September is a season of it’s own. The fifth season. This month is different than any other. September is not lazy summer or brisk fall. It’s quiet beauty in the day and it’s lovely moon at night make this season of September my favorite one.
Have you ever worn something that complete strangers tell you how much they like it? This winter if I had a nickel for every time a woman complimented me on my black and white coat, why I’d have more money then I even paid for the thing. “I love your coat”, “What a great coat!” is what I’ve heard. I bought it for 99 cents at a thrift store. I usually wear it over a long gray cardigan sweater, add an animal print scarf, favorite sunnies and I’m ready for anything, except the fashion police, who don’t live in my city, thankfully.
Here I am this morning on my way to work. I’m standing in the driveway. Notice there’s no car in the driveway? It’s parked at the bottom of the hill which was much too slippery to drive up yesterday. I know.. the pants tucked into my boots is so bad, and I don’t mean “bad’ in the cool sense of the word. Where I come from, keeping warm and dry is way more important than looking good.
The coat was made in Canada, where they know about coats. I’ve searched to find this company and had no luck. Have you ever heard of this line?
There’s just something about the leopard print with the Canadian wolf and pine trees that I like…and my adult kids just roll their eyes. (Hey wait, THEY are the fashion police.) When it’s cold, I really don’t care that I look like I’m going down the mountain to get cornmeal and supplies. I just want to be warm. And when strangers drool over my coat, it reminds me of the best 99 cents I ever spent! When I wear it without the old cardigan and don’t tuck in the pants it looks much better. Now if I could just find a 99 cent snowmobile.
My mom was very good to write the names and dates on the backsides of all the family photos. This was back when you took the film out of the camera and brought it to the drug store to be developed. Now days when I pour over these pictures from my past, I know who’s who just by flipping the picture over. One shows me and my grandma in a church basement. I have no memory of being there. On the back my mom wrote that we were at ‘Margie’s wedding in June, 1963 in Duluth’. The names of the man sitting next to my grandma and a little girl next to me are included. Thank you, mom!
Up until a few years ago I lovingly placed pictures in photo albums. On the backsides I wrote the names of each person in the photo and the year. But since I’ve been storing family pictures on the computer, I’ve become lazy at printing them out and documenting who, what, where and when. I need to get back to doing that. Some day, when I’m long gone, my photo albums will hopefully belong to someone who’ll enjoy them and appreciate the name and date information.
I have many family photos from a few generations ago, (before my mom’s day), that have no writing to indicate who’s in them. I wish I knew who these folks were. Are they family or friends? What’s my connection to them?
Here are a few of the women from those old family photos. They may be family or they may be friends of the family. I have no names for any of them. But each women had a first and last name, and each snapshot is a few seconds of her life.
This dark haired cutie looks so calm in this candid shot. I wonder if this is my great grandmother. There are very few pictures of her in her younger years. I was told she always had her hair fixed.
I hope one of these strong women is a relative of mine. They look very pleased. I’m thinking there was a good turnout for the rally. I like that they wanted to pose next to the cannonballs. Girl power.
I love everything about this picture. The woman standing on the rock looking out to the north woods lake. She’s holding her hat so it won’t blow away. Her adorable ruffled dress has me thinking she was on a Sunday outing.
This gal has her work clothes and hat on for helping with chores in the barn. She must be a cat lover to take a few minutes to play with the litter of kittens. They must be house cats, because there is no such thing as a clean white barn cat.
Dear faces from the old family photo albums, even though you are long gone and we don’t know your names, we still see your smiles and remember your lives.
Stored in a plastic bag, I keep an old recipe book once belonging to my Grandma. There is no cover, and every time I look at it, another piece crumbles off of what is left of this aged pile of pages.
It looks to be a recipe book compiled by the local women of a church or community group. I enjoy looking at any local cookbook. Old or new, they always feature tried and true recipes of everyday cooks.
This one has ads for local businesses.
In this old book, you’ll notice the foods people used to eat are not as common today.
Oven temps and baking time are not always included in the recipe.
Here’s a recipe for Macaroni Loaf and it sounds pretty good to me.
In memory of the cooks featured in this post.
Jesus saw the crowds and went up a hill..and he began to teach them: “Look how the wild flowers grow: they do not work or make clothes for themselves. But I tell you that not even King Solomon with all his wealth had clothes as beautiful as one of these flowers. It is God who clothes the wild grass- Won’t He be all the more sure to clothe you? What little faith you have!”
Matthew 5:1a,2 and 6:28b-30 Today’s English Version
‘Like a river glorious is God’s perfect peace, over all victorious in its bright increase; Perfect, yet it floweth fuller every day, Perfect, yet it groweth deeper all the way. Stayed upon Jehovah, hearts are fully blest; finding as He promised, Perfect peace and rest.’
From the old hymn “Like a River Glorious” by Frances Havergal and James Mountain.
I’d like to share with you a photo of my mom from each of the decades I knew her, as my mom.
My mom had packed a picnic lunch for my dad , me (in the front) and friend, Jan.
Notice, bread was only 29 cents a loaf.
Every perfection in this life has some imperfection mixed with it,
and no knowledge of ours is without some darkness.
Humble knowledge of self is a surer path to God than the ardent pursuit of learning.
Onamuni is the Ojibwe name for Lake Vermillion. I was fortunate enough to spend a few days relaxing on a small island in the quiet beauty of this northeastern Minnesota lake.