a large brick walkway leading the way. I can't wait to set planters along the bricks, and plant my flower seeds.

We're late bloomers in the Midwest, and it seems as though Spring is never going to arrive.

Old timers always say, "don't plant flowers until Mother's day", in my little part of the country. That always seems like forever, but I am often glad I listened to them when planting new seedlings and plants!

I can't help but be a tad bit envious of my fellow bloggers that are experiencing the budding and sprouting of cherry blossoms and wild violets flourishing throughout.

Yesterday I spent some time carefully picking and choosing the flower seeds that I'm planting in our yard. I am planting seeds, and starting the plants indoors, rather than purchasing plants, as I feel it will help with the anticipation of waiting until Mother's day to plant. At least I'll have the excitement of watching the little seedlings sprout inside, if I can't watch outside.

Nigella, Purple Coneflower's, Sweet Peas, Calendula, Lemon Grass, Phlox, Nasturtium's, are but a few of the seeds I ordered from the seed catalog. I had fun ordering the seeds out of the seed catalog. I couldn't help but feel nostalgic, as I knew while I was browsing the catalog, that's the way they did it in the olden days, before there were nursery's.

It's a wrap!

 

Enjoy caring and sharing Spring days.

and, another shot of my kitchen, a cozy corner, after I moved the Chinese pot holders...

Happily,

Jill 00 (two hugs are better than one)

   

First Day of Quiet.

About this same time last year Patrick left for California to spend some of his Easter break with his two Aunts.

He is traveling to Big Bear Lake in California, as one of his Aunts has moved from Brent wood to Big Bear, and now has a cabin in the California mountains.

Last year after he left I wrote a post about how I felt after he had gone. I'm sure I'll feel the same this time too.

After he left last year I threw myself into cleaning and fixing up the sweet home, but this time I am feeling more like creating and taking in the time to do nothing.

Nothing, is usually a difficult thing for me to do, but I force myself every once in awhile, because I know it's healthy for my soul, and offers me the opportunity to take a vacation from my little business, and my busy lifestyle.

I have a new book , and I've already drooled over the pages. While grazing the pages inside this book, I felt as though I had traveled to the land of pretty crafting! This is by far one of the best books I've seen in some time and has some wonderful ideas for creating. I picked it up here.

   

The Bittersweet Giveaway has been extended through March, scroll down a bit to see the info and links.

Enjoy caring and sharing SPRING DAYS!

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one)

Inspired by vintage naturally and some sweet memories

My recent yearning to use what I have to make stuff has been utilized and put to work pretty darn good, if I don't say so myself!

I have purchased a couple of things, like the French stamps and this fabric and yarn, but all in all, I have to say, Good Job Jill! I pat myself on the back, if I could pat myself on the back!

I've been into natural fabrics lately. Not that I wasn't before, I've always been a natural kind of girl, but I fancy the clean crisp cottons and the white on white aura, especially in the vintage night dress , and the simple but elegant look it presents.

The fabric pictured, a hemp summer cloth linen, and the yarn too, a blend of cotton and hemp. I purchased both here. I'm incorporating the natural fabric into Bittersweet creations, and plan to continue, my inspiration coming from this sweet night dress.

In the Midwest during the mid to late eighteen hundreds, hemp was a popular crop cultivated and sold by many a farmer, as it was ideal for making rope, and other items used during this period.

I remember as a kid, there was a huge old dilapidating plantation style house a few miles in the country, from the town I grew up in. It was known as the Lincoln house. A stately house in its day, as the tattered remnants left behind show hints of its glory days with its fallen pillars and grand staircases.

The owners of the house, the Lincoln's, made their fortune from hemp grown on their large acreage. As a kid, the house was rumored to be very haunted. I remember many a summer days after school gathering with girl friends, "hey, let's go to the Lincoln house, I dare you to to inside!"

I still remember the first time I entered the old house, and the eery feeling I got as I stood in the doorway, afraid to go any further, as I was scared to death!

The house has long been gone. I'm saddened to say, as it was such a beautiful home in its day, and I hated to see it die from neglect and lack of interest in its preservation.

I do however, have the memories of spending summer days walking through the huge flowered field to get to the house, and the anticipation building with each step, as I came closer to the old mansion entrance, and the fun we had as kids daring each other to see how long we could stay inside by ourselves.

I had intended to blog about natural textiles, but sweet memories pulled me into another direction this morning, and I'm glad they did!

Enjoy caring and sharing days.

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one)

 

   

 

*Birth-Day*

Is it true that with age comes wisdom? I would like to think this is true! I believe that the mistakes we make help us to become wiser. I have made my share of mistakes, but as a whole, have learned from the majority of most, and it seems those that I don't attempt to learn are conveniently repeated so as to make sure that I do. 

After all, what would life be without mistakes?

I am fortunate in thinking that I have and continue to learn from my past, present, and of course, current mistakes. Even though I don't like to make mistakes, it's nice to admit that I do.

Today is my birthday and I am turning 49. I remember as a kid I used to think that forty-nine was really old. Now that I've reached it though I don't think that way at all!

I plan to live to be an old woman, so I figure I'm at my half-way point in life!

Another interesting thing... I become more passionate about life as I get older, and am thankful for the blessings I have gathered over the years and filled in my basket. Other than the occasional menopause goings on, I'm a happy human.

Yes, I had to say that dreaded word! It comes with the forty-nine territory!

As I reflect on my life and today, I can't help but be thankful and happy. I'm blessed with good health, a beautiful family, and trust in the one above. It doesn't get any better than that!

It will be a usual Jill day, on the exception of spending some much needed time with family and friends this evening. I am packing last minute orders, preparing for the long Happy Christmas weekend, and joyfully looking forward to spending time with the one's I love.

Enjoy caring and sharing holidays.

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two holiday hugs are better than one)

Move fast and then slow down...

Yesterday was a move fast kind of day. Between licensing new car, delivering and packaging orders, wrapping, mixing, and then more wrapping and mixing I plan to slow down a bit today. 

My Uncle sent me this picture of my Grandmother. Wasn't she a beautiful woman? I remember her so well and I think about her almost every day. 

I remember my summer's spent setting on her front porch and walking through the back yard to pick sweet peas from her garden.

I remember Saturday nights as both Grandma and Grandpa watched their favorite Saturday night show, Laurence Welk. What was it about that show?

I remember walking to the toy store and Grandma always treating me to a toy, usually a new doll.

I remember walking to the creek that ran in front of the house next door looking for crawdads. That was the first time I ever saw a crawdad! I had this wierd fascination for crawdads.

I remember eating cottage cheese at Grandma's , as they always had cottage cheese in their fridge.

I remember her classic bed time stories as only she could tell.

I remember her telling me to always say my prayers at bed time.

I remember riding in their blue car and thinking how slow Grandpa drove.

I remember these things and many more, but most of all I remember Grandma's loving generous ways and how she shared each one so effortlessly.

Thank you Grandma for sharing and caring.

Enjoy a caring and sharing day.

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one) 

No Plastic Flowers!

Since it's Memorial weekend I feel it is an appropriate time to share this little family story with you.

I must warn you.. This story is a little different and you may be insulted by it. Please know that both my brother and  I loved my Mom very much. We all perceive death in different ways.   

During the time my Mom was still living she would say to me, "Jill, please don't let anyone put plastic flowers on my grave!" I can't count the number of times she said that to me, especially around Memorial Day. Mom didn't even like silk flowers. She was a natural girl that grew up in the country and always preferred real flowers over fake. I still have bouquets of flowers she picked in the fields of Missouri that she dried and gave to me.

Before Mom passed away she arranged  plans as to what to do with her body after her death. She chose not to have a grave site but rather be cremated and scattered in an old church yard in Arkansas where she grew up. She knew that way no one could ever place plastic flowers on her grave.

A couple of days before she died she told me she had asked my brother Mark  to perform the scattering of her ashes.

We honored my Moms wishes and had her cremated after her death.

My brother and his wife Julie traveled to Eureka Springs Arkansas with Mom to locate the church yard she had mentioned she wished to be scattered at. There was a slight little problem with their travels. They waited until late at night to leave KC, and it was during the tourist season in Eureka so by the time they arrived in Arkansas it was very late at night and there were no vacant hotels to stay in anywhere in site. The whole time Mom is in the glove box in a plastic bag.

They hunt for the church yard Mom wanted to be scattered in,  but could not locate it in the dark of the night. They panic and don't know what to do. They notice an old road hidden in the dark woods of Arkansas. They decide to see where it goes. They get to the end of the old road and see an old church setting at the end of the road. Not knowing whether this was "the church", they decided that this was a place Mom would like to be.

They proceed to the glove box and pull out Mom's ashes. Holding the bag they realize they did not bring scissors to cut open the bag. My brother decided to open the bag with his teeth. He rips open the bag and ...I will let you imagine what happens next. No I won't, I will tell you. Mom went everywhere. Scattered in the car, scattered outside the car, scattered,,,, let's not go there!

My brother and his wife waited several months before telling me this story. I always thought it a little odd, that when I asked about how everything went they avoided the question.

My Mom had an amazing soul! Her soul rests against mine, and always will. I'm sure my brother feels the same.

It may be odd to you that my Mom chose not to have a grave stone. To my brother and I, it's OK, we understand.

Enjoy a caring and sharing Memorial Day.

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one)

My Mom Of Many Colors

I wrote this little poem last night for my Mother who passed away six years ago from leukemia. It is a bit corny, but nevertheless, a loving Mother's Day Tribute to my Mom, sweet soft spoken Alice. She was a Mom with many talents, but mostly the perfect Mom to me.

I believe I will write my Mom a new poem every Mother's Day!

 

My Mom  Of Many Colors

My Mom could sew and she could write.

I loved it when she held me tight.

She shared her knowledge with me.

In hopes that I would be like she.

Her tender teachings taught me truths that always paved the way.

Sometimes she surprised me in the things that she would say.

She was a Mom so beautiful, both inside and out.

And as I write this little poem , I can hear her say, “please don’t pout.”

My Mom Of Many Colors  is high above the clouds and watches from above.

I miss her  tender voice and her kisses filled with love..

My Mom of many colors must shine so very bright.

As she looks down on me from the heavens with delight.

I’m sure she’s like a child, and plays amongst the angels as they frolic here and there.

And  watches down below as she sees her daughter fair.

Jill Ann

Happy Mother's Day to all my bloggy friends. Wishing you a heavenly happy Mother's Day!

Enjoy a caring and sharing day too.

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one, especially on Mother's Day)

   

It's almost time!

It rained most of the day yesterday, and as I listened to it pit-pat against the window I began thinking about  something I always think about this time of year. My annual big hunt. No, it's not the hunt for Easter eggs, although I can see why you would think that. Oh no, this is much bigger. I've been doing this hunt for some 48 years, since I was a baby. 

Have I got your curiosity up? Good. I'll give you a hint...The huntee thrives on warm weather and moisture, and they prefer their dwelling to be in a complete circle. Have you figured it out yet? I'm afraid the picture gave it away.

This is a picture of me in the early eighty's proudly showing off a huge morel mushroom I had found earlier that day on a mushroom hunt. You don't see them this big often, and I was in shear utterly delight when I spotted it next to an old railroad track. I remember the day as though it was yesterday. At first glance, I didn't recognize it as a mushroom since it was so big. Then when I realized it was, I ran over and picked that big daddy as fast as you can say Jiminy Cricket.

       

Mushroom hunting has always been a tradition in my family. My Mom would strap me onto her when I was just a little baby and head off to the woods for a mushroom hunt, never returning home without a bountiful find of the popular morsels.

Every Spring thereafter my family and I would journey deep into the woods risking our lives for this mysterious fungi. Ooh, fungi.

Yes, I did say risking our lives. I can't count the number of times I've stared eye to eye with huge black snakes, and even rattle snakes, and copper heads  just for the thrill of finding that one mushroom.

Oh and I remember the time when my family had this really good spot that we found mushrooms on every year. Of course it was some farmers woods, and yes that sign specifically said, KEEP OUT, NO HUNTING! That didn't stop my family, oh no. My Dad would drop my Mom and I off into the restricted spot, and come back to get us sometime later. My Mom and I running to the car with our bag stuffed full of mushrooms.

I remember one of those occasions.

My Dad had dropped Mom and I  off to the restricted woody spot where we always found oodles of mushrooms, and so we did on this occasion too. We were leaving the woods to look for my Dad to pick us up, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but the old farmer that owned the property standing right in front of the both of us no further than a couple of feet away, and he has a shotgun in his hand. My Mom must have seen him coming, for she had already stashed our rooms. I remember this like yesterday too. The farmer asked if we were mushroom hunting, and my Mom looked him square in the eyes, and told him we were hunting, but for wild flowers. That is the only time I ever remember my Mother lying.

Now this all sounds just utterly ridiculous to you I'm sure. I know it would to me, but it's all true.

OK, maybe I forgot to tell you that my Mom knew the old farmer since she was a little girl, but he did have that gun in his hand, and the snakes, all true indeed.

I believe my family's practice of mushroom hunting puts a whole new meaning to the phrase "thrill of the hunt".

You know, I like to eat the morel mushrooms I find, but honestly it is the thrill of the hunt that I get excited about.

Now a days it's not safe to be in the woods by yourself. That's sad to me. I remember skipping school and heading off deep into the woods for the entire day by myself back then not even feeling a bit scared or threatened.

Enjoy a caring and sharing Friday.

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one)

   

 

Let Freedom Ring!

When I was growing up my wonderful parents taught both my brother and I not to be prejudice of anyone that might be different than us. It's a lesson that I have practiced through my adult life, and have carried those same values on to Patrick.

Here's a story that I will always remember.

We lived in an average middle class neighborhood while growing up. I remember my parents always making sure my brother and I had everything we needed. Since I was a girl, I probably had more demands than my brother. I remember having all the latest trendy clothes, and we always had a warm meal on the dinner table.

On with the story Jill...

When I was in third grade, I became friends with a girl named Mamie Jackson, and yes Mamie was black. I remember Mamie having nappy afro hair that stuck up on her head, and it was always looked like it was in need of a good combing!

One day I thought that I would invite Mamie over to my house to play. I remember it was warm, and probably close to summer break.

I invited Mamie over to my house, and she walked home with me from school the following day.

Now this is where the story gets interesting.

As Mamie and I walked through the neighborhood, I couldn't help but notice her face as she looked around. I could tell she was really taking it all in. She didn't talk a lot, kept mostly to herself, so I was wondering what she was thinking. Knowing me, I probably asked her, "what are you thinking about"?

Well now I know what Mamie was thinking. Mamie lived a secluded life on the north side of town in a one room house. I don't recall her ever playing with other kids, although surely she did.

As she walked home with me that day, I'm sure she felt as though she was in a different world. She was in a world of manicured lawns, and porch screens, and shiny new cars setting in the drive way. A world that Mamie had never seen!

When we got home I remember quite clearly asking her what she would like to do, and she replied, "I don't know". I asked her if she would like to ride bikes, and she replied "yeah".

Now this is the part I remember so well.

I went and got my bike out of the garage, and Mamie just stood there staring it as though she had never seen a bike that close up before. I also remember her not getting too excited about the bike either, and I know for certain she did not know how to ride that bike.

I remember asking her if she would like to ride my bike, and she was very adamant about not wanting to ride it. As a kid, I didn't think too much about her not wanting to ride the bike, but now that moment has stayed forever in my mind.

Mamie was probably embarrassed to tell me she didn't know how to ride a bike. 

I've often wondered what she was thinking that night as she lie in bed in her one room house. Was she thinking, "I wish I had a bike"? Was she thinking, "I wish I had new shoes"? Or maybe she was just thinking how she had had fun that day, and that she was happy to have had a friend to play with.

I have often thought about this one day with Mamie, and how it helped shape me into the person I am today.

I also think to myself, what ever happened to Mamie. How did that one day effect her? I know it did in some way! I would like to see Mamie again just to say hi, and maybe ask her if she remembers that day.

I am so thankful that my parents taught me to treat everyone the same.

This story sticks out especially today!

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one) 

My Mom, My Sweet Valentine!

When I was a little girl I remember Valentine's Day being one of my favorite holidays. It wasn't a favorite because of the candy or Valentine's I received, but rather the time that my Mother spent with me helping to construct the perfect Valentine Box.

"She must have went to a special school to learn these clever crafty techniques," I thought to myself.

We never ran out to the store to buy anything to make the box. We always used what we had around the house, but that box would always be the prettiest most perfect Valentine box I'd ever lay my brown eyes on!

I couldn't wait to take the box to school and show all my friends, just knowing that I had the prettiest box in the entire school.

When I awoke this morning I wasn't planning to write about my Mother, but the past few days I've been thinking about her, and deemed it appropriate to savor those precious memories I have of her, and to write them down.

What makes a Mother special?    Her love of course!

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints!---I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!---and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I wish I would have told my Mother more that I loved her. I know you've heard that before from friends that have lost a parent. Before my Mom died, I remember hearing this from friends, and thinking, why do they feel this way? Now I understand their words, and how what they said is just a normal thing to think. 

I believe that if I told my  Mom every second of the day that I loved her when she was alive that it still would not be enough , and I would still feel the same as I do. Why is that?

I always thought when growing up, that I would grow to see my parents grow old and gray, and especially  never thought about one of them dying before me. Did thinking that way make it more difficult for me to adjust to losing my Mom?

I have sat at funerals and watched elderly people as they mourn their friends or loved ones  passing, and couldn't help but notice something different in them compared to others much younger that attended the funeral. They seem to have a aura of peace surrounding them, and have seemed to except death much better than I.

Every religion that I am familiar with leads me to believe that death is a normal part of life, and that we all eventually die.

Personally for me, I am at peace with death.

I miss having my Mom around.  Those are selfish reasons I suppose, but nevertheless feelings that I have.

I miss talking on the phone each morning. I miss the expert advise that only she could give. I miss the love that she so tenderly showed my son. I miss.....

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than none)

Wild Child!

Today I turn forty-eight! I don't feel forty-eight. Is that considered old? It makes perfect since to me that I was born on the shortest day of the year! When I was growing up I considered forty-eight to be old. When I hand  young store clerks my drivers license, I usually think to myself, she's going to think I'm old. Isn't that crazy! I never thought I would live to be forty-eight. I was a wild child of the seventy's with rebellious tendencies.

Now that I'm grown and old, I feel bad for being such a wild child, and what I put my parents through. I am so lucky that Patrick is opposite of what I was a a kid.

The seventy's were a unique time to be growing up.

Let's see if I can remember some of the high-lights... Smiley Faces everywhere, Sonny & Cher were really hot, Evil Knievel was my brother's idle, bell bottom pants that I would alter by taking bandannas and sewing them in the side seams of the legs for an extra dramatic flair. No bra, Jimmy Hendrix, Cream, Sly and the Family Stone, my first concert, by the way. I remember that well. That was in 1973, and my parents dropped my girlfriends and I off to see the concert, lot's of marijuana everywhere you looked.

Ah, yes, the seventy's. Oh I mustn't forget Love Story, wasn't Ali beautiful in that movie? In fact there were a ton of great movies made in the seventy's.

I remember the clothes were pretty cool too, and lot's of makeup, especially brown eye shadow. I recently looked at my senior picture, and thought to myself.. What the heck did I see in that brown eye shadow?

I was too cool! That's what I thought anyway. I hung out with kids ten years older than me. My parents were wonderful parents, but free spirits, and allowed me to find my way, so to speak.

I was always finding things out the hard way. Now I realize though, it wasn't necessarily the hard way, but rather the only way that I learned. I believe that characteristic is in a lot of kids today, and sometimes can be misconstrued.

So forty-eight I am, and I'm a happy forty-eight girl. I'm happy and I'm blessed! The life I've lived so far has been more than I would have ever imagined. Sure there have been bad times, but hey, if you didn't have bad times, you wouldn't be able to appreciate the good times. Does that make since? I have a lovely family, and a nice home, a job that really isn't a job at all, but a passion. I have the best friends ever! My riches far exceed my expectations.

I will spend my birthday at the shop helping last minute shoppers find their Christmas gifts. It will probably be so busy that I'll even forget it's my birthday. Oh there will be an occasional moment when I remember, and when I do I'll get a warm soulful feeling inside, while I think about how blessed I am.

It's a late night too. In fact it's my last Thursday at 10 N. Main Street! Yes, it's the very  last one! I've decided to close my shop right after Christmas. I decided almost a year ago to close, but was waiting until after Christmas, as that's my busiest time. 

Wonderful exciting things are in the horizon for Bittersweet. I am very excited! I will be working from my home instead of managing the shop. I believe I am more excited about being at home then I was about opening a shop some seven years ago. Do you believe in the cycle thing? I think I do!

I hadn't announced it on my blog simply because I was waiting for the right time. I actually wasn't going to announce it today, but after I realized it's my birthday and the last Thursday there, that seemed like an appropriate time.

I can hardly believe the support I'm getting from my family and friends, and the pouring in of kind warm wishes, and words of encouragement since I announced the closing. I have been graciously touched  by each and every one of you.

Thank you, you will never know what that means to me....

So, off I go, on this last Thursday at the shop, which happens to be my birthday. The day I will hold forever in my mind. When I  get to become a very old woman,I will look back on this day, and a smile will appear on my weathered face as I remember this finger print time in my life.

Enjoy a caring and sharing day!

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one)

The Real Santa

I was digging through some old photo's the other day, and came across this picture of my Brother and I setting on Santa's lap. This was taken at Antioch  in Kansas City, and the Santa was a Santa at this mall for fifty years. Isn't that amazing?

I was told this Santa was a retired police officer. Boy, what stories I bet he can tell. Just imagine fifty years of little kids some good, some bad setting on your lap and telling you what they want for Christmas, my Brother, and I being two of the good kids.

I used to love to shop at this mall when I was growing up. They had some of the coolest shops in Kansas City. I have some great memories associated with the Antioch Shopping Center.

Remember my friend Nita, I told you about a couple of hundred blogs ago? Nita and I hung out at this mall in search for cute boys. When Nita was around, cute boys just kind of magically appeared.

Back then, the mall  was outside. Today it has been enclosed, subject to the trendy changes malls made during the eighty's. I've heard though that they are going to re-do, and make it outside again.

Isn't it funny how things come back around? Who are these people that decide malls need to be enclosed, and shopping centers should all  be cloned?? Engineers and designers I suppose. Depending on the designers age, and the current trend and style, I guess this is par for the course.

I would like to design a shopping mall . Wouldn't it be fun! I would design the shops to be outside, reminiscent of the olden days. Always have music playing throughout the streets. Streets and windows lined with colorful window boxes, and Christmas lights on every building throughout the entire year. Cappuccino vendors on the corners, along with fresh baked goodies. Oh, and I would own a shop, and name it PINK! Just Pink! Since it's my favorite color.  Yes, I would like to design a mall.

Enjoy a caring and sharing day!

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one)

   

Stockings

How does Santa Claus fill your Christmas stockings? When growing up, Santa filled my family's stockings with apples, oranges, and nuts, along with chocolate candy. I have continued this tradition with my family, although we also get small little gifty items too.

Continuing this same holiday tradition my family had, assures that it continues to be in fact, a tradition. I guess I never really thought about it that way. Isn't that interesting?

How do traditions begin? All traditions must have a beginning, and hopefully not an end.

It's fun to start new traditions especially during this magical time of year.

Patrick started a new tradition for our family that began in second grade. During his second grade year, his teacher, Mrs. Dewee's read the class the story of "Grandma's Latkes".  Then the following day after reading the book to the class, we made latkes for each student. I say we, because I was fortunate to have been a class helper that year, and made the latkes. I had a blast! I will remember the kids faces as they crunched down on a potato latke, and I also remember how that day has stayed forever in my mind.

Christmas morning Patrick prepares latkes for my husband and I, and yes they are usually accompanied by sour cream for dipping and apple sauce on the side.

The beginning of traditions I mentioned. I believe every tradition begins with love, and every time you continue the tradition the love continues to grow, and even though my family and I are not Jewish, who cares! A new tradition has been born, and as traditions go, my hope is that it continues for years to come with Patrick's children, and that his children experience the same love that our family encounters each Christmas.

Another finger print of life....

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one)

I Got You Babe!

Another Jill story to share...

When I was around eleven or so, I loved Sonny and Cher, especially Cher with her Bob Mackie designed clothes, and her long silky black hair.Cher was the image of cool to me.

My best friend Carol and I used to pretend we were Sonny and Cher. Carol was Sonny and I was Cher. We would play the song, "I Got You Babe", and lip sync to it. Funny how we used to pretend back then.

One night while having a sleep over, Carol and I began to talk about how we could take our Sonny and Cher show on the road. We were so excited!

I went to my Mother and explained to her our new exciting idea. She offered to make "Cher dresses" for me to wear. I remember her whipping up dresses overnight, and I also remember my excitement trying on a new "Bob Mackie" style dress my Mom had made.

Where would we begin our two girl show? Well, what better debut than with my Grandmother, who belonged to the "Eastern Star", a kind of lodge for ladies, so to speak. I don't remember men being there. They met once a month on top of an old building in the next town where my Grandmother Lola lived.

So my Mom helped Carol and I load the car with our record player, and our "I Got You Babe Song" , both Carol and I dressed in our "Sonny and Cher" attire,  off to perform our first real show.

What a show it was! We had rehearsed a little skit, just like the real "Sonny and Cher Show". Me pulling my long hair back, holding my hand in front tilted, and Carol with her painted on mustache. I don't really remember how many times we performed as Sonny and Cher, but remember my Mother making several dresses, which was my favorite part!

Another one of those finger prints of life..

Have A Great Day!

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one) 

 

 

The Wig

I have another story to share about a day I remember in first grade. When I was little, I loved to dress up in my Moms old dresses and high heels. She had pretty party dresses that were perfect for little girls to play  dress up in. I remember going through my Mom closets finding all kinds of wonderful things. On one particular occasion, I remember finding a wig. The wig was short, kind of a "Isabella  Rossellini" style wig.

I looked at the wig , remember I'm in first grade, and thought to myself, "I am going to wear this wig to school tomorrow!"

I then went to my closet and pulled out my new knickers my Mother had just bought for me, and thought in a first grader kind of way, "how cute the knickers and this wig!"

So, the next morning just as planned, I put on the knickers and that wig, and headed off, walking to school. I remember having a feeling like I never had before as a child. A proud feeling, and a feeling of accomplishment. I wore that wig all day, and can you believe not one person or teacher said a word?

As I'm walking home that day,I even remember exactly where I was walking as I adjust that wig on my head thinking how stylish I was! When I got home I'm sure I ripped that wig off, and went about a little girls normal play day home from school.

My point. I am forty-eight and still remember this day as though it was yesterday.

My Mom, what a great Mom she was to allow me to wear that wig to school that day, not saying a word. I wonder if she knew I would always remember? I wish I would have told her before she died how special that day was to me.  Such an insignificant little thing she did, but yet, enormously huge to me!

It's another one of those finger print experiences that shape our lives.

Thanks for letting me share another Jill story.

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one)

   

The Old Man

My blogging seems to have taken on a bit of a twist the past few days. It is extremely slow at the shop and I'm finding my mind traveling back. This is a story I will always remember, and I want to share it with you.

While growing up in my small town, I did what most kids do in small towns. I swam, rode my bike, played with my friends, you know, normal kid things.

I remember this day as though it was yesterday. My best friend Valerie had spent the night on Saturday. It was Sunday afternoon and Valerie and I decided to ride our bikes. We took off and headed for the other side of town. We must have been around twelve or so. We had been riding all over town when we decided to go spin around one of the towns gas stations, (we only had two!)

Back then, nothing was open on Sundays in our town. Looking back it was kind of weird, but I understand the reasoning. Kind of like my rest day from Bittersweet.

Anyway, we had been riding our bikes in and out around the gas pumps and I noticed an old man inside the station. He was trying to get us to come closer. Valerie and I were totally freaked out! "What is he doing in there?" Valerie asked. "I don't know, but I'm not going over there!" He's scary!

The old man was dressed in a old wrinkly  black suit. He was tall and skinny and looked very distressed.

After what seemed forever, but probably only a few minutes, Valerie and I worked up enough courage to go to the window and talk to the old man in the black suit.

He  told us he had been locked in the gas station all night. He had used the rest room and when he came out the place was locked tight and not a soul inside. Valerie and I were astonished at the old mans story. How could something like this possibly happen?

After hearing his story we quickly rode our bikes across the street to use a neighbors phone to get help. The neighbor phoned the owners of the gas station and they came to unlock the stations door, and let the old man out.

This is the part I will never forget! The old man steps out of the gas station with a look of relief on his face. He walks over to his car, (must have been a 1940's black something, very old), reached into his suit pocket and pulls out one nickel and a half of a piece of Juicy Fruit gum. He gives Valerie the nickel and me the gum.

At that moment, something happened deep within me. That piece of gum suddenly looked like a treasured jewel worth millions, and something else happened too. I thought to myself, what if we hadn't rode our bikes there? You know, looking back, I believe that was the only time I had ever rode my bike there. I also recall being a little scared to ever ride there again. I believe, in that GOD moment, we were called there for a purpose.   

Each one of us has stories similar to this I'm sure. They are the finger prints that shape our lives. Each one significant in it's own right.

They are things that make our lives more interesting.

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than none)

Girls In Trees

While growing up in my small town I lived one block from the City Park. I remember playing at the park almost every day. My favorite thing at the park was climbing  a big red maple tree that stood about sixty feet tall. The tree stood right smack in the middle of the park. Under the tree sat a picnic table. That picnic table enabled me to jump up and climb that big old tree.  I used to climb that tree often. Each time I climbed, I would get further and further up.

One day when I was around ten or so I decided I was going to climb to  the very top. I'm sure if my parents would have known what I was doing they would have flipped out. I climbed, and I climbed until I reached the top of the tree, probably around sixty feet or so. Today,  I can still remember the feeling of accomplishment, and how proud I was to have climbed the top of that tree. No witnesses, just me and that tree.

A few years later I decided to climb the tree again. This time though, I was planning on climbing the tree and carving my name on the highest branch. I began to climb, pocket knife carefully tucked into my pocket, concentrating on each step, and thinking on my way up, someday, someone else will climb to the top of this tree and see my name carved into the branch. Didn't matter who it was, just that someday someone else will have the exact same thought that I did about this old tree.

I did it! I climbed to the top and carved JILL into the highest branch. I don't ever remember telling anyone about climbing the tree. It seemed to be a secret between me and the tree.

Years later as a teenager, I remember setting in the park with friends and even then, don't recall telling anyone about the tree.

As an adult, I decided one day to visit my hometown, and drive by the old tree. To my amazement, the tree was gone! I was flabbergasted to see the tree was no longer there. I thought that tree would be around forever, and why couldn't it?   

As I think about my childhood and that tree, I began to realize how some things couldn't last forever. Sure, I was disappointed the tree was gone, but was thankful I held the treasured memories of our little adventure forever locked inside of my heart.

Climbing that tree is one of the finger prints of my life.

Each little experience molds you into who you are.

Treasure those memories.. Even the ones that seem insignificant.

They are things that make my life and yours a little more interesting..

Have A Top Of The Tree Day!

Happily,

Jill 00 (Two hugs are better than one)