521 Lake Street or How Elizabeth Got Her Groove Back

There were those of you who tried to help me during my "meltdown-clear out" phase by saying "Elizabeth, think things over before you take such drastic steps." In the middle of an all out panic attack, I was not able to think at all. I just needed everything to be gone. I had created so many things, I just didn't think there was a creative gene left inside me. And then yesterday I answered a comment on one of my postings from 521 Lake Street.
Morning Glories and gingham, aprons and a grandparents address. Friends from my neighborhood, new friends to make. A reminder of why I love to create, and why I love to write. I love the simple everyday moments of life that connect us all.
Inspiration to be creative again. My husband's support to keep things in balance. May I tell you that after shipping expenses, I gave my husband $140.00 which he gave to his sister for the beautiful Hallo-Wedding shower. Thank you each and every one of you who so generously helped me clean house.
There are so many days I plead with my husband to just let me remain at home and not have to deal with the aftermath of the embarrassment of such drastic actions. He says to me, "People do it everyday, and so can you." I reply, "There can't possibly be others that humiliate themselves as often as I do." He responds, "Oh, I guarantee you there are."
And so I left my home for a "Poor Baby Payday" adventure with my friends in mind.
A day to unfold just as He planned.
Confidence misplaced, found again.
The joy of friendships shared.
The anticipation of new discoveries,
and the peace of heart to forgive yourself.

Yellow Woods

Today as I was driving home on a familiar road, a glint of yellow caught my eye. I kept driving; but by the time I arrived home, I knew I had to get Charlie and return to investigate.
Making my way through surrounding greenery, Charlie and I both stopped at the same moment stunned by what lay before us. A yellow carpet of untouched leaves.
I had to coax him into the stillness of the woods. The black trunks against the yellow brought to mind my favorite poem learned in fifth grade by Robert Frost.
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood... long I stood and looked down one as far as I could until it bent in the undergrowth..."
This unexpected beauty was just what was needed today. (Note to self: Charlie you need a bang haircut and a bath before the wedding!)

How I Came to Live in Delaware...or A Real Ghost Story!

When I visit the House with Glass Doorknobs, the moment always comes when my nieces and nephews plead for me to tell my ghost story. They will have invited friends to spend the night with promises of a chilling tale and a sleepless night. We wait for the quietness of darkness, comforters and pillows gathered in a circle, giggles shushed. The tale begins.

When we moved from Maryland to Ohio, it was not to the town of Delaware where we now live. It was to the town of Westerville. We excitedly pulled into the driveway of our two story colonial, my husband handing the front door key to our young son. There were bedrooms to be claimed, and he wanted the best. I could just see him at the top of the steps. He turned, his hands clutching his throat, his face ashen, his eyes filled with fear. He could not breathe. 911 called at the neighbors as my husband performed the Heimlich maneuver. A sense of foreboding came over me that was all too familiar. I pushed away the thoughts.

The home built in the 1960's was the home of my dreams. Vintage to the core with real pine kitchen cabinets and nooks and crannies at every turn. I filled it to the brim with my collections of dishware and planters, artwork and antiques. It was admired by all who came to visit. Even the uninvited.

Each time I would pick up something old, a wave of deja-vu would overcome me in such perfect detail. I would see entire scenes of our lives that I knew I had visited before they occurred. It was quite unsettling. For moments after I would feel the presence of someone following me, a breath on my neck, my personal space encroached. When my husband would be expected home from a trip late at night, I would hear the stair treads creak under footsteps, a weight at the end of the bed. I would open my eyes expecting to greet my husband. I would still be alone.

My mother came to visit, a night owl by nature who would work puzzles well into the early morning hours, asked the next day, "Why were you up and down the hallway all night? I couldn't sleep for the footsteps overhead." Investigation was needed, and my Mom was the one to do it. Coffee cup in hand she introduced herself to the neighbors and made herself at home at their kitchen table. A secret kept from us by our realtor was revealed. The young son of the original family of the house had hung himself in the room my son had claimed as his. In grief the mother had passed away very shortly thereafter. Everyone knew the house was haunted by her spirit.

Days passed, we got used to the footsteps and lights that would or would not work. I slept with the lights on when my husband was away, all was good... or so we thought. We began to hear noises in my son's room at night whose doorway could just be seen across the hall from ours. Each night we would find our son, in his sleep, hitting his head against the wall by his bed. Our bright and energetic son was not himself. He said he was afraid to sleep in his room. And then the night...

My husband who does not believe in ghosts at all awoke me from my sleep by whispering in my ear, "Elizabeth, don't move. I'm going to get our gun out of the closet. There is a woman standing just outside of Christopher's room." Deeper under the covers I went, terrified for my son, even more terrified by what I might see and never be able to forget. My husband yelled, "She's headed down the stairs and out the door." Lights and commotion and crying and huddling all in one bed. We would put our house on the market the very next day.

Our adorable vintage colonial sold the day it was listed to a family who could have been us. A young couple with a little boy and girl. We did not say a word about the house being haunted so desperate were we to move. We waited month by month for the call to come from the family saying they wanted out of the contract. Our curiosity got the best of us. We went to visit our neighbors on the other side of our home. "Have the neighbors mentioned anything funny about the house." The Mr.'s reply, "Oh you mean about the ghost? The mother calls me over at least twice a week to check the electricity that will or will not work. They don't mind the ghost at all. They just don't use that front bedroom."



We now live in a house in Delaware that we built from the ground up. We are the original owners and don't allow unwanted "guests"! Happy Halloween!

Two Thirds Closer!

I am very grateful to Mrs. Twins now that I have passed the half-way point of this unwieldy project. Now I will be sad for it to end! Each card has been so much fun to create.
I have made this project with my children in mind. This carousel is like a "one-stop shop" for all things Mom! Her greeting cards, her love of cute, her love of holidays, her love of her family.
I also think of this project as a companion to my blog. My children will be able to read my stories and identify the women who have become friends by the cards I have made representing them.
They will discover why they have the mother they do through my childhood tales. Hopefully I will have passed on why they are who they have become.
Perhaps my carousel will be given to my grand-daughter who I seldom see. She will know from the many photos of her that she was in my thoughts and close to my heart every day.
We are blessed by the people in our lives. I think aging is the discovery of this fact.We set aside all that is not important. What is left is love.
My mother gave me the gift of A Dream. She sat by my bedside and spoke of my life to be. She said that I would be a part of a large family who would care for me and love me all of my days. She said she would not be apart of this family, but that she would be close by, watching. As I wait for my husband's family to arrive for the wedding, I am secure in the knowledge that I am loved. (photo, husband and sister)


Viv - You'll get your ghost story tomorrow!

A Glorious Day!

I have been waiting for a new post from The Big Yellow Farmhouse since September 5th! Not a day's end has gone by that I haven't checked with hope in my heart. Shari's blog is where I go to be a "farm girl." I must have watched "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm" one too many times in childhood. I have pleaded endlessly with my husband to let me have chickens.
My husband just isn't able to see the thoughts in my mind as I dream of living at the Big Yellow Farmhouse. A conversation will go like this: My husband, "Remind me to pick up my uniforms at the dry cleaners." Me, "Don't you think you could build me chicken coop in the backyard?"
The sunny images that can be found at The Big Yellow Farmhouse inspired me to create a tag book with a "farmish" feel! It's subject is Aprons.
I love that young women are embracing aprons again. I have always worn one.
Home-Ec class gingham aprons. Thank goodness for the checks, I would not have been able to sew straight!
In my childhood we knew when company was expected because all of the linens were replaced with new ones. I loved watching my mother prepare for a party.
I XO the two vintage gingham aprons I found at my Antique Mall with their wonderful cross stitched patterns.
My husband's first steps with his adorable mother in her bobby socks and apron. Her hair in curlers tucked under her kerchief.

My husband's young mother Evy and her sister Marion and husband Willard. I must soon share a story about them!
I love using my wallet sized photos to create my tag books and help tell my story.
Thank you Shari for your wonderful blog filled with the cutest darn farm animals, (I would only want cute ones!), flowers to make me sigh, and nostalgia that recalls for me a favorite moment in my own life.

Clueless Bride to Be

Just days away now from becoming a mother-in-law I think back to the night before my own small wedding. My only guest were my husband's brother and sister and their spouses. We spent the evening in my parent's rec-room.
I remember thinking to myself how "normal" my family seemed in our new house at the top of the Neighborhood With the Hills. We had gold, orange, and black shag carpeting, up-to-the-minute brown leather couches and a flat to the wall fireplace glowing with artificial logs.
I looked just as my sister-in-laws to be did in bell bottom blue jeans and stacked wedges. I was happily content fitting in, but the group seemed to be giggling about something that was going over my head.
A knock on the door, my arm held back. "Let your father get the door." I could hear my father's distressed call to my mother, "Peggy, come here right away!" Commotion in the doorway, many footsteps heard above my head. "Larry, get him a chair to sit down." What on earth was going on? The group urged that we take a peek, with me in the lead! I didn't notice that one of my brother-in-laws was missing. Ascending the stairs I nearly fell backwards at the sight of a tall thin man in a floor length overcoat with a face that looked near to death with both of my parents hovering close by. "Sir, can we call someone to help you? Do you need a drink of water? Can you speak?"
I was used to my mother helping the less fortunate, but this seemed extreme to me. This man was hideous looking with bumps and warts and a hooked nose. Strands of wispy white hair on a nearly bald head. I was terrified at the sight of him! The group behind me began to giggle....
as the hideous man reached inside the neck of his overcoat and began peeling off his face!!!! I screamed, my parents stepped back gasping. It was my brother-in-law in my own father's overcoat with a rubber Halloween mask on! I had a most unusual family because, well we were just goofy people, but we never ever told or played jokes. I can remember thinking at that very moment, WOW! My parents and I have been part of a joke - we are such an All American Family!!! My dream come true!

This is a little tag book of Chris and Tammy's wedding shower that I will give them the night before their wedding at the rehearsal dinner. It's a good thing my brother and sisters-in-laws won't be coming in until the day of the wedding!

Sweet and Sinister Tag Swap

Today I received in the mail My Sweet and Sinister tag swap that I have been so anxiously awaiting.
Sadly, these are the only tags that survived the mailing in the original condition that I am sure their creators hoped for.


These are just a few of my most favorite tags. What wonderful artists in this community. I am so happy to have participated.

Two For One

I did say I would only post Mon, Tues, and Wednesday; but did I say how many times in a day I would post??? I can't help myself. As I sit here at my computer and my Norwegian Sugar Maple is a riot of greens and oranges and reds and yellows, I am compelled to share with you the beautiful quilt Heleen of Dutch Colours is making a quilt for herself from vintage 1930's fabric I sent her.
Heleen and her sister Corry both are master quilters. I can't go to bed without checking both of their blogs to end my day with joyous images. This world is so big, and yet our blogs let us discover each other. This is the best neighborhood I have ever lived in!

Good Money School Clothes

My brother and I both were fashion victims of our mother's artistic taste in clothing. Neither of us can ever recall being with her when she purchased our school clothes. Department store bags would suddenly appear on our beds. We never thought to complain because we knew that "good money" had been spent, and you just didn't waste "good money". In the case of my brother, his "good money" school clothes never got worn.
My father did not believe in Levi's. He wore dress pants every day of his life. My brother somehow became the owner of one pair of Sears Tuffy Dungarees for after school play only and convinced my father that they were not blue jeans. My brother literally lived in this one pair of pants. He was forever washing them and asking my mother to buy iron-on patches to cover the multitude of ever occurring rips. I swear he spent hours every night in our laundry room ironing on those patches.
With the coming of fall and the bearing of tree leaves, our neighbor just on the other side of our forsythia hedge at the top of our backyard placed a call to our mother. "Peggy, did you know your son changes his clothes behind your hedge and in view of our kitchen window every morning before school?"
When my brother comes for my son's wedding next week, he is bringing his class photo that took place the very day after this unfortunate phone call. He will be the kid wearing the purple corduroy bell bottoms and V-neck vest over his silky road map shirt!

A First Date

Friday night at our outdoor rink nestled in it's valley of fir trees. The warming room crowded with elbows and knees of young adults. The Bobwhites claiming their bench to put on skates, the one close to the skate rental and the cute young men that brought us here to skate in the first place.
"He's here, he's looking right at you!" came whispers disguised by tying laces. I wouldn't look up, I knew my face was blush red from my heart pounding in my chest.
Hockey skates and blue jeans, red jackets and whistles on cords, a crush to be first on the ice, "All Skate." Lost in the Bee Gees, picking up speed, my heart light with happiness. Pine trees whipping by, corner curve just ahead, flying through the air arms held close, timeless moments abruptly stopped.
A swish of ice snow, an extended hand. Warm and firm and not letting go. "Not so fast young lady. You're not skating off this time. Stay and talk with me."
Endless torture! Not a word to be found. Questions answered as though I were in school. "Well, I better skate." Please let these two hours end!
Driving home, a message from "him" through my mom. "You've been invited to watch "him" play hockey tonight." Teasing and giggles all the way home. Terrified desperation gripping my insides. "I can't possibly go alone!"
On my first date with my future husband, I brought along the Bobwhites who hovered in the background excited to be out past their own curfews. I felt amazingly special sitting in the player's box next to all the sweaty guys as though I belonged. At the end of the game my new "boyfriend" took my hand and tucked it underneath his arm and put his other hand on top of mine. I knew at this very moment that my life had forever changed. It was the moment I fell in love. To this day my husband tucks my hand under his arm and places his other hand on top.

Murder In The Dark

I believe sleepovers in childhood take on the character of the month. I know this was true of October and the Bobwhites. Meeting time 6 o'clock sharp. Belongings of worth tucked inside my pillow case, music albums and games clenched under my arms, a final goodbye to my mother as I left the warm glow of my own home. The rustling of leaves across blacktop, unseen dogs howling, supposed movement behind every tree. A sigh of relief at the welcomed sight of our Only Child's porch light. All present, we were safe from the darkness of the night.

Friday night sleepovers were a ritual with the Bobwhites. Popcorn and brownies, boy talk and board games, quieting threats from upstairs, Charlie Chan on the Late, Late Movie. We loved Charlie Chan and Number One son! At the conclusion of the movie there were always calls to play "Murder In The Dark". Names drawn from a hat. The murderer and the victim. Everyone in place, lights off, bumbling and laughing, a whisper in the ear, "Your Dead!" A dying sigh, a collapsing clump, "Murder In the Dark!" We never could figure out how to deduce who had done the killing since the murdered victim wasn't allowed to talk, but this never deterred us from playing this game over and over assuming the characters of Charlie Chan and his wonderful movies.

I have loved mysteries from the earliest of ages and think of October as a celebration of my beloved childhood novels and movies. From Nancy Drew and Trixi Beldon to Victoria Holt and Agatha Christie. Charlie Chan and The Thin Man to Columbo and Hercule Poirot. I love them all, I love October! (The little chenille figure I am borrowing from my Christmas Dixi Cup ornament made by Saturday Finds. His red has faded to a wonderful orange!)

To honor my agreement with my husband, I will be posting Mon. Tues. and Wed. Wednesdays will also the day that I visit my Peeps (as in my friends) Ah! It just occurred to me! I have created my own club for women in keeping with the Bobwhites, The Bluebirds! On Monday I will lay out details for our Christmas Tag Swap. See you then!

The Little Red House

A brisk and chilly October day. A visit to the house on the corner. My very favorite house in my hometown. Everything about this house says "Welcome" to me.
As I admired gaily shadowed sidewalk
and the last blooms of the season, I noticed that there was a commotion going on further down the walk.
My little red house was having a garage sale!
This little elf just had to go home with me along with the sparkly plastic garland. I adore vintage ornaments because they capture in a glance periods of our life, Christmas by Christmas. The sequined one, pure 1970's. One just like the hard plastic green one hung on my very first tree and for many years after.
For pennies I came home with a box of Cracker Jack charms to sort through. These are my favorite.
My Lallee's Cottage Rolodex card is the perfect place for the two dog charms. I just love making these cards and adding things to them that remind me of the wonderful women they represent.
It was wonderful seeing the owners of my favorite house again. We have become friends! I have their permission to visit again when the house is cloaked in a blanket of snow. I can't wait!

After The Rain

My husband and I have gotten to the age that we don't do well at all without each other close by. The thought of being by yourself at home sounds like fun at first, but then you realize what you really are is lonely without the comforting thought of your loved one in the next room.
This was my frame of mind as I imagined my husband and Charlie and Mr. Kits eagerly awaiting my arrival home. At least it was until I spied the landmark of my dreams in the near distance!
I was on the road to Shangrala, and the gate keeper was nowhere to be seen. A sudden flush of power came over me, "Son, get off at this exit! I've got a booth with my name on it at the Antique Mall."
Antique Malls in the company of women. It was a near religious experience!
My son with his years of training being drug through Poor Baby Stores was most compliant.
I only need five minutes of concentrated effort. I could see my booth up ahead. I could also see a young woman turning away from my target until she noticed my glazed over expression.Don't you know she turned herself around and began leafing through my cards. I thought I would faint! This is the only booth out of thousands that has vintage cards. Something overcame my usual demeanor of deference - greed!
I sidled right in next to her and shamelessly began leafing through the Valentine section pulling with my left hand as I thumbed with my right.
I could tell she didn't know what on earth could be so special about old cards. I could tell she was not one of us. She finally moved away from the prize not able to see what I was seeing. Nineteen cards in under five minutes at a dollar apiece!
I was out of the car and into my husbands arms the moment the car came to a rest. "I missed you so much, Hon!" To which he replied, "Well, at least you did until you stopped at that Antique Mall." Apparently my son had called during those five minutes!

I have wonderful cards to share with you over time that might inspire your own paper crafting. Here are just a few.

It Was Spooky!

Everything about this weekend was over-the-top fun! My son drove myself, his fiancee, her sister and their mother to attend the Aunt's Hallow-Wedding shower in Michigan. The sky was October blue, the clouds billowy. Four hours flew by with the chatter of women. This is how my son felt when we arrived at the shower:
Four generations of women to hug tight, daughters to be admired for their youthful beauty, their children to be kissed and squeezed. Never was so much love to be found in one place on this October afternoon.
The couple to be were so excited to lay their eyeballs on their gifts chosen carefully at their favorite store. Sears Hardware! This was the first shower I have attended with swooning over a Shop-Vac!
We nearly lost our heads figuring out our mystery identities by answering "yes" or "no" questions. Ex. "Yes, you used to have a body, but now your skin is missing"
The food was potluck fantastic, recipes eagerly requested. Everyone ate more than they should.
A most spooky occasion ending with the cutting of a very "cute" cake from one in attendance mother-in-law to be!

Bingo Boo!

Bingo cards make the cutest and easiest background for which to create a banner. I punched two little holes in the top corners to hang with ribbon or wire. A crepe-paper fan extends the scene, while "EEK" leads the eye to the dangling spider. This witch image was found on a greeting card along with five other Halloween spookies.


For now my card is keeping company with the cutest black cat pincushion ever, by Viv out on a Whim, and a favorite pumpkin man.

"Behind Every Great Man..."

The years that my husband served under President Ronald Regan were truly magical. His presence of character brought out the very best in everyone who came in contact with him. My husband witnessed again and again the transformation that would come over both Heads of State or the everyday man on the street. Each left their encounter standing a little taller and more confident in themselves. This was his gift. Even his political foes called him friend. He was a great man.
To get to this great man; however, you had to get through the strength of will of the First Lady, Nancy. By her very force of nature she created an environment of excellence that raised the prestige of the highest office in the land. My husband often attended to her and was not above being called on the carpet for less than expected perfection.

Mrs. Regan visited her mother on a monthly basis. Fresh flower arrangements on the plane did double duty in bringing a bright spot to her mother's day. On one particular trip the First Lady called my husband to her, "Pat, these flowers just won't do." That is all she said. That is all she had to say. Calls were made in-flight to a florist at their destination city. My husband could not believe his eyes to find a stretch limousine waiting on the tarmac of the runway filled with the shop's finest floral arrangements. He chose the most beautiful, the car sped away, he handed the flowers to the driver of her limousine without the First Lady even being aware of all the drama a simple of arrangement of flowers caused. On the return trip home the First Lady called my husband to her, "My mother loved her beautiful flowers. Thank you." That was all that was said. That was all that needed to be said.
Much criticism was bestowed upon Mrs. Regan during her years as first lady because her strength of will was all that the public knew of her. The public now knows what my husband always knew, that Ronald Regan was a great man because of Nancy's unwaivering love and belief in him. In unguarded moments aboard Air Force One, my husband says Nancy was the most kind and caring person he has ever known.

A fun fact: The precision of the landing times of the planes carrying the President or the First Lady (called the mission)is so exact that the pilots and crew bet on the exact position of a "pin" on the landing wheel of the plane such as 3:00 or 3:17. The winner is always only seconds away from the expected time!