The Halfway Woods

The Halfway Woods were just across the street from my home. It's leafy canopy seen from my bedroom window endlessly taller than it was in fact due to the steep incline of the earth that marked the half-way point between those of us who lived at the top and those of us who lived at the bottom.

A deep ravine always dark in the coolness of the woods ran just behind the encroaching houses that was our neighborhood. It's banks packed hard from sliding backsides, it's reward a moss bottomed brook that never ran dry. It's far edge reached with the bravery that came from crossing fallen trees one foot in front of the other, the hope to not cross again before the end of the day.

To walk on the many trails that wound their way through the Halfway Woods was to encounter every stage of childhood. From boys on rope swings testing their mettle against each other and girls wanting to prove their equal worth, to teenagers awkwardly come upon, first kisses blushingly hid by turning away.

The Halfway Woods were everything to me. A Maple found with ladder rung branches to climb and a deep V to perch became my place to read for hours and imagine a particular boy one day liking me. I would sometimes glimpse him on the Halfway Path below my tree waiting at the crest for a friend. I prayed my beating heart wouldn't alert him to my presence far above his head.

The Halfway Woods called to me on days I was filled with joy and days I couldn't wait to have end. My special tree was the place that held me when required reading from school said I was no longer a girl. I cried all the tears I could and then rested deeply, a sound below interrupting my resolve.

A familiar sandy head, one long tan arm and one blue jean clad leg swinging carelessly, an open book slowly closed held on a second bent knee. A smile looking up as mine looked down. When I think about the coming of Indian Summer and the beginning of Fall, I think about my days in The Halfway Woods and the sweetness of First Love.

Pattern for personal use only.

Hard Headed

My pom pom characters in particular have the personalities of beloved real life relatives in my family. This oh so fat Tom Turkey with his long legs and fine feathers reminds me of my father who, if you asked my mother, could only be described as Hard Headed.

Case in point, Thanksgiving 1969. The year my brother and I fondly recall as the year we nearly were arrested due to my father's Hard Headed ways.

We had just settled into the Neighborhood with the Hills from our overseas assignment. Thanksgiving dinner too much for my mother having just set up house, my father decided we would eat at the Mess Hall on the naval installation on Bowling Air Force Base in Washington, DC. Despite my mother's pleading we eat at a restaurant, my father insisted he wanted to eat with his fellow men in uniform. Even my brother and I knew what this really meant was we could eat there free as Dependents.

To get to the Navy Mess Hall, we had to go around the long air strip to the other side of the base. Being that is was Thanksgiving, there wasn't any activity on base, no planes in site on the RUNWAY! My father drove us right across the middle of the runway in our White Behemoth!

 
Sirens drawing close, "Sir, Please step out of the car." For all the times I was so embarrassed by my father's imposing height and bearing, this was one time I wasn't. I could see the small white uniform looking up, up, up at my Dad's black one with all the gold braid. My father spoke in his deep baritone, "Thank you for coming to escort us to the mess."

My brother and I giggled in the backseat of our car all the way home as my mother's commentary about our father's Hard Headed ways filled the space about us. "If they can put a man on the moon, you would think we could have a Thanksgiving meal like any normal family!"

 
Well, you get the point!

Pattern for personal use only.

Day 8

All was going well with the Big White Puppy and her Partner in Crime. The maze of baby gates that had become my home to protect my new carpet while a little confusing as to whose freedom was being restricted, was working out rather splendidly. Our sliding glass door left open, curtains hanging over the opening, their own dogie door to the great beyond otherwise known as "My Husband's Yard". And then came Day eight...

A chilly September day, the sky as blue as can be, leaves just beginning to turn on all the ...... "Hon, there are trees missing from our yard!"  Where there once were five, there are now only three. How is it possible for dog to eat a tree? There are no signs of branches or roots or a single colored leaf. Gone, I tell you, gone. But this was only the beginning ....

I should have known better than to leave the puppies unattended in the yard over long. A call to come brought the white puppy encased in mud from head to toe, her cohort trailing close behind ever so clean. It seem Elan the German Shepard, aka "The Nose", had scouted out a scent underneath our shed. There was a hole the size of Nahala the Samoyed, aka "The Digger"! I tell you I nearly had a nervous breakdown! Just try bathing a white dog whose hair will not get wet!

When TSG called to tell her father she and Joe were on their way to pick up the pups, he responded they would be waiting curbside with all their belongings. It has taken me an entire day to Spic and Span my home. I'm a little wistful about my ten puppy sitting days... Well at least the first Eight!

Lake Ann

Of all the craft room characters I make, my "little" pom pom birds are my very favorite. This fall feathered friend tells the story of my very first home as a new bride in Lake Ann, Michigan, whose claim to fame was a tornado touching down in the center of town, and a sighting of Big Foot.

Being a city girl from Washington, DC where such things didn't happen, I always kept one eye on the sky and one eye on the woods that passed by my car window while driving through town. Lake Ann consisted of a bait store where you could also purchase a tank of gas, and a post office where a key was needed to open a little door with a glass window giving glimpse of your mail within.

Our 700 sq ft cottage was nestled within a thick forest of trees on the far side of Lake Ann, the river feeding the lake winding it's way through my yard. We hadn't any neighbors as surrounding cottages were only occupied in the summer months. It was a quiet and restful place, perfectly perfect for someone like me.

On the weekends my husband and I loved to walk through the woods that enclosed us in a quiet darkness that was all our own. The sound of leaves rustling when scuffled through a favorite sound to this day.

Each morning my husband and I would drive together into the city to our places of work. I loved this time together as the car heater slowly warmed our bodies our talk reflective on how grateful we were to live in such a place.

And how grateful I was never to have spotted Big Foot!

Hobby Lobby

When I am standing in line in the lobby of my bank, I know I will have to address once again the issue of on-line banking with the teller that is assisting me. "Mrs. Andrus, do you know how easy it is to pay your bills on line?"

"I do." I reply, "But my husband's hobby is paying bills, and he simply won't be deprived of the enjoyment he gets by doing this by mail."

I love this little quirk of my husband's. He sits at his desk tucked in a corner of our bedroom with a front window over his shoulder. The sound of perforated paper being torn reaches my ears as I sit in my craft room. I know that he is as happy as can be, and I am happy for him.

Oscar

The enthusiasm of my own Newlywed Days matched the excitement in my heart of having my very first job as a receptionist in the Trust Department of the Traverse City State Bank. Honeymoon Wardrobe carefully selected each day to make the best impression. Appreciative glances from the customers I would usher into the offices of the department's lawyers.

Lunch hour of my own, I loved to window shop along Front Street, the turquoise waters of Traverse Bay glimpsed between buildings, paycheck hoped fors changing with each new something that caught my eye. A sidewalk bench overlooking the view became the place to eat my sack lunch and admire other passersby.

This was how I came to know Oscar. A simple open face that had never known a frown, a gentle soul who found joy in making others smile. Bib overalls his daily uniform, a cap with ear flaps folded up on sunny days, a grocery sack rolled down many times always carried in his hands. With each person Oscar would greet, he would unroll his sack and offer a piece of candy. Wishes for a wonderful day, Oscar would be on his way.

Reception Desk typing, phone answering, client ushering, busy to near distraction,  there was Oscar sitting in my waiting area his rolled sack on the floor by his feet. Oscar greeted me with his now familiar smile and said, "I have an appointment."

For all the days I would work at Traverse City State Bank, I too would become one of the many individuals who looked out for the welfare of Oscar. Siblings eager to leave their humble farm origins and the care of Oscar to their aging parents now wanted Oscar committed to the city's mental institution thereby giving them control of all that had been left to Oscar. It seems the mineral rights of the vast acreage of the farm had made Oscar a very wealthy man. For all of Oscar's days, his every need would be provided for, his rolled down sack never empty of candy.

 

Tickled to Death

Have you ever made something and decided it was so darn cute you had to make another?

And then another?

I tell you I tickle my own self sometimes when the characters I create turn out so unexpectedly sweet.

I absolutely love these little leafy elves with their banners announcing the coming of their own special days of the year.
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Any excuse for a celebration in this beloved craft room is fine by this Creative Breather.

Tickled to Death , I tell you!

 

Pattern for personal use only.