Of grandsons and jeans and hurricanes

Just dumped on the table, there doesn't seem to be much sewing, but he had five pairs!

 

Our grandson Lane, came for a visit last Friday. You know what they say, "They only come when they want something"? Well, it's sort of true. He gave me a hug, after informing me that he needed some jeans hemmed. Sure. Not a problem.

Let's see, clean and thread the machine, put in a new, extra-heavy duty universal needle (twice), replace the rotary cutter blade or at the very least sharpen it, spend 45 minutes cutting and sewing new jeans. He's a working man now, so he needs to dress a little better than he did for hanging around the house. Every change seems to affect me somehow.

I'm kidding, of course. Having them over is a joy. Not that I spent much time with him or Adam or Rory. They were all outside helping Richard set up the greenhouse. A project started out for me, but Richard can't do anything in a normal fashion. We need, at most, a 10 X 10 space. The old greenhouse has an 18' width, so okay 10 X 18. Of course, my country boy is making it 18' X 20'. Almost four times larger than my original request. I'll let him figure out the heat/water and whatever else it may need.

Why a greenhouse? Mornings are dipping to 45 degrees. Afternoons can be a warm as 80 degrees. I learned last year that succulents and other pretty plants can't take extreme changes in temperature. And those babies were expensive. All I had to do was put the idea of a hothouse in hubby's head. Don't you know he ran with it. I love that man!

In other news, we had a little, tiny catastrophe here. A tree fell during one of the hurricanes. (There have been so many, but I think it was Delta.) That it fell was not a problem. No, the real problem was that it fell on top of several of my favorite pots! The plants survived. The pots did not. So I have no choice but to replant them in a container of some fashion. Then off they will go to the new/old greenhouse. New because it was just put up. Old because the metal ribs are about the only thing left from when we owned the nursery. The country boy saved the metal ribs, so here we are with a fancy greenhouse, lots of plants, and no pots.

Wait. What? July 7th

Already? The last week has flown by. I'm not really sure when I slept. 

I'm kidding, of course.  There has just been so much going on. First, my very sad news is that our sweet little Cottontop, who has been my constant companion for over 17 years, went to puppy heaven last Wednesday. It's extremely sad to miss him so much, but he was getting in pretty bad shape, blindness from glaucoma, painful hips, confusion. I am happy that he is no longer suffering. Seventeen years is old and we have been expecting it for a long while now. Richard took care of burying him in our backyard. He had made a small wooden coffin a couple of years ago. 

At the time that he was dealing with my little Maltese, I was tutoring English. My student spent several days completing his assignments, testing and learning test-taking skills. I kept him pretty busy, poor kid. Today was his final and I'm anxiously awaiting the results.

Thursday I left for my modern guild quilt retreat. What fun! I had such a great time. I completed one top and almost finished another. Plus, I completed my "mow the lawn" strip for the Sugaridoo BOM. (I'll be so happy when it's complete.) And I made a couple of postcards for a sister, which I can't find at the moment.  The retreat took me all the way to Sunday. 

Monday, I went to a guild meeting and gave a presentation on thread-painting. That went badly. It also happened to be Will, our oldest son's birthday. They invited us to their home for supper and cake. Their kids and grandies were also there and we were reminded how noisy a house full of kids and teens can be. And be grateful to return to the quiet of home.

But aren't they cute?

Repairs

Rory dropped off a couple of items that needed some work. First, the girls' uniforms needed belt loops. I didn't have any of the plaid and the navy that is closest to the one one the uniforms is definitely not a perfect match. 

It's not about perfection, though. It's about following the rules and the rules say belt loops are required. 

The other item that he left is this pair of shorts which needed a button replaced. I was searching the pockets for the old button in case he had kept it and discovered two buttons sewn into the pocket lining. That was easy.

Because the waistband was weak where the button had pulled off, I added a small piece of fabric to the inside. I hand sewed it like a label and then sewed on the button as I normally would. The fabric matches fairly closely. Regardless, it's on the inside and won't show when he buttons the pants. Other than still reading Doctor Zhivago and babysitting, that's been most of my week. How did yours go?

Papa -- a hard loss

Back in the beginning of April, I wrote this article about Richard's dad, who had become bedridden and losing his battle with COPD and dementia. We lost him last week. He struggled for weeks unable to breathe, though his memory had a few days of clarity. He was able to recognize those who visited and say goodbye. It was heart-wrenching, but having the closure and knowing he was ready must make his loss easier for Mrs. Carolyn, his wife, and Richard and Steve, their two sons. 

Mama and Papa

We spent as much time as possible with him because we wanted someone to be with Mrs. Carolyn when the time came. Waiting while a loved one slowly passes away is difficult enough without having to face it all alone. So Rich and I made sure one of us was sitting in their house or within just a couple of minutes drive. Mostly we tried to help her in dealing with hospice, company, family, and her own grief.

He'd been in a semi-coma for a week when, finally, on Wednesday morning he took his last breath. I must say that first time that he stopped breathing for several moments was frightening. Not that I'm afraid of death, but because I had promised to call the family. But that was just a warning of what would come in less than an hour, and we were able to gather everyone to their house. 

Richard's parents, Richard Sr. and Carolyn; my parents, Riley
and Ellen (their 50th anniversary); and Richard and me.

People in our area have held wake services for the dead for centuries. Although it's rarely followed now, the Cajun French people of Louisiana held "the wake" throughout the night and into the morning when the funeral is held. Papa had made several things clear and "an all-night wake" (meaning a traditional service) was an absolute if we were going to follow his wishes. Of course, we would comply: a rosary, a mass, a burial in the plot he had prepared 20+ years ago. He had always made things simple. 

Friday we said our last goodbyes and prayed the funeral rites. Papa had been raised and remained Catholic for his entire life. It's quite calming to know exactly what to expect during a Catholic mass. Somehow it's easier to mourn. Father Sklar, who has been assigned to us for only a few weeks, had visited the family several times in the last month and celebrated with a beautiful eulogy. 

And so the last of the five Marcotte brothers is gone.

Pa-pa

Richard's dad is in the last throws of dementia. It's terribly sad to watch this man, who was so vital and full of life when Rich and I first married, slowly lose every bit of life. Now bedridden, he's become a shell of a person, barely recognizing even his sons and grandsons. 

When I first met him, Rich's parents were in their late 30s, working and farming, raising a family and caring for elderly parents of their own. The Marcotte men would throw 50 lb. crates of sweet potatoes onto stacks that reached well above my head. 

 My father-in-law is the last of his generation of our family, having buried his four brothers. 

Today I asked our sons to pitch in and help us care for their grandparents. The task is too much and though we are three--Rich, his mom, and I--we need all hands on deck. 

So our boys will get a lesson in caring for the sick.  Who better to care for than their grandfather? The man who taught them the value of hard work and fair wages... and foul French words, yes, literally! 

Fire Saga Update: Friends, Housing, and lots of Love

If you've been following along for the last few days, you may remember that a fire started in the home of our oldest son. By the time the fire was extinguished, everything in the house was lost. However, the only truly important news is that everyone is okay. No one was home when the faulty wiring caused the smoke and flames. 


The other thing that I want to mention is the unbelievable love and support our whole family has received. People have been stopping by for days now, to deliver items, clothing, and money. It seems that our little community is actually quite big. 

Will's family lives in Chicot and their friends jumped in to help. We live in Evergreen; it didn't surprise us that people from our small town have done the same. However, people from other towns--Bunkie, Cottonport, Plaucheville, Hessmer, Marksville--have pitched in and donated and so much more. It's a bit overwhelming, actually.


For example, a woman who went to school with my sisters and me (40 years ago) sent a Christmas card and a check. Absolute strangers have donated money to them via a GoFundMe account. Others have bought Christmas gifts to replace the ones that burned with the house.

A great example of how  considerate people are came from the school the grandies attend. The principal gave permission for our kids to wear "street clothes" to school because their uniforms were lost in the blaze. Believe me, it's much easier to put your kid into a pair of donated jeans than to find uniforms over a traumatic weekend. 

But the principal was worried that the Marcottes, as the only ones in regular clothes, might feel like they stand out. To avoid that she took the regular clothes idea a bit farther and had a fundraiser. The high schoolers could donate money which would allow them to wear jeans and tee shirts for the week. The money they donated is meant to help us to buy uniforms, but since other students were wearing regular clothes, the Marcotte kids easily fit in. How thoughtful is that? 

We all have had to do some adjusting to life. That includes my not getting to emails, this blog, visiting you all, pinning--just anything on the computer.

One big adjustment has been the new living arrangements. To keep Will and Stacey's family  together with enough space for all of them, Rich and I moved into our 19' camper.  Adam and Jenny, who were living with us since their house became infested with mold a year ago, have moved into Will and Stacey's much larger camper. 

We're all making the best of it. Adam and Jen have a larger, nicer camper, but it's out in the open. Our camper is tiny but stored under a large shed. Both now have full hookups so it's very much like an RV park.  

We've set up tables, chairs, and our outdoor rug. For fun we call this area "the parlor." We also made a small play area for our Maltese puppies, especially the escape artists.

Rich pulled some of my potted plants over to protect them from the occasional 30 degree weather but they add life to our shed. I won't say we can live this way for a year or two, but for now we're all in it together and are making the best of it. 

Finally, it's time for a Milly Moment!
Miss Milly has a new tooth. It's a typical little baby tooth that her tongue found about the third day after it broke through, and she simply doesn't know what to do with it all. We've had such enjoyment from her nonsensical faces and tongue mishaps. That silly tongue seems to have an ADHD problem. 

Every time her tongue touches that tooth, it forgets everything else and probes around trying to figure out what's there. It's hard to eat, drink, or talk when your tongue is doing something else. And I'll leave you with that thought while you celebrate the holidays with family and friends. May you have a blessed and merry Christmas!

Disastrous and Dreadful ~~ With a Happy Ending

For all that was lost, my family is safe and sound, sleeping in my house as I write this post. On Thursday our oldest son and his family lost their house and all of their belongings to a fire. 

Will was offshore, working. The two teenagers were at school. Stacey and Dusti taking baby Milly Christmas shopping. No one was home. No one harmed. (I can't even think the alternative.) 

As the fire began to grow in the attic, two off-duty firemen happened by and tried to determine whether there were people inside the house. The two pets were home, one inside and outside. The dog barked and they forced the door open to free her. 

About the same time, in tears and panic, terrified of what she would find, Stacey called us. She turned to go home but didn't want to be there without us. Of course, we raced over. When we arrived the smoke had begun billowing from the roof. In only a few minutes there were flames. I was on the phone with Will telling him things would be okay, and we were there to help. 

Then I saw those terrifying orange flames and, on the verge of tears, told him to come home, now, to take care of his family. By the time he arrived via helicopter and truck, the fire had been extinguished, but everything lost.

Older homes in Louisiana (1960 and earlier) were often built of cypress planks. There was plenty of cypress available in the southern half of the state, it's a hardwood that lasts a century or more, and it's beautiful. 


Will and Stacey's home was hand built by a young couple who raised their family then retired. After the husband died, Mrs. B decided that another family would bring life back to the house. She kept in touch with Will and Stacey and they remained friends. 

Almost every piece of wood on the house was dry, dusty cypress cut and nailed 57 years ago. When Mrs. B got news of the fire she went over to console them and told stories of the house from its very beginning--she cut the wood, her husband walked on the rafters and terrified her, how they slowly added to the house over the years, and so on. How sweet is that? She must have been aching to see her family home reduced to flames but focused her concern on the people who were losing it. 

It took hours for the fire to do its damage. Houses of the era often had cross beams meant to slow down a fire as it travels up a wall. This fire began in the attic and did the fastest damage there, dropped down onto the ceiling, which eventually caved onto the floor and walls in the center of the house.

Meanwhile, volunteer firefighters with as many as 10 trucks did all they could. They fought the flames from one side while it roared to the other. More trucks arrived, so they cut a hole in the roof and used additional hoses to spray into the attic from the back of the L-shaped home, but there simply was not possible to fight from all sides. 


A draft, a shift in the wind, a bundle of something stored in the fire's path, so many variables can affect the route of the fire that it's difficult to know what to do, where to do it, and what to do it with. 

Volunteers train often and hard, but in rural places we know that the odds of saving a building are not good. Volunteers may be unable to come. Others may be not trained for the type of fire that is raging. (Ours was an electrical fire.) The gas, electric and water companies must all have men on site to assist in turning off utilities which can make situations even more dangerous. One doesn't realize the complexities of what has to be done or the safety protocols set in place until they affect your life and home.

Eventually they did extinguish the flames, then the smoking embers on the inside walls, and the "hot spots" that are most persistent. At last, the exhausted men and women were able to remove their heavy coats and boots and return home. Will had arrived and tried to assess the damage, but the cyanide gases inside the house prevented him from even looking in the windows.

The only thing left to do was to find a place to take a bath and try to rest for the night. In the morning they returned, unwilling to accept the devastation. But while they suffered a loss which breaks our hearts but is nothing compared to what could have been. 

They decided to come here for a day or two to regroup and shake off the nervous shock. Once they talked it over as a family, they decided to stay until after the holidays. So everything in my world is upside down and crazy. Quilting and blogging will be put aside so that I can help with the many, many details of finding a way back to living a normal life. But we are together and safe and that is all that matters.

Sunday Quilt Inspiration: Robot

Front

Richard and I visited our youngest son, Rory, earlier in the week. Seems he was a bit under the weather, so Wednesday we made a quick trip just because retired people can do stuff like that, just, whenever. (It's taking me a little while to get used to being retired.) 

Anyway, just under his newly-built (but still needing concrete) carport was this cute little guy. He's about three feet tall and does nothing except stand sentinel in the front yard. 

Back

Apparently Rory had some sort of water-heater gadget and a few dead wires, etc. hanging around, so he sculpted this Christmas guard for his girls. I don't know what they do with it, but I decided to give it some fame: it gets to be inspiration for today's Sunday Quilt Inspiration. How much fame could a robot sculpture want?

I think my boy has a little of my creativity genes. In fact, they all do, but then maybe they should. 

So robots...
When I started looking, I created a board, because that's what I do with the stuff I find online. Need robot ideas? Go HERE.

A family or an army? I can't decide.

Know what these can be inspiration for? Some quilts!

I've pinned most of these quilts to my "baby, quilts" board. It just seemed to make more sense. Have a great week!