immediate family
Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.
My Mother's Hands
When I think of her, I think of her hands. From my deepest memories, my mother has always had long, red nails. None of this glue-on fakery, but rather her own, thick talons that she and she alone files and sculpts to perfection even now well into her eighties.
By Terry B Marks5 years ago in Families
Love In Stitches
I was only 19 years old when I married my first husband, an airman in the United States Air Force, in the hopes that we would, as the recruiting commercials promised, "see the world". Just one year after our wedding, we were sent to Clark Air Base in the Philippines for a three year assignment. But was not a pleasant tour. My husband was attached to a high deployment squadron, which meant that he was deployed elsewhere frequently, and I was left alone for months at a time in a place that I, a naive kid who had never been alone, found strange and dangerous and very lonely. So I was elated when I became pregnant, and I looked forward to the birth of my baby with excitement. But in my 26th week, I began hemorrhaging, and my baby did not survive; I was devastated.
By Charlee Talor5 years ago in Families
Full Circle
It is the 60's and Jane is getting ready to start her day. She has 4 children and a household to maintain. Jane is a "Beautician". She has a shop in her home. Her children have been told to behave while there are clients in the home, but that is more of a hope than anything else for Jane. With 4 children and a busy salon clientele, she basically lives in a creative chaotic situation. Jane has been on her own for sometime. She has been a hairdresser for as long as her children can remember. The home she shares with her children and her clientele as well is a small cape cod on Chataugua Ave in a small town called Port Norfolk located in southern Va. Jane moved here because it was around the corner from her parents who would help with her children when necessary. Jane supported herself and her children with the shampoos and sets, perms, haircuts and bouffants of the era.
By Janette B Paulk5 years ago in Families
Scraps to Bunting
The fabric scraps had lived under my bed for years—I couldn’t tell you where most of them had come from, though the patterns were as familiar to me as a favorite outfit. Some were remnants of costume making, but most were too tiny for human-sized projects. So they served smaller purposes: a simple skirt or a quilted pillow for my dolls, a bedspread or a curtain for my dollhouse, a pouch for pretend play. I had visions of using one particular scrap to make a dress for my favorite teddy bear, but my sewing skills were never quite advanced enough to attempt it. Any time I needed a piece of fabric, I would bring them all out and lay them on my bed, running my hands over the well-known colors.
By Cassidhe Hart5 years ago in Families
Home, and the scissors that roam...
I used to get frustrated, when my scissors would go missing. As I would reach for my good kitchen scissors to cut a clipping off of my plant, or to trim the edge off of a fresh apple pie lattice top, or to cut a piece of scrapbook material to craft a beautiful card, I would find them missing. Where are my kitchen scissors!
By Nazlyn Rae Hayes5 years ago in Families
The Blanket
I made a lap blanket for my grandma, “Ma,” once. I crocheted it from soft, angora-like yarn in variegated white and powder blue, a block design with white roses in the center. I had good intentions when I bought that yarn: Ma’s favorite color was blue, and the petal-softness of it would be a comfort to her super-sensitive skin. This particular yarn was machine washable; the warmth such fluffiness promised was a bonus.
By Cindy Bevington Olmstead5 years ago in Families
The Joyous Rebellion of Pockets
Walking by the lake, my daughter casually pulls a candy out of her pocket, pulls on the crinkly twists on either end, liberates the treat into her mouth, then hands me the still-sticky cellophane wrapper, which I stuff with a small thrill of pleasure into my own pocket. It will join a few coins, a pretty rock collected from the beach and a seasoning of dirt or dried flower petals plus pocket fuzz. I smile to myself, feeling slightly naughty and just a little rebellious even after all these years – it’s still liberating!
By Deborah Kellogg5 years ago in Families
Creating for an Angel
I have always believed in Angel's both those with wings and those without. The tale I weave surrounds the creation of a special present for one of my own earth-bound angels, my beautiful sister. It all started one Friday night, the night of the week we refer to as "Friday Night Finger Food". Where the members of our immediate tribe gather to consume wine, eat the aforesaid finger food and debrief from the hustle, bustle and interactions with the not so smart folk that inhabit this world. In other words we have a little whine with our wine.
By Marieke J Treloar5 years ago in Families
Create My Happiness
I love to crochet and am always looking for new ideas and techniques to incorporate into my work. Every piece I crochet, I make for someone specific and individualize the work based on who I am giving it to. I find joy in each piece I create and more joy in giving the gifts to the people I love.
By Ladean Adamiszyn5 years ago in Families
