Chapter 5: Lust and Consequences

It's a rainy thundery day here in Kingwood. The trees are leafing out against the grey sky, and flowers are abounding everywhere.

Except for the flowers and leafing part, it's a perfect backdrop for today's installment in the Dustin Family saga.

There's even a gloomy scripture to go with this segment:

"They died in their youth, And their life ends among the perverted persons."
Job 35:14

Doesn't get much gloomier than that now does it?

But hey, I didn't come up with this. Cotton Mather came up with this verse to use as his sermon text for his Sabbath message sometime in the late spring of 1693, in which he delivered to his congregations what he later unabashedly referred to as his greatest sermon ever.

The subject of his sermon?
The confessions of Elizabeth Emerson.

Elizabeth Emerson, Hannah Emerson Dustin sister.

You may (or more likely may not ) recall that Hannah had sister Elizabeth who was eight years younger than herself, who also had birthed twins, and who lay dead with her twins beside her as Hannah gave birth to baby Martha.

And what did Elizabeth Emerson do that was so dreadful that her confessions warranted a sermon preached by the most significant preacher of the day?

(Pictured above: Cotton Mather b: 1663-d:1728)

Let's back up a moment for those who are not familiar with Cotton Mather.

"Mather was a man of vast learning, prodigious talent, and expansive interests. He owned the largest personal library in the New World--consisting of some 4000 volumes ranging across the whole spectrum of classical learning. He was also the most prolific writer of his day, producing some 450 books on religion, science, history, medicine, philosophy, biography, and poetry.

His greatest work Magnalia Christi Americana, dripping with allusions to classical and modern sources, was published in 1702.He was the pastor of the most prominent church in New England. He was active in politics and civic affairs, serving as an advisor to governors, princes, and kings.

He taught at Harvard and was instrumental in the establishment of Yale. He was the first native-born American to become a member of the scientific elite in the Royal Society.

And he was a pioneer in the universal distribution and inoculation of the small pox vaccine.

His father, Increase Mather, was the president of Harvard. His maternal grandfather was John Cotton who wrote the important Puritan catechism for children, Milk for Babes, as well as drawing up the Charter Template with John Winthrop as a practical guide for the governance of the new Massachusetts Colony. The city of Boston was so named in order to honor him--his former parish work in England was at St. Botolph's Boston.

According to historian George Harper, together these men laid the foundations for a lasting "spiritual dynasty" in America. Even so, according to his life-long admirer, Benjamin Franklin, "Cotton Mater clearly out-shone them all. Though he was spun from a bright constellation, his light was brighter still."

And according to George Washington, “He was undoubtedly the Spiritual Father of America’s Founding Fathers.”"

Clearly, Cotton Mather was formidable, and when he spoke, people listened.

At the time of the sermon delivery, Mather was but 30, and Elizabeth, allegedly seated in the church at the time, was 29 years old.

Contemporaries. Not an elderly man speaking of a wayward young lass, but a peer in terms of age.

Elizabeth was the sixth child of Michael and Hannah Emerson. Her life would have passed without notice except for three events:

Firstly was the beating she received at the hands of her father at age 12, which was sever enough to warrant charges to be brought up in court against her father.

Her father was fined and bound to good behavior, and the fine dropped later when "good behavior" was reported. Corporal punishment of children was recommended at the time, and sever chastisement was not uncommon. What Elizabeth did to spur her father to what was reported as "cruel and excessive beating" was not included in the court documents.

Her older sister Hannah may or may not have been in her father's home at time, as date variation split at that point in time. She may have already married, or would marry Thomas Dustin within a few months.

It is a curious fact that Hannah and Thomas named their second son (my fore bearer) "Nathaniel" rather than "Michael" after her father, as was customary naming pattern of the time.

We'll never know the true feelings of the family towards Michael Emerson. But apparently the beating of young Elizabeth was to later be seen as an unsuccessful endeavour towards the correction of a wayward soul.

Ten years later, about the time that Hannah gave birth to her sixth child John, Elizabeth Emerson gave birth to her first child, a daughter named Dorothy.

An illegitimate child. Historical records point to the child's father as being Samuel Ladd, a wealthy, older, influential, and married man in the community.

Following a brief unsuccessful attempt by Michael Emerson to pin the blame on a younger, less notable, and single member of the community, the fervor died down, and life went on. Elizabeth and Dorothy resided in her parents home.

Apparently it was not a one time indiscretion however.

Five years later Elizabeth was pregnant again. She hid her condition well, telling only Samuel. Her mother suspected Elizabeth was pregnant again, and asked her daughter if she was expecting. Elizabeth denied the possibility.

On May 17, 1691, Elizabeth went into labor during the night, in a trundle bed at the foot of her parent's bed. They never awoke as she silently delivered twin girls, which were either still borne or died shortly afterwards.

For three days Elizabeth concealed her dead babies in a trunk, sewn up in a bag until she could secretly bury them outside in a shallow grave behind the Emerson home.

But it would not be long until Elizabeth's "sins" were discovered.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's installment entitled: "And then it only got worse."

Note: All this background information is being provided first to ensure the final scenes of the Dustin story is fully understood, and second to fill up the five day space in time between the birth of baby Martha on March 9th, and the continuation of Thomas and Hannah's story which will occurred on March 15th, when the dramatic events of that day in 1697 will be revealed.

Bonus section: As a reward for plowing through all this history, enjoya millinery treat, a visit to a Canadian millinery shop via this link!

Chapter 4: Back to Millinery

"But Jill," I hear you complain, "I don't care about boring old wars that took place hundreds of years ago. I'm only interested in hats!"

Well, of course you are!

And so were they. Back three hundred years ago a huge fashion fad was sweeping both Europe and the New World: Beaver Hats.

Hats like this one:

And ones like this one:

(The above style was favored by the Cavaliers, or Royalists, who were pro King Charles and anti Oliver Cromwell. My husband's ancestor was a Cavalier, and his portrait included a similar hat.)

Now these hats were required for appearing in court before the King. And the men looked mighty fine as they swept the huge hats with waving feathers off their heads, and "made a leg" of a bow.

Mmm..mmm...mmm. Mighty fine indeed.

But the Puritans (like my Dustin family) eschewed all that. Plain would do for them. How unseemly to deck yourself out for show instead of garbing yourself modestly and in fear of God.
So they wore hats like this one:
Both men and women Puritans wore that style of hat.

There now. Isn't that more modest?

Of course it is. Which I guess is the reason I was inspired to make this hat awhile ago:

Same style. Modest pink. What can I say...my roots go deep.
I made this hat from straw, even though as an Oregon State University Alumni, I myself am a Beaver. (Don't you just love how all this is coming together???)

Regardless of the style, way back then the hats were all made from beaver pelts. The cavalier's hats took a lot of beaver. And the beaver hats cost in today's dollars around $650 USD. (or 816 Canadian, for the folks up north. Hi ya'll!)

All of the above information was abstracted from this site, which I found absolutely fascinating.

There is a link there that walks you step by step through the process of making a beaver hat, and another that explains the fur trade.

Russia (Hi Lovella!) played a role in all of this, as it was the Russians that developed a secret felting process needed for beaver fur, and created a monopoly on the beaver felting market until the early 1600's.

Anyway, long story short:

1. Everyone in the 1600's were wild about beaver hats.

2. Europe ran out of beavers, and the European Beaver was identical. to the North American beaver.

3. Trapping and trading beaver with the best fur (which happened to be found in the Northern New England and Eastern Canada area) was very profitable.

4. Everyone also liked making money.

5. And people were greedy, and so fighting broke out over trapping rights.

So in addition to the Catholic-Protestant issues, the French-English monarchy issues, there was also the Colonist versus Canada versus Native American each wanting the rights to the beaver fur trade.

And all because (sigh. swoon...) there is just nothing like a good looking hat to make you feel great!

Which will bring us to tomorrow's episode in the saga of the Dustin family:

Lust and Consequences

Stay tuned!

Chapter 3

Ever heard of Williamsburg?
It is a popular tourist destination for those seeking to observe re-enactment of early American life. The town was named after King William, he who had wed Mary, the daughter of King James. Together they reigned as "William and Mary", and impacted history in many ways, and are probably best recalled through the mention of William and Mary College, and William of Orange. Here's his portrait.

Interestingly enough, while his reign impacted my family, his Catholic faith had impacted my husband's family.

England had allowed the colony of Maryland to be established primarily as a sanctuary for Catholics. Later as tensions mounted, in 1649 the Crown via Lord Baltimore appointed the Protestant Governor Stone, a Puritan, to manage the outpost to assure that the area would not hold solely to Catholic sentiment. Governor Stone signed the Religious Tolerance Act, which premitted liberty to all Christian denominations.
Governor Stone originally had arrived in Virginia area in 1628. His brother-in-law, Thomas Spriggs, (my husband's ancestor) arrived in Virginia following the exile of Charles II.

Below is a short background of the political tensions which were impacting the Puritans Thomas and Hannah Dustin, and their family.


KING WILLIAM'S WAR (1690-1697)

King James II of England, unlike his profligate brother, Charles II, was extremely religious, and his religion was that of Rome. The large majority of the people of England were Protestants; but they would have submitted to a Catholic king had he not used his official power to convert the nation to Catholicism.

From the time of James's accession, in 1685, the unrest increased, until, three years later, the opposition was so formidable that the monarch fled from his kingdom and took refuge in France.

The daughter of James and her husband, the Prince of Orange, became the joint sovereigns of England as William and Mary. This movement is known in history as the English Revolution.

Louis XIV, the king of France, was a Catholic and in full sympathy with James. Moreover, he denied the right of a people to change sovereigns, and espoused the cause of James; and war between the two nations followed.

This war was reflected in America, as King William rejected an offer of colonial neutrality, and it is known as "King William's War."

The English colonies had long watched the French encroachments on the north; the French determined to hold the St. Lawrence country, and to extend their power over the vast basin of the Mississippi; and each was jealous of the other concerning the fisheries and the fur trade.

To these differences must be added an intense religious feeling. The English colonies were almost wholly Protestant except Maryland, and even in Maryland the Protestants were in a large majority.

New France was purely Catholic, and the two forms of Christianity had not yet learned to dwell together, or near together, in harmony.

King James had not confined his designs to the home country; he had not only revoked some of the colonial charters and sent the tyrant Andros to domineer New England, but he had instructed his Catholic governor of New York, Dongan, to influence the Iroquois to admit Jesuit teachers among them, and to introduce the Catholic religion into the colony. (NOTE: THIS PIECE OF INFORMATION IS IMPORTANT TO UNDERSTAND WHAT LATER HAPPENS IN OUR STORY.)

It was at this time that Leisler seized the government of New York, and called the first colonial congress. Exasperated by these things, the English colonists were eager for the conflict, while the French Canadians were equally ready to grapple with them.

King William's War was very different in aim and meaning in the colonies from what it was beyond the Atlantic. In America it was the first of several fierce contests, covering seventy years; or, it may be said, it was the beginning of a seventy years' war with intervals of peace, for the supremacy (Catholic versus Protestant) in North America. (italics and bold is mine for emphasis)

The war began by a series of Indian massacres instigated by Frontenac, the governor of Canada. The first of these was the destruction of Dover, New Hampshire, a town of fifty inhabitants.

One night in July, 1689, two squaws came to the home of the aged Major Waldron and begged a night's lodging. Being admitted, they rose in the night and let in a large number of Indians who lay in ambush.

Waldron was put to death with frightful tortures, the town was burned to the ground, about half the people were massacred, and the remainder were carried away and sold into slavery.

In the following month Pemaquid, Maine, met a similar fate. In February, 1690, a body of French and Indians, sent by Frontenac, came to the town of Schenectady on the Mohawk. For nearly a month they had faced the wintry blasts, plowing their way through the deep snow on their mission of destruction.

At midnight they fell with dreadful yells upon the sleeping village. In a few hours all was over; the town was laid in ashes. More than sixty were massacred, many were taken captive, a few escaped into the night and reached Albany. The towns of Casco and Salmon Falls soon after met a similar fate.

The war spirit was now aroused throughout the colonies. It was determined, through Leisler's congress, to send a land force against Montreal by way of Lake Champlain, and a naval expedition against Quebec.

The expenses of the former were borne by Connecticut and New York, and of the latter by Massachusetts. Sir William Phipps of Maine, who had this same year, 1690, captured Port Royal in Nova Scotia, commanded the naval force. He had thirty or more vessels and two thousand men.

But the vigilant Frontenac, in spite of his fourscore years, (eighty years old) was on the alert. He successfully repelled the land force, which turned back disheartened, and then hastened to the defense of Quebec. But here he had little to do. Phipps was a weak commander, and the fleet, after reaching Quebec and finding it well fortified, returned to Boston without striking an effective blow.

The people of Massachusetts (including no doubt the Dustins who were living there at the time)were greatly disappointed at the failure of the expedition.

The debt of the colony had reached an enormous figure, and to meet it bills of credit, or paper money, were issued to the amount of £40,000. Phipps was soon afterward sent to England to seek aid of the king and a renewal of the old charter that Andros had destroyed.

King William was hard pressed at home, and he left the colonies to fight their own battles; he also refused to restore the old charter, but he granted a new one, as we have noticed, and made Phipps the first royal governor of Massachusetts.

The war dragged on for several years longer, but it consisted only in desultory sallies and frontier massacres. The towns of York, Maine, Durham, New Hampshire, and Groton, Massachusetts, were the scenes of bloody massacres, and hundreds of people were slain.

In 1697 a treaty of peace was signed at Ryswick, a village near The Hague, and the cruel war was temporarily over. Acadia, which had been prematurely incorporated with Massachusetts, was restored to France. But this treaty was only a truce. The English and French nations had not learned to love each other, and the questions in dispute had made no progress toward settlement.

After the death of William and Mary the crown of England was settled (1702) on Anne, the sister of Mary. James, the exiled king, died in 1701, and his son, known as James the Pretender, was proclaimed king of England by the French sovereign.

This act alone would have brought another war, but there was another provocation. King Louis of France placed his grandson, Philip of Anjon, on the throne of Spain, and thus greatly increased his power among the dynasties of Europe. This was very distasteful to the English, and the war that followed was known as the War of the Spanish Succession.

In America, however, it was styled Queen Anne's War

(1702Source:History of the United States of America, by Henry William Elson, The MacMillan Company, New York, 1904. Chapter VIII p. 162-165

Colonial America had excellent communication. Journals were kept on papers that to this day are supple and readable. (Our modern paper are acidic, and yellow and crumble in decades.)
Thomas Dustin, farmer and brick maker, husband and father, spent time to create his own almanac, and attended town meetings, voting on matters both large and small that concerned the community.

Surely he had concerns. The designation of six garrison houses in Haverhill was a strong statement of the level of risk under which they were living. Some families moved into the garrison houses, sharing space with soldiers in common living space, with small windows and little privacy.

Perhaps it was concern for his newly born child that made him eschew the garrison for housing his family. Or perhaps he felt the crowded conditions there were unsuitable for his family. Or maybe he was of an independent mind and decided to remain on his own land and in his own home.

He had seen a lot in his forty five years. He made his choice. The family stayed put.

The story continues...Chapter 2

My favorite window on earth: The Dustin House in Haverhill Massachusetts.

This was the house that Thomas Dustin was completing in March of 1693 using brick from his own brick yard.
The brick work was in a style known as Flemish Bond.
It was deeply satisfying to look out the window from where my family had view the world so long ago.

March 9th 1697: There was much to do every day. Large with child, preparing meals for a family of ten over the large open fireplace must have been taxing for Hannah that day. Hannah's loom was warped, and perhaps she wove throughout the day as she felt the familiar contractions begin.

The widow Mary Neff was sent for, she being the town's midwife, as well as Hannah's husband's step-aunt.
The birth went well, and baby Martha was added to the family that day.

Why the baby was named Martha is not known. There were no immediate family members with the given name. Perhaps it was a name suggested by one of the children.

Hannah and the babe rested. Likely someone was sent to tell her parent's that their daughter had safely delivered another grandchild. Michael and Hannah Emerson were blessed with thirteen children, nine of which lived to adulthood. News of grandchildren most likely was often delivered to their ears.

Sadly, Thomas's parents no longer lived.

His father, for whom he had been name, died when Thomas was but ten years old, two years after a fire had destroyed their family home.
His mother, born Elizabeth Wheeler, soon remarried, becoming the fourth wife of the wealthy and successful Matthias Button, who then moved Elizabeth and her three children to Haverhill.

In Haverhill young Thomas was educated along with at least five of Matthias's children who were under the age of ten.
At age 20 Thomas's step father died, and provided for Thomas through his will, granting his widow one hundred acres, of which thirty were given to Thomas upon his mother's death, which occurred shortly thereafter.

Thomas and Hannah had named their first daughter Hannah after Hannah and Hannah's mother, as was the custom of the day.

The second daughter was named for both Thomas's late mother, and his sister Elizabeth.
And for Hannah's sister as well.
Little sister Elizabeth Emerson who was eight years younger than Hannah, and who had herself bore three children, and was now buried beside her dead twin daughters.

To call these children's names was always an echo of the family's past. For better or for worse, each child knew for whom they were named.

Yet it would be Baby Martha name that would echo for centuries, and touch the hearts of generations to come.

Chapter 1: The story begins...

August 8, 1997: Morning in Haverhill, a small town in Massachusetts.
How beautifully the wildflowers bloomed in the sunshine that morning.
It was my first visit to Haverhill.
I was visiting there with my parents and my husband.

We had made the trip, flying in from California, on the occasion of the Three Hundredth Anniversary of a significant event in my family history.

An event that occurred 310 years ago this month.
While I am photographed in a cheerful riot of flowers, three hundred years earlier it had been an entirely different scene.

So let's begin with the story.
I'll be telling it over the next few days, so the story will unfold in real time.
To document the facts of the story, I'll be using the book pictured above.

(Try not to give into the temptation to skip ahead by Googling the names until the end. Trust me, the names are all easily found there, but the experience of the story will be short changed if you "peek" at the last page now too soon!)

The story concerns a husband and a wife, their children, and their fierce love for one another.
It also concerns faith and courage that inspires me to this day.

Thomas Dustin (or Duston, the name was interchangeable back then) had been born in the New World in 1652. He married essentially the girl next door, Hannah Webster Emerson, who was likewise born in the New World on December 23rd, 1657. She was five year younger than her husband.

They had married in winter, December 3rd, 1677, when they were 25 and 20 years old, respectively.
Thomas had built a house in Haverhill for his bride and they settled in, and had their first daughter, whom they named Hannah after both her mother and grandmother, in late August.

The family grew rapidly; two years later little Hannah had a baby sister named Elizabeth.
A year later, another sister, Mary joined the family.

Son Thomas was born two years later, then Nathaniel, my ancestor, born two years later on May 16th, 1685.

Brother John arrived, then sister Sarah, and Abigail.

More sons, Jonathan, born in 1692, then twins Timothy and Mehitable in 1694. Mehitable lived but a short three months.

As our story opens in March 1697, the family had now also lost son John at age 4, in 1690, and were likely still grieving the loss of daughter Mary, who had died five months earlier at age 15.

Nineteen year old daughter Hannah and seventeen year old daughter Elizabeth are likely engaged, as they both married early the following year.

And wife Hannah, with eight children still in the home, at age 39 is pregnant again, and waiting the birth of her twelfth child. Her youngest child is now five years old.

Domestically the family was at peace. Outside, the times were troubling.

Indians raids, as part of hostilities related to King William's War, were instigated by the French, under Count Frontenac, Governor of Canada, as part of his campaign to hold the New World for his King. The raids had been steadily drawing nearer to Haverhill, and on several occasions neighbors in Haverhill had been taken captive.

Back in August, a neighbor Jonathan Haynes and his four children had been captured while in their fields picking beans. After that, six garrison houses were constructed for use in case of an attack. One such house was built a mile from the Dustin home.

There had also been a young boy captured a year and a half ago, a 12 year old named Samuel Lennardson, from a nearby town.

There was just cause to be troubled. But the demands of everyday life continued. Their growing family needed more space, and Thomas was finishing the building of a three story house for them, using bricks from his own brick yard. They were making plans to move there, perhaps shortly after the expected baby was born.

(To be continued...)

On March 7, 1980

I got my "Baby Boy" flower.

Laura got her baby brother.

And we became a Foursome on Foursome Dr.

There were four generations

And we thanked God that we had a son.

On Jeff's birthday while he was in second grade he wrote this:
Happy Birthday Jeff!

*See more pictures from Jeff's life here.

Not endless: 1606 to present

March sure is a busy month.
At least for our family.

There is so much to celebrate!

On March 1st, we celebrate the day my husband's family got their property in Maryland.

From Lord Baltimore.

In 1673.

The property was named "Northhampton" and "Kettering".

Later Lord B. also handed over "Sprigg's Request". The gentleman pictured above, Thomas Spriggs (b. 1630, d. 1704) built a house on the thousand acres, and named it "Resurrection Manor."

George Washington used to drop by, in later years, and later still, President Madison hid out there while the British burned the White House.

Here's a picture of how the house looked until it a fire destroyed it in the early 1900's:

On March 2nd we celebrate the anniversary of my family's immigration to America.
That would be March 2nd, 1633, arriving at Richmond Island, in New England in the Massachusetts area. That was another Thomas, the one I call my Thomas.
Thomas Dustin (b. 1606 d.1662)

On March 7th we celebrate our son's birthday, he being the 12th generation of Spriggs in America. Thirteenth generation of Americans on my side of the family. (well, OK, one of those generations slipped up and was born in Canada...)

We remember the Indian raid on March 15th.
(Stay tuned! More details coming soon!)

Then there is the anniversary of when we became engaged, on March 23rd.

And of course, there was the scalpings, to be celebrated on March 30th.

Like I said: Busy, busy, busy.

On my "To Do" list for March is to re-copy our family Genealogy from the tattered 15 generation pedigree chart I've been lugging around for the last decade or so. It was done in pencil, as I was researching all the names, and wanted to verify names, places and dates before inking them in.

There are over 300 names. I started with 50. The research was addictive, exhilerating, and took decades.

Re-copying the names is going to take a while. But it is worth it.

Every name is a name of someone we would call either Mom or Dad, or Grandpa or Grandma. Some of those Grandmas and Grandpas would require eleven "greats" to be uttered before hitting the Grandma or Grandpa part.

But I think that is pretty great.

Who are all these people, pt.II

These people above are the Brosnans. I've already written about them in another posting way back when. The seated man in the corner is my great grandfather Corneilus Brosnan, either born in Ireland or born in NY to Irish emigrants. The census report vary...being Irish born wasn't something to brag about back then.

If you enjoy using paperclips, you can thank him. He held the US patent for the paper clip. If you don't believe me, just google Google Patents, and put in Cornelius J. Brosnan.

Anyway, that's part of the Irish gang listed over on the side bar. The Sullivans are from Bernie's side, the rest are the ancestors names of Cornelius and his wife, Margaret Mears. The woman seated in the center is my dad's mom. The lady on the far left with the rose at her waist was a milliner, and I own one of the hat's that she created.

But actually, I want to use this post to introduce some of the folks now listed on my side bar links.

Around Town Houston is a quirky picture blog done by a Houston police officer. He, Jason, just takes pictures of stuff he sees that strikes his interest. Sometimes I enjoy trying to see the world through other people's eyes, and their camera provides a venue to do just that. Near as I can tell from his other blog, Cigars, coffee, doughnuts, where he writes, he is married to a loving wife, has a couple of kids, and a few cats. His language can be a bit raw, so that part isn't a direct link from my site.

oncRN is another blog that helps me see the world through someone else eyes, except in this blog, the writer, a nurse who works with cancer patients only uses words to portray her world. Sometimes she shakes me to the core of my being. Sometimes I feel like I am on holy ground when I read what she writes...powerful stuff. My daughter is also an oncology nurse. It helps me understand a bit about Laura's world too.

Rantings of a Mad Hatter Wannabe is written by a woman who is currently living in Spain, and is indeed a milliner wanna be. She's doing great research into the field, creating in felt, and if you like millinery, it's a good blog to visit.

The Sewist also is a millinery junkie. She is a fine rambler, that is, she writes amusingly about hat that she finds in various electronic settings. I usually immediately covet the hat she posts, but am learning that sometimes just being able to look at the hat is enough.

And just as an added treat...a nice profile shot of Gayle modeling in the purple hat I made awhile ago. It looks awful on me...and I think great on her.

I'm sure this hat will belong to someone else someday.
I wonder who.

And another extra treat...some of the hat wearing ladies in Sue's living room.

There ought to be daffodils

Today is Barbara's birthday.
She is both my mother-in-law, and friend. Lucky me!
Last year we were together on her birthday, and the year before that Laura, Barbara and I celebrated her day together, just us girls, in Scotland.

This year I will make do by calling her on her birthday to celebrate, and hope the gift we sent her arrived on time.
Her day of her birth was actually March 3, 1930.
3-3-30.
Easy to remember.

For her 50th birthday, I gave her a gift four days late:
A grandson named Jeff.
Jeff was her third grandson, but the first with the family last name.
That counts for something, I think.
Beginning in early March, when the kids were still at home, we would watch for daffodils blooming in my garden.
One year I had planted 300!
What a feast for the eyes that was!

Every morning Jeff would go outside and tell me how many daffodils were blooming.
Daffodils being the birth flower symbol for the month of March, they seemed to be announcing that his big day was soon to arrive.

Funny how that works. I was born in April, and my mom remembers the cherry trees blossoms falling while she was carrying me. I remember the periwinkle blue jacaranda blossoms falling on my car while I carried my daughter Laura.

While Laura's birth flower is larkspur, (July), the more consistent flower to bloom around her birthday was the belladona lilly, also known as "Naked Ladies" because the bell shaped flowers bloom atop a long stalk with nary a single leaf to provide a dressing around the floral event.
We haven't had any luck with daffodils here in Texas. Occasionally I see a white variety blooming here and there.
But they just don't do well in the heavy clay soil of our area.

Sometimes you just have to make do.

Instead of watching for yellow daffodils at this time of year, I now look forward to the exuberant blooms of the Carolina Jessamine.

The fence on the north side of our house is draped with the Jessamine vine. We can see it from our sun room/TV room/office area through the plantation shutters.

Such a lovely southern feeling to see flowers all abloom through heavy white shutters!

The breeze travels through our narrow side yard with the jessamine on the fence, and with its passing it captures the fragrance of the flower, which delightfully mimics the scent of daffodils.

Isn't that wonderful?

Carolina Jessamine does grow wild here. Or wildly I should say.

When we first moved here I was puzzled to see the forests of Loblolly pines covered in yellow blossoms.

I was pretty sure pine trees didn't have yellow flowers...but being Texas and all, it is always wise to plan on being surprised.

The surprise was that the Carolina Jessamine vine grew up all the trees and was merrily playing tricks on me. Pine trees, with yellow flowers indeed.

I will always think of Jeff and Barbara whenever I see daffodils. But for today, Carolina Jessamine will have to do.

And their blossoms are so abundant, I will not try to count them, but instead just enjoy.

Please enjoy taking a walk with me today.

There is a custom call "Looking for the leading edge of Spring", or Primavera, where you look to document signs of spring.

I took the walk yesterday, and posted the signs here.

If you select slide show, and put the display speed at 3 seconds per picture, the "walk" should take you a little under three minutes.

You won't burn any calories on this walk, but I promise, it will put your mood into great shape!

Recipes: Have you ever made....

I'll bet you haven't.

I'm even willing to bet everything I own that not one person reading this is planning to surprise your family with the following treat for dinner tonight.

Now you should already be aware that it is Rodeo season here in Houston.
Which means it is time once again for meal time creativity involving the Four Major Rodeo Food Groups:

1. Sugar
2. Dough
3. Grease
4. Brown

(The above list is taken from our local paper, the Houston Chronicle. Don't you wish you could trudge out on your wet lawn every morning to get a copy at your place?)

A couple of years ago there was a big flapadoodle about Rodeo Houston's Deep Fried Snickers Bars.

Followed by the still highly popular Deep Fried Twinkies.
At 425 calories per, and 34 fat grams, it is a blue-eyed bargain at only $3.50

Of course healthy minded folks can get Smoked Turkey Leg, a twenty ounce item from a (I can't even imaging) sized turkey.
One leg and a family of four is fed. Done and done.

I had adjusted my Southern California Sushi powered brain to accept all these items as legitimate food, at least during Rodeo Season.

But then there was today.

Ah, but for today, I would probably still be able to think through difficult questions, and create complex designs.

Instead, I carelessly read the Chronicle.

And learned about the latest and the greatest Rodeo Houston pop food.

Are you ready for this?

Have you thought all the thoughts you want to think for the rest of the day?

OK then.

Here it is:

Deep-Fried Frozen Coca-Cola

Here's the recipe:

First you freeze the Coke and then crush it into little pieces.
Then you drop the pieces into batter, and then you deep-fry it.
When it comes out of the fryer, you splash on pure Coke syrup or chocolate syrup or strawberry syrup.

"It looks like squiggly fried clams and tastes like hot, greasy, doughy Coke."

Did I or did I not win that bet?

And how goofed up did my brain stay after reading this?

Well, I went and bought this:

Yup, a bag of multi-colored cotton candy, that was advertised to look like little bunny cotton tails.

Actually, it came out looking more like this:

(There's an Anna Nicole joke in here somewhere....if only I could just think....)

Anyway, I had fun. Did you know if you push your tongue up against the cotton candy where the yellow meets the blue it turns the candy GREEN?

How cool is that?

You don't even need to ask.

I tried all the color combinations.

Yellow and pink made orange.

Blue and pink made purple

Sigh.

How fun.

I just love colors!

So tell me; what are you making for dinner tonight?

Any ideas?

Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Hi Kids!

Oh what the heck. My family misses me, so here's a picture for them of me in the brand new scarf.

I just got home from a shift at the library, so my hair is pulled back into a nice librarian bun.

Love you!

Wearing of the Green, Orangemen, Peace and Grandmas

Well, the weatherman here says our March will be coming in like a lamb. Mild temperatures, and some rain, and mercifully, some cooling.

If it doesn't cool soon, my pansies are going to be cooked. There is only so much I can do to tweak their environment by tucking ice cubes around their little toes every day.

It IS starting to rain, and the trees outside are swaying in the wind. Around here, the trees have already begun to re-leaf. Spring has sprung in Kingwood, regardless of the calendar's notations.

I'm up for the whole March thing. Today is my college chum/MOH's birthday. (Hi Jennifer! How's April this morning? Did you go for a frosty ride yet?) April is her horse, and Jennifer raised horses while I raised children. I'm not sure which adventure was cheaper, but at least her little girl April is there with her on her birthday.

I've changed my side bar to show green hats, so if you need inspirations for avoiding a pinch later on this month, go ahead and take a peek. Why not wear a green hat this year? You're likely to get a kiss for your efforts, or maybe a fun little pinch from your someone special. (wink!)

Spring always makes me feel giddy and alive. But I realize I am called to be serious and sober minded in all things, as part of my Christian faith, so let me begin by pointing out that for years there has been trouble in Ireland between those of the Catholic faith, called "Green" and those of the Protestant faith, otherwise known as "Orangemen."

Thankfully, much progress has been made recently to create a state of peace in that troubled land. For that, I am truly thankful.

Now around here, it's another story.

My Mom recently sent, like all good grandmothers do, something in the mail for her "grands" amusement. In this case, it was to her grandcats, Tiggie and Hart. Neatly folded up in an envelope was dried catnip leaves from her garden. Isn't that sweet?

Don't all of us Mothers know what happens when children receive new toys?

Of course you do.

They fight over them.

Humans, cats...not so different.

I gave our Orangeman Tiggie three leaves configured as clover to celebrate the new month.
At first it went pretty well.He thought about it.Took a couple of "nips" of the nip... And then, oh dear, a fight broke out between the Orange Cat and the (Greeneyed) Grey Cat.

Tiggie said Hart was trying to steal his catnip.

Hart said he didn't touch Tiggie's catnip, he was just looking at it.

I don't think the UN should get involved.

But remember, as much as it is up to you, try to live in peace.

And don't mess with cats who are nipping their catnip!

My Colors

I've always, always, always been fascinated by color. A big box of crayons, paper and time is all that is needed to make me happy.

Yesterday I had a gift certificate to use down at Nordies. It's an hour drive from my home to go there, so I don't usually haunt the place. Plus the piano music played on the baby grand on the ground floor drives me insane. I need to concentrate when shopping in an environment where everything seems to have three or more digits in the price (before the "dot" indicating the cents.)

Nordies majors on black and white clothing. The majority of people on the planet look fabulous wearing black and white, so that is a smart marketing move on their part.

Asians, Blacks, Hispanics, Canadians (whoops, maybe not all Canadians...) all seem to have dark hair and dark eyes. Perfect for those high contrast colors. Add a splash of deep red, blue, purple or grey and Katie bar the door, Snow White has arrived, looking just grand.

I can not compete with their glorious coloring. I felt a little better after reading that Meryl Streep was described as having porcelain skin as she was photo'd for the Oscars. That sounds so much nicer than pale.
Or even washed out, which is how I am usually described. All that has changed; I too now have a porcelain complexion.

Even though I may navigate around my bland coloring via semantics, black and white and other saturated primary colors still overwhelm my appearance. Pastels make me appear as though I am recovering from a bout of the flu. This was a such a puzzle to me. The only colors I ever felt alive in were lime green, peachy pink and turquoise. You see those colors all the time in department stores. (Not!)

Back in the 1980's there was a big to-do about having your colors done. I turned out to look best in Spring colors. Imagine the flowers in a Springtime photo shoot, and you've nailed it. My mom, my husband and son have coloring that looks great in Summer colors. Imagine the misty blues and pinks, greys and lavenders of a dawn on a lake and you've got it. Other friends are winter, imagine a walk through snow, with bare trees etched in black, and rainbows of colors sparkling up from the snow, and you have the image of those colors. I've met few a Autumns, but imagining a walk in a flaming autumn forest, and you are there.

After trudging the Nordie store I was feeling pretty down. Until I saw the fish above. One of four fish that swim on a lovely lime green silk background on a wonderful scarf that called out to me: "Jill, I'm over here! It's US! We belong to each other!"

I was ecstatic! I wanted to wrap the scarf around myself and dance. ( Thankfully the piano player was taking a break!)

Bernie's face lit up when I showed him my find that evening. "It's perfect. It's you!"

Signature colors just feel great. The scarf goes with so many things in my closet, and rescues me from the "I'm being buried" feeling that comes when I wear serious business colors like black and navy.

What are your signature colors? The ones that make you feel great, and that other's always think of you when they see?
I'll bet you lime green isn't one of them (Kate, you are excluded from this comment.)

WWMD?: An Open Letter to Mommy Bloggers (Or: Time For Another One of Jill's Reactions. Take cover...)

Dear Young First Time Mommy Who Blogs;

Let me begin by expressing my profound delight in being allowed the privilege of reading about your adorable new baby. Your babe is truly a miracle, and the wonder and awe that you so rapturously express, both verbally and visually, within your blog, is a delightful miracle as well.

I congratulate you on your skillful management of your household, which has afforded you the time needed to take to your keyboard and openly share your unfolding adventure in the fascinating world known as motherhood.

How well I remember the early days and weeks of first time motherhood, when every moment of time was precious. I appreciate the sacrifice you make to keep the world updated upon the domestic bliss found in your new role as a mother.

When I was a new mommie, a few decades ago, blogging was a miracle yet to be realized. Instead of electronically sharing the details of my new life as a mommy with family and friends at a distance, I made do by taking part in a young mothers group at our church.

As young women became mothers, we would begin attending a Friday morning two hour study and prayer time, during which we bonded as friends, and shared our joys and our frustrations as we purposed to be the best mommies possible to the little bundles that heaven had so richly bestowed upon us.

It was fascinating to hear how labor went, and encouraging to know that other children had sleep schedule mix-ups, rashes, and colic. We shared and prayed our way through teething, digestive upsets, marital re-adjustments, childproofing, and potty training.

Our second born offspring were equally interesting...who knew two children born to the same parents could be so very different? The proud mother's of laid back first borns were shocked to discover that it wasn't their skills as a mother that made it all so easy, but rather the first baby was easy, unlike their household's second born terror.

By the time the third child arrived, the mommies became "old hands" at all of this, and generally stopped attending the Young Mother sessions. I had the privilege of leading this group for a few years, and recall many discussions of young mothers along the lines of "needing the older mothers to do their part and help us!"

It was arranged that some "older" mothers (mothers of teenagers to be exact...) would come to one of our meetings. The questions of the young mothers, babe at the breast, were pressing:

How do you get the baby to sleep through the night?
How do you get the baby potty trained?
How do you get the baby to stop biting other kids?

The questions went on and on.

I still recall Margie, a woman about eight years older than myself, her children approaching the teenage years, laughing hysterically, and saying something along the lines of :

"Trust me, you'll figure it out, and when you do, your kid will come up with a new behavior that will drive you crazy. This will continue the rest of your mothering life. Get used to it. Come on ladies, let's go out for lunch."

And the older mothers, for the most part, at that point got up and left.

How wise they were.

We really were able (gifted, actually) with the ability to solve the unique issues of each of our children, usually exactly at the same moment that said children cropped up with an even more vexing behavior.

And Margie was right, this vexing did (and does) continue the rest of our mothering life. I hear from eighty year old mothers who are just now learning how to relax in the challenges presented by their fifty year old children.

Nowadays "Young Mothers" connect and share via blogs. Having friends scattered around the globe is no barrier to sharing the joys and trials of young motherhood. How wonderful for your generation! The ability to gather hints and ideas from others while formulating your own modes and methods of mothering is very useful. What a blessing.

But I feel a strong need to gently speak a warning. While some young blogging mothers fear cyberstalkers, and have taken the precaution of making their blogs "by invitation only", let me suggest another consideration to be pondered before you freely share your mothering experiences in any form or anywhere in blogdom.

Your closest family and friends are eager to read about your new baby. They will remember the picture of your sleeping infant gesturing in fanciful or bizarre configurations, and will laugh with you at that rakish bit of humor. They will do their best to stomach your detailed description of the color, texture, and aroma of what your infant produced as an end product of digestion. Even if you later chose to delete your post that showed your cherub in disarray, you will not be able to delete the image from the minds of those who enjoyed your sharing.

I still can recall a madcap story that a dear friend told about her baby Rachel. Adorable baby Rachel experienced a digestive malfunctions that overwhelmed diaper absorption capabilities while being strollered through the finest department store in our area.

Baby Rachel is now Dr. Rachel
It happens. Babies do grown up. A couple of the Young Mother's Group children have become doctors, ministers, college professors, teachers, nurses and other exalted figures within society.

Sadly, when the glory that is Dr. Rachel is spoken of by her mother, my mind meanders back to the previous mental image so richly first created via her mother's detailed description decades ago when Dr. Rachel was still in diapers.

It's not just me. To this day, some fifty years later, my mom tells everyone who will listen that she always thinks of Richard Whitney, (who is now a judge), as the little kid running around with droopy diapers.

No matter how high of status anyone obtains in life, someone will always be there to recall your most demeaning circumstance.

The award winning author Dave Barry wrote a masterfully send up of a young parent's journals in his book Babies and Other Hazards of Sex.
He wrote:

"Baby Albums:

Baby albums are probably the single biggest cause of violent death in America today. The reason is that when people have their first baby, they record everything that happens:

January 5-Today Rupert is exactly one and one half weeks old! He weighs 8 pounds, 3.587 ounces, up 2.342 ounces from yesterday! He had two poopy diapers today, but definitely not as runny as the ones he had January 3! Also not quite so greenish!

And so on. By the time these people have their second baby, they're sick of albums. Oh they try to slap something together, but it's obvious that their hearts aren't really in it:

1966-1974: Byron was born and is now in second grade.

So Byron grows up, seemingly normal on the outside, but knowing on the inside that he has this pathetic scrawny album while his brother's looks like the Manhattan telephone directory, and eventually he runs amok in a dentist's office with a Thompson sub machine gun. So if you want to do a baby album, fine, go ahead, but have the common decency to notify the police first."

(Note the dates Barry ascribes to this imaginary journal. I'm waiting for his updated send-up of Mommy bloggers.)

I'm pretty sure that Mommie bloggers don't need to notify the police if they wish to detail every minute excretion their child produces, and verify the exactness of their verbal description with a digital photograph. Barry is just exaggerating for fun!

(And yes, lucky for all of us, I am not inserting a link to the mommy blog described above. You are welcome.)

What I would like Mommy Bloggers to consider is the effect their blogs will have on their child's future. Imagine, if you please, that your child, as you naturally are expecting will happen, becomes famous, or important, or (pray not) a cautionary example of failure.

Try to remember this as you write and post:

People remember.

And what they remember can not be deleted. Your humorous story about what did or didn't happen in the diaper, or at the breast, or whatever might not be what your child will appreciate having everyone share with him/her in the future.

This sharing may even occur in the somewhat immediate future when children begin to talk. Imagine what an older cousin, over hearing talk about newly born cousin's antics, will be able to share later, using that unflattering story against your child in a group setting at a later date.

All mothers have a favorite subject: Their children. Blessed is the mother who learns early on to edit what they share about what their children did, and what they thought about what their children did.

US President Jimmy Carter had a mother who went by the name of Miss Lillian. She had four children including a famous beer guzzler son named Billy, a woman evangelist daughter, and of course the President.

In one interview, following her description of her children and their very public adventures and miscues, she was famously quoted as saying;

"Sometimes when I look at all my children I say to myself, "Lillian, you should of stayed a virgin.""

The political enemies of President Carter enjoyed having that statement on record. I can not imagine how Jimmy Carter, the person, felt about having that observation in the mind of all that he met. Who knows how many "stories" about Little Jimmy growing up were recalled to undermine his governmental authority. How sad that Miss Lillian was not watchful to practice restraint from the earliest days of her motherhood.

Naturally, one of the joys of blogging is that you CAN and SHOULD say whatever you would like on your own blog. As a librarian, I fight for every writer's right to do so, even when I sometimes think what is written is revolting. I also fight for the right of readers to speak their mind about what they have read.

As a reader, I am going to suggest an idea that may assist an overly enthusiastic blogging mommy from drifting into areas that may not be tasteful, or in the best interest of the child:

Whenever you blog, before you hit "publish" think "What Would Mary Do?"

WWMD?

Mary, The Mother of the Most Remarkable Child EVER born upon this earth.
Surely she should have been given the right to express every detail of her experience as a first time mommy to Jesus.
But instead of writing or talking about every detail, she chose instead to "pondered these things in her heart."

Jesus, fully human, must have been as all other infants born upon the earth. Had Mary the option of blogging, would we have be privy to baby Jesus' diaper load color, texture, and odor? Pictures of Him on the potty? Her moments of hormonal mood swing?

I think not.

Mommy Bloggers, we love you and your baby.

But please, next time you write, would you just take a moment and ask yourself before you hit that publish button:

WWMD?

And occasionally chose to be like Mary, and ponder your baby's less flattering moments only within your own heart.

It's gonna be another one of those Mondays.

You know it's gonna be another one of those Mondays when:

• You get up and make coffee, then can't find your husband. You remember (after leaving a cup of coffee on his desk) that he said he had to go somewhere this morning, but can't remember where or for how long. He could be five states away right now, or just taking a walk.

Note to self: Make notes about where B. says he's going to be.

• Reading the front page of the paper (I decided not to worry about B. unless I get a ransom note...) and finding the word dang used smack dab in the middle of the page, under a picture of rearing white horses pulling a carriage. The complete sentence:

"It ain't going to be an easy deal to win, but it's going to be a fun deal. And whoever wins dang sure will deserve it."

Note to self: Avert eyes, ignore basic grammar structure until rodeo is over.

• Below the above mentioned article is a story about a Houston woman who in her early 50's decided to stop being a couch potato, by testing her limits by running a marathon AND beginning to pursue her doctorate degree. Actually, more specifically, run a marathon on each of the continents. Right now, she is off and and running in Antarctica. She's dodging hostile leopard seals as she goes, running around two kinds of penguin rookeries and continuing her studies via satellite hook up each evening.

Note to self: Remember, you do not want to work on your doctorate, and you certainly do not want to run where there are leopard seals waiting to eat you.

• The society section covered the Oscar awards. Best Supporting Actress Jennifer Hudson wore a lovely Oscar de la Renta gown,(with a lizard capelet no less...) and the paper commented: "Unfortunately, she kept putting her hands in the pockets of the gown."

Note to self: Write Erin over at Dressaday. Her "pocket in every dress" campaign is working big time...but I still am not sure formal gowns ought to have pockets. Something to think about.

• There is a dead baby English sparrow on the patio. Both cats claim they had nothing to do with it.

Note to self: The cats are grounded.

Duh!

Another one of those on-line tests.

You Are an Excellent Cook

You're a top cook, but you weren't born that way. It's taken a lot of practice, a lot of experimenting, and a lot of learning. It's likely that you have what it takes to be a top chef, should you have the desire...

Are You A Good Cook?

The thing is, I only like to cook as a creative exercise. Not to feed hungry people. Never make anything twice is my motto.

Now if I could just pay attention while I am cooking instead of wandering off to check email and stuff while the pot is coming to a boil.

I darn near about burned the house down Friday when I was hard boiling some eggs.

Boiled that pot dry and the eggs were exploding inside.

What a mess.

What a smell!

This losing my mind thing is a real drag.

WWMD?: An Open Letter to Mommy Bloggers (Or: Time For Another One of Jill's Reactions. Take cover...)

Dear Young First Time Mommy Who Blogs;

Let me begin by expressing my profound delight in being allowed the privilege of reading about your adorable new baby. Your babe is truly a miracle, and the wonder and awe that you so rapturously express, both verbally and visually, within your blog, is a delightful miracle as well.

I congratulate you on your skillful management of your household, which has afforded you the time needed to take to your keyboard and openly share your unfolding adventure in the fascinating world known as motherhood.

How well I remember the early days and weeks of first time motherhood, when every moment of time was precious. I appreciate the sacrifice you make to keep the world updated upon the domestic bliss found in your new role as a mother.

When I was a new mommie, a few decades ago, blogging was a miracle yet to be realized. Instead of sharing electronically sharing the details of my new life as a mommy with family and friends at a distance, I made do by taking part in a young mothers group at our church.

As young women became mothers, we would begin attending a Friday morning two hour study and prayer time, during which we bonded as friends, and shared our joys and our frustrations as we purposed to be the best mommies possible to the little bundles that heaven had so richly bestowed upon us.

It was fascinating to hear how labor went, and encouraging to know that other children had sleep schedule mix-ups, rashes, and colic. We shared and prayed our way through teething, digestive upsets, marital re-adjustments, childproofing, and potty training.

Our second born offspring were equally interesting...who knew two children born to the same parents could be so very different? The proud mother's of laid back first borns were shocked to discover that it wasn't their skills as a mother that made it all so easy, but rather the first baby was easy, unlike their household's second born terror.

By the time the third child arrived, the mommies became "old hands" at all of this, and generally stopped attending the Young Mother sessions. I had the privilege of leading this group for a few years, and recall many discussions of young mothers along the lines of "needing the older mothers to do their part and help us!"

It was arranged that some "older" mothers (mothers of teenagers to be exact...) would come to one of our meetings. The questions of the young mothers, babe at the breast, were pressing:

How do you get the baby to sleep through the night?
How do you get the baby potty trained?
How do you get the baby to stop biting other kids?

The questions went on and on.

I still recall Margie, a woman about eight years older than myself, her children approaching the teenage years, laughing hysterically, and saying something along the lines of :

"Trust me, you'll figure it out, and when you do, your kid will come up with a new behavior that will drive you crazy. This will continue the rest of your mothering life. Get used to it. Come on ladies, let's go out for lunch."

And the older mothers, for the most part, at that point got up and left.

How wise they were.

We really were able (gifted, actually) with the ability to solve the unique issues of each of our children, usually exactly at the same moment that said children cropped up with an even more vexing behavior.

And Margie was right, this vexing did (and does) continue the rest of our mothering life. I hear from eighty year old mothers who are just now learning how to relax in the challenges presented by their fifty year old children.

Nowadays "Young Mothers" connect and share via blogs. Having friends scattered around the globe is no barrier to sharing the joys and trials of young motherhood. How wonderful for your generation! The ability to gather hints and ideas from others while formulating your own modes and methods of mothering is very useful. What a blessing.

But I feel a strong need to gently speak a warning. While some young blogging mothers fear cyberstalkers, and have taken the precaution of making their blogs "by invitation only", let me suggest another consideration to be pondered before you freely share your mothering experiences in any form or anywhere in blogdom.

Your closest family and friends are eager to read about your new baby. They will remember the picture of your sleeping infant gesturing in fanciful or bizarre configurations, and will laugh with you at that rakish bit of humor. They will do their best to stomach your detailed description of the color, texture, and aroma of what your infant produced as an end product of digestion. Even if you later chose to delete your post that showed your cherub in disarray, you will not be able to delete the image from the minds of those who enjoyed your sharing.

I still can recall a madcap story that a dear friend told about her baby Rachel. Adorable baby Rachel experienced a digestive malfunctions that overwhelmed diaper absorption capabilities while being strollered through the finest department store in our area.

Baby Rachel is now Dr. Rachel
It happens. Babies do grown up. A couple of the Young Mother's Group children have become doctors, ministers, college professors, teachers, nurses and other exalted figures within society.

Sadly, when the glory that is Dr. Rachel is spoken of by her mother, my mind meanders back to the previous mental image so richly first created via her mother's detailed description decades ago when Dr. Rachel was still in diapers.

It's not just me. To this day, some fifty years later, my mom tells everyone who will listen that she always thinks of Richard Whitney, (who is now a judge), as the little kid running around with droopy diapers.

No matter how high of status anyone obtains in life, someone will always be there to recall your most demeaning circumstance.

The award winning author Dave Barry wrote a masterfully send up of a young parent's journals in his book Babies and Other Hazards of Sex.
He wrote:

"Baby Albums:

Baby albums are probably the single biggest cause of violent death in America today. The reason is that when people have their first baby, they record everything that happens:

January 5-Today Rupert is exactly one and one half weeks old! He weighs 8 pounds, 3.587 ounces, up 2.342 ounces from yesterday! He had two poopy diapers today, but definitely not as runny as the ones he had January 3! Also not quite so greenish!

And so on. By the time these people have their second baby, they're sick of albums. Oh they try to slap something together, but it's obvious that their hearts aren't really in it:

1966-1974: Byron was born and is now in second grade.

So Byron grows up, seemingly normal on the outside, but knowing on the inside that he has this pathetic scrawny album while his brother's looks like the Manhattan telephone directory, and eventually he runs amok in a dentist's office with a Thompson sub machine gun. So if you want to do a baby album, fine, go ahead, but have the common decency to notify the police first."

(Note the dates Barry ascribes to this imaginary journal. I'm waiting for his updated send-up of Mommy bloggers.)

I'm pretty sure that Mommie bloggers don't need to notify the police if they wish to detail every minute excretion their child produces, and verify the exactness of their verbal description with a digital photograph. Barry is just exaggerating for fun!

(And yes, lucky for all of us, I am not inserting a link to the mommy blog described above. You are welcome.)

What I would like Mommy Bloggers to consider is the effect their blogs will have on their child's future. Imagine, if you please, that your child, as you naturally are expecting will happen, becomes famous, or important, or (pray not) a cautionary example of failure.

Try to remember this as you write and post:

People remember.

And what they remember can not be deleted. Your humorous story about what did or didn't happen in the diaper, or at the breast, or whatever might not be what your child will appreciate having everyone share with him/her in the future.

This sharing may even occur in the somewhat immediate future when children begin to talk. Imagine what an older cousin, over hearing talk about newly born cousin's antics, will be able to share later, using that unflattering story against your child in a group setting at a later date.

All mothers have a favorite subject: Their children. Blessed is the mother who learns early on to edit what they share about what their children did, and what they thought about what their children did.

US President Jimmy Carter had a mother who went by the name of Miss Lillian. She had four children including a famous beer guzzler son named Billy, a woman evangelist daughter, and of course the President.

In one interview, following her description of her children and their very public adventures and miscues, she was famously quoted as saying;

"Sometimes when I look at all my children I say to myself, "Lillian, you should of stayed a virgin.""

The political enemies of President Carter enjoyed having that statement on record. I can not imagine how Jimmy Carter, the person, felt about having that observation in the mind of all that he met. Who knows how many "stories" about Little Jimmy growing up were recalled to undermine his governmental authority. How sad that Miss Lillian was not watchful to practice restraint from the earliest days of her motherhood.

Naturally, one of the joys of blogging is that you CAN and SHOULD say whatever you would like on your own blog. As a librarian, I fight for every writer's right to do so, even when I sometimes think what is written is revolting. I also fight for the right of readers to speak their mind about what they have read.

As a reader, I am going to suggest an idea that may assist an overly enthusiastic blogging mommy from drifting into areas that may not be tasteful, or in the best interest of the child:

Whenever you blog, before you hit "publish" think "What Would Mary Do?"

WWMD?

Mary, The Mother of the Most Remarkable Child EVER born upon this earth.
Surely she should have been given the right to express every detail of her experience as a first time mommy to Jesus.
But instead of writing or talking about every detail, she chose instead to "pondered these things in her heart."

Jesus, fully human, must have been as all other infants born upon the earth. Had Mary the option of blogging, would we have be privy to baby Jesus' diaper load color, texture, and odor? Pictures of Him on the potty? Her moments of hormonal mood swing?

I think not.

Mommy Bloggers, we love you and your baby.

But please, next time you write, would you just take a moment and ask yourself before you hit that publish button:

WWMD?

And occasionally chose to be like Mary, and ponder your baby's less flattering moments only within your own heart.

Blue birds, grey cats and ribbons

Yesterday I got a whimsical comment about how I made hat trims from Becky. Of course I have bluebirds helping me with my hat trimming...I WAS a Blue Bird growing up! (Blue Birds was the youngest division of Camp Fire Girls back then.)

Actually, the only help I get as I make hat trim is the rhythmic snoring from our grey cat Hart, as he sacks out on the white chair in my hat room. He really does look good there with his little pink nose.

Anyway, for those of you who would like to create ribbon trim, may I suggest two books:

The Artful Ribbon by Candace Kling

A Passion for Ribbonry by Camela Nitschke

May I also suggest that you can usually get these titles on Ebay for around $5 USD a title? You can also get them on Amazon.com, and a lot of libraries carry the titles as well. I think they are worth owning though. Once you get the hang of sculpting flowers from ribbons, you can start creating any flower you see...I have done all the wild flowers of Texas for one hat.

Added bonus: All it takes is a needle, thread, small scissors, and ribbon, which usually fits into a small ziplock baggie. Perfect for taking along, so when you have to wait at a Doctor's office or for kids to finish their event, you can be whipping up flowers to decorate anything and everything.
People stop and talk with me while I am creating, and I often long to spend the day at arboretums creating from nature.

Enjoy your Sunday...it is sunny and beautiful here. We had coffee and juice out in the garden as we read the morning paper while the cardinals and titmouse serenaded us with their song. Bliss...my sympathy to all you out there stuck in the heavy snow and ice storms up North!