WOO HOO I Found It!

Remember back several weeks ago (Sept. 4) when I was jabbering on about Carl Larsson and how much I liked his artwork and how inspiring his wife was to me? But I was at a loss because I couldn't find the book that talked about Karin and her clothing style?? Well, I finally found the book! It was lurking in the back of my closet (don't ask).

The book is Carl and Karin Larsson: Creators of the Swedish Style edited by Michael Snodin and Elisabet Stavenow-Hidemark (click here to see the cover). I got the book, years ago and for a song, from a Edward Hamilton Books catalog. There are lots and lots of beautiful pictures of the Larsson home and Carl Larsson's work. However, the part that I was telling you about is on page 178 and talks about Karin's clothes and furniture.

Karin did not confine herself to weaving and embroidery. By 1890 she had designed a remarkable plant stand. She designed a chandelier and beds; in 1906 she designed a rough, heavy rocking-chair and a square table for the new studio, pieces in which the function was obvious and the construction was not concealed. According to a Larsson family legend, the local cabinetmaker, who produced the original pieces of furniture, was so ashamed that he delivered them after dark.... They were clearly home-made, but the style was new and avant-garde....
As regards clothes, discreet Karin Larsson was just as conspicuously modern as in her textiles. ...(S)he wears dresses in a flowing style so distinctive that it has acquired the status of a Karin Larsson model.... ...(I)t is surprising that she dared to go against the accepted fashion.... The cut of clothes around the turn of the century, which accentuated a tiny waist, required corsets. Karin misled the eye by adopting fashionable details of the period, such as stand-up collars and leg-of-mutton sleeves. This created a modest impression, which made the observer forget that decent women should be corseted; the loosely hanging dresses were associated with 'loose' morals.
Karin also created comfortable clothes for the children, suitable for family life in the country. She used simple, robust fabrics and was fond of mixing patterns in a modern way. She did not fall for fashion trends....

The book goes on to talk about how Karin left nothing to waste and patched, mended and re-used everything. The furniture which she and Carl had was innovatively altered or painted which gave their home its distinctive and inspiringly fresh look. She was also not concerned with perfection. The end result seemed to be more important to her than the perfection of method in attaining her vision.

It is encouraging to hear or read about people who are not consumed with the herd instinct of needing to "fit in". I came across a Michael J. Fox quotation one day:

"I am careful not to confuse excellence with perfection. Excellence, I can reach for, perfection is God's business."

I suppose I will forever be on my quest for understanding excellence and quality. Karin Larsson did not superimpose perfection upon her creativity which therefore enabled the things she made to remain fresh, displaying a portrait of her own style, her own life.

Talk Radio and Tranquility Or The Lack Thereof

The phone rang and I could hardly hear the caller. "Wow! You've got a lot of noise going on." she said.
I had the phone pressed to my ear while the door to the garage was open so that I could I toss a pop can into the recycling. Bernie was in the garage, welding, while the radio blasted out three stations simultaneously. The din was incredible.

"What?" I shouted into the receiver. "I can't hear you. Hang on just a sec."
I retired to the living room where it was suddenly blissfully peaceful. The cat was asleep on my chair so I opted to sit on the sofa and continue the phone visit with my friend.

NOISE! I heartily dislike noise. I like a quiet environment. I like the calming tone of my own voice as I talk to myself. Nothing soothes me more than the soft cooing of a Mourning Dove or hearing the whirrrr of its wings when it takes off, startled by my peering eyes. I appreciate the velvet-like atmosphere of solitude.

"Well, it sounds like you've got alot going on at your house." she went on. When my husband is around there is always a lot going on because he thrives on the cacophony of Talk Radio. He derides and verbally jousts right along with the guest callers. He puts words into the mouths of the Moderators. He shouts threats or go-getums with full-throated glee. To my misfortune, many of the stations that he likes are AM stations- which means, by my definition, "Amalgamated Mayhem" because they never come through the airwaves in single file. They come through in one huge hydra with each station gyrating for attention.

The first thing that he does in the morning is turn on the radio to one of his conglomerated stations. When he leaves for work, the first thing I do is turn off the radio. If he comes home for lunch, he walks in the door, turns on the radio and smiles a greeting. He leaves for work and I turn off the radio. He comes home from work and grabs the remote to turn on the radio, then he kisses me hello. It's a never ending battle with me against the airwaves. It would have been wise for the Minister on our wedding day to have added to the promises: For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness or in health, in quietness or in chaos.... The last statement may have given pause for some serious decision-making.

When the children were at home, I expected noise, and I didn't mind the noise. It was the noise of children clomping, stomping, banging doors and screaming at each other. It was the noise of us, in turn, threatening the children. It was healthy noise. It was noise that we could do something about.

There is nothing that can be done about Talk Radio. You can't change their topics. You can't tell the caller that what he's saying is idiotic. You can't convince the Moderator that he doesn't have all the world's solutions within his singular brain. It is the noise of imprisonment to me.

Would I have run out of the church on that beautiful wedding day if the Minister had asked me if I would make a commitment to this man that included daily doses of Talk Radio? I was so starry eyed, that I would not have hesitated one moment but would still have heartily said, "I Do!" It just takes a great deal of patience to bear up under the commitment sometimes.

I Corinthians 13 has the perfect description of genuine love. In my times of quietness and tranquility I spend a lot of time praying through this passage and I can only trust that the Lord will work in me the acceptance and trust that goes along with the faith that He is working His virtuous love in me. When it gets to be too much, I can always retire to the living room, take my place on the sofa and listen to the cooing of the Mourning Dove.

Graphic inspired by tut from Auds Dezinz Here and Here

To Conform or Not To Conform

A little green shoot that has risen from the earth - - -
now free to ascend - - -
within the realm of its kind - - - -
to whatever beauty it may attain.......

It breathes - - -
as all living things must do - -
it drinks - - -
it must rest - - -
and above all it must grow - - - - -
for if it ceases to grow - -
it shall cease to live.........

Gwen Frostic "A Place on Earth"

We are living in, what I call, the Age of the Individual. It has become so imperative that we find our individual path that sometimes we have trouble finding a path at all! Everyone is squabbling over their rights: women have the "right to choose" whether they will murder their unborn child; illegal immigrants have a "right" to all the benefits of natural born or naturalized citizens; every citizen has the "right" to be provided for by the government when natural disaster strikes. And the list could go on and on. Ironically, the stream toward liberation and the freedom to claim our rights is countered by the movement of "Political Correctness" (a term I did not coin). I believe the cattle prod of being politically correct is one of the most dangerous means of control in our nation today.

When we become overly concerned about being politically correct in how we speak, we lose our individuality. When I say that I want to take off the shroud of political correctness, I am not endorsing verbal abuse in any of its ugly forms. I am simply wanting to be genuine with how I think and the opinions that I've grown to believe are healthy.

Unfortunately, this is a point to which I've come slowly, for I am a natural born people-pleaser. For years I've looked from afar and admired those Movers and Shakers who have leaped up the ladder of success multi-rungs at a time. Naturally, their success includes huge financial acquisitions along with wide-ranging respect. Then there is me. I am just me.

At this time of the year, I am watching the trees. Even now they show that their leaves are altering. The walnut tree is peppering her leaves over the back yard. Soon the oak trees will turn golden and provide us with enough leaf mulch to cover the flower beds with a 6 inch blanket of winter protection. Who would have thought there were so many leaves on those branches! Soon the trees will be without leaves entirely and each tree form will be seen for what it is. It's shape will be apparent to all.

A tree is not concerned about being politically correct. It is true to its form and is vase shaped, or conical or spreading.... Oswald Chambers in "Daily Thoughts For Disciples" on April 21, writes

"The only thing I can give God is 'my right to myself' (Romans 12:1). If I will give God that, He will make a holy experiment out of me, and God's experiments always succeed. The only mark of a disciple is moral originality. The Spirit of God is a well of water in the disciple, perennially fresh. When once the saint begins to realize that God engineers circumstances, there will be no more whine, but only a reckless abandon to Jesus. Never make a principle out of your own experience; let God be as original with other people as He is with you."

I know it sounds like a dichotomy to say that when I let go of my "rights" that I gain them. But it is true. As I've been writing in my blog, I'm finally finding "my voice". I'm dipping my toe in the stream of humanity and wriggling it around a little bit. And in the process I'm hoping that I will no longer conform to what I think I should be doing, but I will find that I have something to say that is important to me. Whether it will be important to anyone else or not is not my responsibility. However, my liberty is to ungag myself so that I can speak what I believe in. In the process, I'm finding out, for myself, what shape of tree I am before all my leaves falls off and everyone else views it.

Graphic design based on tutorial by April Hunt

Awaiting The Ships

Of sea captains young or old, and the mates--and of all intrepid sailors...

"Leaves of Grass, Songs for All Seas, All Ships" Whitman

When we went to Germany 3 years ago to visit the land of my Great Grandfather, we stood at the very edge of the North Sea where they had lived. It was September; there was a chill in the air and the gulls swooped around us like kites, looking for bits of food. I scanned the horizon and strained my eyes to penetrate as far as they could. I wasn't only looking at the expanse that lay around me. I was hungry to peer into a place where my natural eyes could no longer wander. I wanted to see my youthful Grandfather as he would have stood at this same shoreline while he considered leaving the farm that laid so close to the water.

He would have thought about leaving his family and all he knew to travel to a place he had never even seen. He would make a new home in the United States midwest where he would never see this much water at one time again! And he was leaving a home to which he knew he would never return.

His courage amazed me. In fact, all my paternal Great Grandparents left Germany within a few years of each other to immigrate to the United States where they met and married and raised families. As I stood gazing out and thinking about all this, I prayed and asked the Lord about this. And the Lord spoke to my heart things which astounded my understanding. A Mighty Hand was upon these intrepid wanderers, and their wanderings were not accidental.

I love Tolkein's poem in his Fellowship of the Rings story in which he writes "...not all those who wander are lost". Tolkein's poem is rich in its truth and is an apt description about those who came to settle this nation with mettle and courage.

I pray that our nation will not lose sight of the hope and vision of men and women like my Great Grandparents who came from a foreign land to embrace this territory and proudly make it their home. They gave their best to make this a safe place to raise the seeds they sowed here: their children. They prized their liberty, and I pray that we will never take their sacrifices for granted.



(Graphic based on tutorial by Elly)

Vintage

I walk talking to a friend several days ago while we hiked through Starved Rock State Park. Donna is involved in teaching young people drama and inspiring in them the gift of gazing at things through the lens of imagination. As we ambled along in that green lushness, sweating and fatigued, enjoying every moment but also aware that our hips hurt us, she began to tell me about a workshop she had done recently. The students decided that they needed information from "way back" and elected her as their encyclopedia!

She said something to the effect that it was rather discombobulating to be known as the vintage source of information. I agreed. I suppose it doesn't do one whit of good to dwell on the fact that I'm getting older but I just can't seem to avoid it. In one of those wildly inane Perry Mason T.V. adventures, he made one comment that stuck with me through the years. One of the characters was talking to him and said, "I'm not as young as I used to be." Perry Mason wisely and mildly responded, "None of us are."

For some reason Perry's 4 little words really set me free. You see, I've been in angst for some time about the fact that my chin has reproduced itself without my permission and my trim figure is a pleasant but very distant memory. I want to appear in each year of life just like I did at 18! I'm looking for a place to join up with Ponce de Leon's team as they look for the Fountain of Youth. RATS! He's dead! So that won't work.

I did find a Photoshop tutorial with some great directions on giving a photograph a facelift. Now, that would be a lot easier than working out in the gym 3 times a week. In fact, it is now a family joke, but for our Christmas letter one year I wanted to include a photo of our beautiful children and grandchildren. Unfortunately, I was also in the picture. I couldn't remove myself without it being obvious, so I decided to shave off an unknown quantity of pixels from each side of myself.

When a seamstress is making or altering a pair of pants, it is imperative to make them smaller by removing amounts from both sides of each leg or else it will throw off the grainline. Therefore, when I was using my eraser tool, I was quite conscious of working on both sides. I didn't want to throw off my grainline on top of everything else! It worked. I suddenly looked quite pleasant and agreeably svelte. My family and I all think it's a great joke that I can make myself look like something that I'm not and be quite shameless about it. It's all about art, right?

There are certain merits to growing older. I've gathered one or two ideas together here for you. It never hurts to run them through the mind every couple of days as a form of emotional antibiotic.

One of the delightful and unexpected pleasures is finding that in that vast reservoir of experiences, a certain level of perspective has floated to view like water lily flotsom. There is comfort in knowing that, merciful heavens, you didn't totally destroy your children! And, there were several times that you actually made right decisions! These can be such heady revelations and you may find the need to back over to a chair and sit down or you'll collapse from shock. Actually, I think that this revelation is one of the most fun parts of growing older. When you're young you are still wrestling with the giants. When you're older, you see that there were a number of times when you actually kicked them in the groin and they backed away.

I take great encouragement from the Bible's perspective on aging and wisdom. Unfortunately, not too many people want to hear the lurid details of my learning journey, but they don't always mind getting the fallout from the lessons I've learned. Especially if I can phrase those lessons in few words, without bossiness or judgment, and can be there to support them if things turn sour.

The bottom line: is it bad being considered vintage? I don't think it is if your spirit is still beautiful. That is the true Fountain of Youth.

(Graphic based on tutorial by Kimbearly Membership Group.)

Freedom Flyers

A little bird I am,
Shut from the fields of air;
And in my cage I sit and sing
To Him Who placed me there;
Well pleased a prisoner to be,
Because, my God, it pleases Thee.

Naught have I else to do;
I sing the whole day long;
And He Whom I most love to please
Doth listen to my song;
He caught and bound my wandering wing;
But still He bends to hear me sing.

Thou hast an ear to hear,
A heart to love and bless;
And though my notes were e'er so rude,
Thou wouldst not hear the less;
Because Thou knowest as they fall,
That love, sweet love, inspires them all.

My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty;
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of the soul.

Oh, it is good to soar
These bolts and bars above,
To Him Whose purpose I adore,
Whose providence I love;
And in Thy mighty will to find
The joy, the freedom of the mind.

Madame Jeanne Guyon (1648-1717)
"A Prisoner's Song"

Madame Guyon was imprisoned in the Bastille for 15 years for her beliefs, yet this poem conveys the beauty and the freedom of a clear conscience, which is what the Lord Jesus Christ gives us. The circumstances of life may rise up and strip away from us wealth, security, health, or family, but if we have a clean conscience before God through our faith in Jesus Christ, we can continue to soar in freedom. This is a gift which no one can take away from us no matter what our circumstances may be!

The quotation on the picture is from the 4th stanza of Richard Lovelace's poem "To Althea, From Prison". He speaks of the same kind of freedom. I find the courage of these people and the beauty of this poetry to be strengthening in an age which would have us take the easy way out, find easy solutions or place the blame for our problems on someone else.

There is no blame placed in these poems. There is only the security of resting in their relationship with the Lord and the knowledge that He is in control of all their circumstances. This is true victory!

The Landing

"Hawks are social birds." my Dad used to say. He would add, "You will see a lot of them perched on power poles along the road." Therefore, whenever we're on a drive back to Iowa, I like to count how many hawks I see as we travel along the interstate. And I wave to them. I think what Dad meant by the hawk being social is that they are not so shy of man. It makes me happy to see a hawk who is one of a social bunch. It pleases me to wave at a creature that doesn't shun me.

In actuality, each one is oblivious to a red Vibe on a busy highway. He's occupied, instead, with watching for the faint movement of a grassblade knowing that hustling underneath it would be a tasty morsel for dinner.

Can birds smell?

David Allen Sibley in The Sibley Guide to Bird Life & Behavior, says that in comparison to vision and hearing, the other senses in a bird are secondary. However, in nocturnal birds, vultures and tubenoses, the sense of smell can be significant. These birds are able to locate carrion by detecting the odor of a chemical that is emitted by rotting meat. (Since I procrastinate at this bit of housekeeping, it's therefore a good thing there isn't a Turkey Vulture near my refrigerator.)

There is something wondrous about a bird. The fact that they can soar in places that we can only think about is, I think, part of the wonder. How delightful it is to spot a fallen feather, claim it as your own and then poke it into your cap! A bird's plumage is so luxurious and gorgeous that it makes it hard to believe that underneath that lofty bit of color is a scrawny creature with a pokey neck.

A friend of mine raises Amazon parrots and for awhile also raised cockatiels. I have a prized cinnamon cockatiel hand-raised and given to me from Tami. I named her Acorn and she and I are buddies. I collect Acorn's fallen feathers and have been known to give them as special gifts or use them in some of my art projects.

I went to a quilting class one time where the quilt artist was doing a series of quilts on the topic of feathers. She was not just quilting ordinary feather shapes, however. This women studied feathers by magnifying them many many times and then made dazzling designs from the hidden-to-the-natural-eye shapes and colors. She showed slides of the colors and textures that were underlying the surface. They were sensational.

Since that time, I have been fascinated by thinking about those hidden things that are so easily passed over in the superficial glance or in the haste of the moment. I find that if I remain enchanted by small treasures, then all of life holds wonderment. But if I lose sight of the intrigue of finding the veiled treasure, then I find myself becoming self-absorbed and depressed. I would much rather spend my time waving at hawks and thinking about their aloof but friendly beauty than being annoyed about my ingrown toenail. I'm thankful that God created such variety to enchant and draw us out of ourselves.

"Is it by your understanding that the hawk soars, Stretching his wings toward the south? Is it at your command that the eagle mounts up And makes his nest on high? On the cliff he dwells and lodges, Upon the rocky crag, an inaccessible place. From there he spies out food; His eyes see it from afar." Job 29:26-29

(Graphic based on tutorial by DaBratz membership group.)

Summer Bounty

"He chooses our inheritance for us..." Psalm 47:4

It doesn't seem like we've had enough summer. And here it is, harvest time already. The tomatoes are red and fragrant on the vine. Green, purple and jalapeno peppers are everywhere. And the sweet corn! Oh the sweet corn is magnificent. As far as I'm concerned, summer is the best time of the year.

Bernie bought a red scooter to drive back and forth to work. On fresh sunny Sunday afternoons we ride out to tour the countryside and learn some of the back roads in our newer territory. We marvel at how different things look on a scooter than they do in a car or walking or even on a bicycle. The scents are heady and concentrated. There is the grassy warmth of newly mown hay and the intense aroma of lilies blooming in orange richness in the ditches. Farming has changed dramatically in the past 40 years with the result that there is less livestock on family farms. I miss the earthy smell of animals on our afternoon scooter rides.

As a child when I would go out into the pasture to round up the cattle for milking, I'd saunter down the lane, past the cowyard, and smell the pungent aroma of future fertilizer. A farm child learns to distinguish the difference between the smell of cattle, hogs, horses, or chickens. There was also the unmistakable oily smell of bats who had hijacked the upper regions of the house. I miss the farm smells - and I miss the trill of the meadowlark in the fields where I laid in the grass making cloud pictures or as I strolled down the road on my way to the corner creek. Yes, I greatly miss the meadowlark - yet everytime I am blessed enough to hear one, I always thank God for the pleasure of hearing one again.

Diane Ackerman, in her book A Natural History of the Senses says, "One of the real tests of writers, especially poets, is how well they write about smells." I believe it! It is uncannily tough to put words to what is passing through your nose and into your heart. It seems that an aroma has the ability to penetrate the heart so as to leave a lasting impression of place and time forever imprinted in our brains. Smell that smell again, and you are instantly transported to a special moment in your personal history. I am going to work at learning how to put words to scents that waft around me. This will be my new challenge for this season.

Graphic made using tutorial by Sandy at DaBratz Designs Membership

Bohus Knitting & Excellence

"One critic aptly reported that 'Emma Jacobsson's special mark is the finicky way she chooses colors. She is acutely sensitive to colors and this is what has given Bohus Stickning its special artistic value...
"Emma's attention to flawlessness was ingrained in her personality....
"Ultimately, it was Emma's unrelenting purusuit of quality that enabled Bohus Stickning to achieve the high praise it received. She demanded and expected an enormous amount of dedication from her workers, designers, and knitters. But in return, she gave them respect, empathy, and a sense of pride. Because Emma was highly respected, she was able to make suggestions and changes in the designers' patterns without alienating them. She stimulated their creativty and encouraged them to experiment with colors, yarns, and patterns. Above all, Emma was an inspiration and friend to her colleagues." (from Poems of Color p. 26)

It is challenging to read of a personality which was strong enough to stand against mediocrity and compromise no matter what the cost may have been to her personally. She could not give in to mediocrity. She could not. She would not! In the process, even though she may have been difficult to work with at times, in her inate fairness, she also impelled those who worked with her to higher levels of excellence.

As I posted some days ago, I have been pursuing the concept of "excellence" and "quality" for some time. What are its hallmarks? What are its earmarks? How is it that we can separate out from the crowd those things which are excellent and of great quality?

I remember watching a T.V. show many years ago now. I did not know anything about ballet and this PBS special was about some ballet thing. I sat down to catch a few minutes of it and I saw a group of dancers come out onto the stage and begin to twirl and pirouette in the beauty of the dance. Suddenly, a dancer exploded out of the group and began to leap with such power that I was drawn in to his persona immediately. I felt goosebumps rise on my arms and I whispered to myself, "Just WHO is that man?!" It turned out that "that man" was Mikhail Baryshnikov.

Even though there are other great YouTubes of Baryshnikov dancing, I selected this one because I liked the contrast between him and Gregory Hines (who is also a very good dancer). Yet, even though Hines is very good, I love the restraint and control that is apparent with Baryshnikov. There is a tightness, an intensity, an almost imprisoned sense of power that is only released in momentary couplets which add to the movement's enormity and which entraps the viewer and draws him into a unity with Baryshnikov as he dances. Even though I am not dancing when I see Baryshnikov dance. I am dancing when I watch Baryshnikov dance, for he pulls me into himself and I no longer an impartial viewer; I am dancing with Baryshnikov.

While looking at Mikhail Baryshnikov YouTube clips, I found this one with Alice Waters. The things which she said encapsulated the concepts that I so appreciate and long to do: to impel others to excellence and quality in their own way.

So, just what is it which is the hallmark of "excellence"; the earmark of "quality"? The word "excellence" contains within it a timbre unlike any quality that surrounds it. Perhaps, ipso facto, it is the bearing which comes from the commitment to the process itself. If the process is seen as a job, it loses an aspect of its life. If it loses its life, it loses its excellence.

Whipped Ocean

Yesterday I got an email from a friend with pictures of an event in Yamba in New South Wales, north of Sydney, Australia, where foam waves washed upon an entire beach and extended 30 miles out into the ocean. This event had not been seen at the beach for more than 30 years.

"Scientists explain that the foam is created by impurities in the ocean, such as salts, chemicals, dead plants, decomposed fish and excretions from seaweed. All are churned up together by powerful currents which cause the water to form bubbles. These bubbles stick to each other as they are carried below the surface of the current toward the shore. As a wave starts to form on the surface, the motion of the water causes the bubbles to swirl upwards and, massed together, they become foam. The foam 'surfs' towards shore until the wave 'crashes', tossing the foam into the air."

A 12 year old surfer said this: "Me and my mates just spent the afternoon leaping about in that stuff." he said. "It was quite cool to touch, it was really weird. It was like clouds of air, you could hardly feel it." (quoted from the email received)

I have been doing a little Bible study on the book of Jude. Actually I have been spending weeks reading, rereading, and pondering the verses in Jude while also reading a couple of commentaries on Jude. The entire book of Jude is warning of apostates which would infiltrate the church in the last days. Jude warns us very explicity and graphically describes what these apostates are like. I couldn't help but think of these verses in Jude when I saw the pictures:

These are men who are hidden reefs in your love feasts when they feast with you without fear, caring for themselves; clouds without water, carried along by winds; autumn trees without fruit, doubly dead, uprooted; wild waves of the sea, casting up their own shame like foam; wandering stars, for whom the black darkness has been reserved forever. Jude 12,13

What a graphic depiction of apostates these pictures gave me! The composition of the foam and the words of the young boy as he describes the delight he had "playing" in the foam and what it felt like were serious words of warning to me.

How easy it is to not think about what is happening around us and to just "play" with something that is different, a unique event, or an incredible phenomena which could actually be very unhealthy for us. Something that is such fun can, in actuality, be that which is hollow and empty and be "clouds of air". If we "hardly feel" it, we will not be alert to its dangers. Apostasy, or false doctrine, is formed in much the same way as this cappuccino ocean was formed: impurities that are tossed together, impurities, which when churned together, stick together.

Such an incredible word picture of what we are to be forewarned, and thus forearmed about.

Thoughts on Children and Excellence

I've been thinking lately about whether young children have an almost instinctive ability to recognize excellence. One of our granddaughters has just turned 4. I grant you that she is an "old soul" who has a tidy as well as a pensive personality. She loves her books and gathers an alpine mountain to take with her when she is called upon to nap or prepare for a night's sleep. This child went to a friend's house and when she came home she said to her Mother, "Mama, ____ doesn't have any good books. Mimi (that's ME!) has good books."

What kind of books do I have for her when she visits? I have the classics with great pictures and rollicking stories. I am determined to spark a desire in all my Grandchildren to continue to pursue excellence in their lives and to be alert to those things which are commonplace or ordinary so that they will always desire to reach for the best that they can afford.

This has been a quest of my own for many years. What constitutes excellence? What is it about an object that denotes "quality"? I found a book many years ago entitled Art In Everyday Life by Harriet and Vetta Goldstein. Granted, it was an ancient book. The book's photographs went back to World War I. Yet, many of the concepts within this book were timeless. The Goldstein gals believed that those things which surround us in the dailiness of our lives influence how we think. If we pursue artful beauty, even in the smallest detail, we will become enlarged in our conceptual thinking. They also maintained that the lack of money does not militate against surrounding yourself with things which are beautiful. I really appreciated the comparison photographs they used which juxtapose good design against bad design, even though the photos were ancient. It still helped.

Because I have been largely self-taught and find that I have to be alert in order to stumble across helpful information; this book has been a help to me. I'm sure there is a book which is more contemporary that deals with the same topics and is filled with even more helpful information, but I'll have to inadvertantly amble over it! My husband's homily expression: "Even a blind sows finds an acorn every now and then.", conveys my own not-very-scientific process!