Wishing to hear those words - memories of mom- Watch out for the 'mother's curse'

On of the very few bridal
pics from my mom's wedding

I sit here at the table, surrounded by items, items that I know would make my mom smile. If she were here, I'd also see her visibly biting her tongue, cheek, and then lips in an attempt to keep the words, "I told you so" from coming out of her mouth.

Right now, today, I'd take those words.  I'd take them with a hug, a huge giant, never letting go hug.  The type of hug that you give to your loved ones that you haven't seen in ages.  Or the hug after someone returns from danger, where you weren't sure they would return alive.  That type of hug, is the type that I'd wrap my mother in just to hear those words uttered in love from her mouth.

Light Pink and lime stripes
with island themed curtains.

My darling creative little girl, has taken her artistic abilities and has decided to apply them towards re-decorating her room and painting her walls.  Now let me tell you that this is not the first time this year, or summer, that she has painted her room.

A couple of months ago, I came home from work to find two little busy bees downstairs in her room. I opened the door to see the wall covered in blue painters tape taped in horizontal stripes, the giant painting tarp on the floor covering the carpet, and two girls with paint dotted hands and arms applying a new coat of found paint to the walls.  I look at the progress they had made, laughed and shut the door.  Letting the two girls finish their art project.

Minty green walls with yellow circles

Well, with how much fun Ireland had in painting and decorating a few months ago, she's decided to re-do her room - again - this time in an island theme.  She decided to use a theme with colors that we don't have in stock (or house).  Besides, all the left over paint has already been used on her first paint job.  This time around we decided that she'll need to pay for her room make-over her self.

With all her creative juices flowing from her mind to her hand, she drew pictures of what she wants to do with her room.  She took all her hard earned money and bought the blue corduroy bean bag (which the darn cat promptly peed on), and new paint colors for her room.  She then bought the material to make curtains for her closet, her closet that has a perfectly fine working door, which was promptly removed when the design was written down.

Fun island print fabric (notice the
great stitching - thanks mom)

She choose a fun island flower material that would work perfect for her new decor.  One problem with this new 'door' it required me to dig deep in my arsenal of education from my mom to remember how to sew curtains...

For those that didn't know my mother, she was an accomplished professional sewer.  She could, if she so desired, sew up an entire new wardrobe for my sister and myself in less then a day.  My mother owned the highest quality sewing machines money could buy, she had one all purpose Bernina sewing machine, and at least 2 Surgers.  My mother had such a passion for sewing (that quite often went unused), that she turned her passion into hoarding, for she had enough material tucked away in boxes to open her own sewing store!

When I was around 8 years old, I remember my mom making me sit down at her sewing machine and practice sewing.  No, not like you think.  She'd make me sew on a lined paper with out thread in the machine so I could perfect sewing in a straight line.  Oh, how I detested this!  I usually ended up distracted, daydreaming and have rows of waves, just like the rolling ocean, all over my 'practice' paper.

I just wanted to have a project to work on, not perfect any type of skills!  As time, I swear it was over the course of an entire year, my mom slowly transitioned me from lined paper to unlined paper, then to strips of  fabric.  Not fabric cut out in any shape, but squares of fabric for me to practice sewing in a straight line.  Once I had this 'skill' mastered, I was then finally able to learn how to read a pattern.  Good lord, all I wanted was for her to just show me how to do it and then let me loose!  I didn't care what all the darts, lines, and dots meant.  Just let me cut!

After much attitude, from me, my mom finally let me loose on my own.  Well, I don't know if she really let me loose, I think it was one of those moments when I asked dad instead of mom to finish the bermuda shorts I was sewing.  Dad, not really awake, (which by the way, I learned I could always get my way if I asked my dad a question while he was sleeping) told me sure go ahead and finish your shorts.  So to town I went.

I sewed my shorts,  finishing them all by myself.  I did lack the verbal or written instructions on how to sew the crotch area of the two legs together. Ahh, but that didn't matter, I still finished them.  Boy did they look great!  However, they felt a little bulky in the crotch area, and for some reason they rid high on the inside of my legs.  Unlike 'normal' shorts with a straight bottom seam, my shorts had a bottom seam that was hemmed upwards from the outside of my leg to the inside.

In adolescent cockiness, I didn't care.  I wore those shorts all day long, tugging and pulling on the inside to keep them from clumping too much between my legs and rubbing them raw.

As soon as I saw my mother's car pull in the drive way, I ran, with my bulky inseam, bull-legged towards her.  As I got closer, I saw my mother's expressionless face slowly, ever so slowly turn confused, then straight into laughter (this by the way didn't happen often).  By the time I ran my bull legged self to tell her about my shorts that I just finished, she was laughing - laughing harder then I've ever heard her laugh.

My face quickly dropped from an excited accomplishment, to fear.  My mother has lost her mind, and I'm in direct aim of her craziness.  I stood in front of my laughing mother, waiting for the right moment to show off my shorts.  Between laughing gasps, she slowly gets the following words out. How. hahaha. Did. hahha. You. hahaha. Finish. hahah. Those. snort. hahah. Shorts? hahah, tears, and snort.

Fear racing through my head, the thought of 'what in the world is going on with my mom'?

I stammered to respond. I explained to her that I followed her instructions, and finished my shorts.  I continued on that since I didn't know how to sew the inseam and crotch area, I just connected them and sewed them together in a circle.

At this point, the neighbors, in confusion and wonder as to what has happened to my mother, start coming outside and staring at the two of us in the drive way.  I'm standing there tugging at the inside of my shorts, my streaky brown hair blowing in the evening wind, my brace covered smile slowly dropping, and these damn shorts still clumping up in the inseam.  Oh, if only my mother had a camera, the sight of me in front of her would be worth a million. Her stubborn, impatient, brace covered, short tugging, innocent, confused teenage daughter staring at her.

My mother slowly, ever so slowly, starts to get a grip on her snorting and asks how long I've worn those shorts?  In proud embarrassment I reply, "All day."

She then tries to keep her laughter at bay while asking me, "Did the inseam and crotch area feel a bit clumpy?"

Shifting my weight from side to side, trying to hide the need to tug at the inside of my shorts, I say, "No."  Now I didn't say no out of really not knowing, but rather from pride of not acknowledging that I may not really have known what I was doing.

The finished curtains for my daughter's closet

My mom then takes me inside where she tutors me on the inseam sewing of my shorts.  I learned that rather then gathering the two inside legs together and sewing them together in a circle, you actually sew the crotch together in a straight line.  Yes, those damn straight lines.

Later that evening, my mother later took those bulky inseam shorts and hung them on the dining room wall, like fine art.  Hung up there as a reminder of that 'hilarious' day when I refused to be patient and learn from the master.   Yes, my 'fine' art displayed for all to see and then hear the lesson I learned in those shorts.

For the next several years, I learned to take her slow instructions in stride.  Not ask my dad for permission to sew.  Later on the rule came into play that I'm not allowed to ask Dad for anything while he's sleeping.  (I think that rule came about when I asked to use the car, and I didn't have a license. Of course I got caught by my mother.)

Margaret Ann Grange on her
last birthday 2/3/00

So here I sit 12 years after my mom's death, wishing I'd hear those words from her mouth  'I told you Christel, one day you'll be glad  I made you learn to sew straight!'

'Yes mom, I am glad.  I'm also glad that I got to hear and remember your laughter, even if it the time I didn't find the humor in the situation.  Thirty years later, I find it just as humors as you did, possibly a bit more.  For I have a daughter just like me who too asked her dad if she could finish sewing her curtains on her own.  While working on them she accidentally jammed the machine and pretend it wasn't her (oh how the mother's curse comes true - I only wish you were here to watch it unfold.)

Thank you mom, you were right.

Tuesday's Teeming with Treasures 'I Can't Suck'

The other evening my daughter was laying in my bed, on my side no less.  Eating what looked like a homemade frozen pop.

I asked her to eat her food on the floor. She causally said she wasn't eating (technically she's right).  I then asked her to suck on the floor.  

She calmly looks at me and says, "Mom, I can't suck, I'm too awesome!"

Now if only all adults, and children, would embrace this awesomeness attitude, we'd all be living the life we were meant to live.



Tuesday's Teeming with Treasures are quick motivational notes from my life.  Mainly I post them for my use, to help me treasure each day, focus on the AMAZING-NESS that surrounds me.  Most importantly they help me remember to get out of me head and into my true self.

On Sending Love and Opening Up - A piano gets a new life, and I send out the intent for a new piece

I've been thinking a lot lately about downsizing, letting go of things that don't serve my family or my needs anymore.  Most of the stuff I hold onto are things that have great memories attached to them, or they were something that belonged to my mother.  She passed of undiagnosed heart problems - I'll save that story for another post.

In any case, I have this beautiful piano that my family got when I was 8 years old.  I sooo wanted to learn how to play.  I remember begging for days, months, probably even years!  Finally, the day had come! (I guess my continual pestering paid off!)

I remember walking into the piano store, as my eyes beheld the pianos in front me, my excitement grew to paralysis!  All I could do was stare, and take in every detail of the shiny, beautiful, perfect pianos.  I knew I had to revel in this moment, take it all in.  I looked at every single piano before settling my eyes on the 'one'.

Oh this piano was perfect!  when you pressed the keys they all had the same pressure, the sound was angelic, the curved smooth body was perfect.   I run towards my parents telling them that I've found the perfect one!  My dad follows me.  As I sit down on the perfect piano bench, he giggles.  I knew then that I wasn't going home with this piano.  Come to find out, the white baby grand was way out of our budget.  My dad and I walk back to the ''frugal' section of the piano store, where we'd eventually find the 'perfect' piano.

I remember my mom sitting down at dozens of pianos.  Shed play a few keys and cords checking for their tone and how well it resonated.  She slowly narrowed down her choice to 2 pianos.  In my recollection, I think they were the exact same piano.  I couldn't hear any difference, nor could I detect anything visually different.

This is the piano I'm sending with love
to my sister.  It's now been 31 years
since it's been in the family. 

After what seemed like days, I'm sure it was maybe an hour, my mom pics the 'one'.  The piano of her 'dreams'.

The idea was that my sister, Beckee, and I would take piano lessons practice after school each day (at least 30 min).  While my mom fine tuned her rusty ability, and learn to play like she use to years ago.  Oh, I was so excited, I couldn't wait to get it home.

I don't remember how the piano got into our house, for all I knew or cared it was magically twinkled in by the fairies.  I do remember the first time I sat down at the piano.  My dad sat down with me and showed me how to find middle 'C'.  Then he showed me what an octave was, and how play the 'c' scale'.  I played on that piano for hours.  I think I even fell asleep under the bench!

I wrote my first song on that piano, it was 'Nicole', my elementary BFF inspired my to write it.  I think it had only 2 cords and 4 words for the entire song.  I learned how to play Star Wars, that was fun.  I also learned to love Beethoven, Bach, and many other classical composers.

About 6 months ago, my daughter
added these letters to help her learn
 how to play.  I think she's played it
 2 times since adding these.

In my junior year of high school I decided to try out for the Brigham City Peach Queen pageant.  For my talent, I decided to play a classical musical piece on the piano.  I can't remember what I played.  However, I can remember how nervous I got when I stepped out onto the dark stage.  All the spot lights were off, which made it possible for me to see the crowd. OMG was it a large crowd too!

I could see all the red blinking lights from the many camcorders recording what I was about to do.  I sat at the piano waiting to disappear, wanting to become part of the ivory keys or the black seat - no such luck.

The spot light shines in my eyes - I'm up.  It's my turn to dazzle the judges and wow the crowd.  I'd worked hard (well, maybe not as hard as I should have) with my piano teacher - I was ready.  I started playing the memorized piece of classical music.  I continued to play for the next 2 hours (well maybe on 3 minutes) the same 2 lines of music over and over again until I could figure out a way to end the disaster.

My mind went completely blank, I forgot the music, forgot what I had practiced - well except for the first 2 lines!  Gladly and quickly I end the snowballing mess.  I stand, bow, and run off the stage.  I'll bet you'd be surprised to learn that I didn't win Peach Queen, runner up, or any other title.  I was fine with it, because it wasn't my thing any way.

Ivory and Ebony keys

Years later, I'm a young adult now.  I ask my mom for the piano (because in my mind it was bought for me and it belonged to me).  She tells me no, it's her piano.  I couldn't believe my ears.  What, her piano?  In all the years we've had the piano, I  never heard her play it.  She tell me she practices when no one's around.  I ask her if I can hear her, she says no, because she's embarrassed.

More time passes, maybe 8 years since I asked.  In that time my mother passed about a year before and my dad was getting ready to marry in a few days.  I walk by the piano in his living room and my Dad asks me if I'd like to take my piano home with me.

What? My piano?  It's been 20 years since we've bought the piano, and my Dad tells me that he really got the piano because I begged so hard as a little girl.  He adds, after all I was the only one to really play it,and it belongs to the one who played it.  I'm so excited to finally get my piano home, I jump up and down while saying, "Of course".

I've now had the piano in my possession for 10 years.  In those 10 years I can probably count on all of my fingers and toes combined how many times I've played it.  Sad, but true.  I even sanded and refinished the piano, except the legs- cause I wanted to change those out, but it hasn't happened.  You can even see in the picture that I haven't stained the legs.

I sit and look at the potential of that piano, the great sounds it's capable of, and yet no one plays it.  I'm in a place in my life where I don't desire to play the piano. I want to orchestrate great nature expeditions, not piano music.  Having this great instrument is a blessing and a curse.  I love the memory, the connection it brings to my mom, but it just sits and takes up space.  Space that I'd like to see something else that we could use there.  Something that fits into our decor that could house other musical writing material.

The foot pedals - I remember
trying to reach these when
I first started to play.  I couldn't
wait until one day I'd be using
these in my songs.

So, here I go opening up to the universe - letting go of a beloved item in hopes for another beloved item, one that my daughter will have these types of memories about.

I called my sister, Beckee, who has 3 of her 4 children learning to play the piano on an old worn out, with 2 broken keys, piano.  I ask her if she'd be interested in having the piano.Without hesitation, she says yes.  Her children say yes.

They were feeling the same excited feeling I felt when we walked into the piano store.  I'm sure they'll feel the same way I felt when they finally get to have the piano in their living room.

The piano is off to another life.  To be cherished, loved, played, and received by other children.  Music will resonate through the fine keys, strike the strings, and back out of the solid wood, creating tones of pleasure to the player, listeners, and piano.

I open my heart and send out to the universe the intent of finding and receiving the 'perfect' new piece of furniture that will house what it needs as well as turn into a beloved family item.

Roll-on little piano, play on

Live on little piano, let music resonate again.  Thank you for the many values you helped me learn: dedication, hard work, coordination, commitment, and love for music.  May my nieces and nephews find the same love and values through you.