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Conifer of Ember
Dec. 7th, 2019 10:08 pmI didn't sleep long enough last night, partly because the Sparrowhawk had a bad dream, so I had to wake up enough to wake him up and tell him he was all right. I was tired for parts of the day. However, we got dressed and presentable and went to the farmers market. We saw our favorite farm ladies, and bought a pork roast, sausages, and some stew meat to be put away for making the Christmas meat pies later. The one I think of as Apple told us we were looking better. She said she'd been worried about us. Interesting to know. We also bought potatoes, squash, leeks, carrots, four different kinds of apples, and a jar of honey. I always feel happy and victorious when I bring home my plunder from the market. I do like my grocery store, but it's not quite the same. I did a little writing, made a list of all the Christmas books I've found on our shelves so far--31 at last count--took a very fast walk, and made an apple cake for the church potluck tomorrow.
Among my mother's things was a locket that we bought for her long ago, with tiny pictures of the little Philosopher and his cousin Ikes, back when they were still the only grandchildren. I took it home with me, and I wore it to Thanksgiving to bring a little bit of my mother with me. This made me think about the other locket that we gave to the Sparrowhawk's grandmother. It had pictures of the Philosopher and the Diva in it. When Gram died, someone gave that locket back to us, too. I found it in the drawer where it had been languishing. The chain had broken, so it couldn't be worn. It is pretty but by no means valuable--a shiny gold color, but certainly not made from any precious metal. We were young and poor when we got it for her, probably at a department store, but it could equally well have been the dime store. Gram was not accustomed to the finer things and was not the kind to scorn our modest offering. She had to drop out of school in third grade to work with her mother at a hotel in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. It was there that she met her future husband, a fireman on the Canadian Pacific, which ran through town. Gram was quite something--tough and sparky, but loving and kind. Although she never had much of an education, she was very intelligent and curious about lots of things, always willing to try something new. She learned to water ski when she was in her sixties. I'm not sure how she recognized me as a kindred spirit, when I was a long-haired hippie girl wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and a string of love beads Queenie made, spelling out "I love you" in Morse code, but she did. It was love at first sight, and I loved her too.
Anyway, I thought I could fix the locket, so I got the needle nose pliers and another set of pliers to hold it steady with my left hand, and I took the chain apart and put it back together again so it works. Ta da. I know that a cheap thing, once broken, is liable to break again, but it's fixed for now. I've been wearing it all day. Here's to you, Mary Schoffer!
Among my mother's things was a locket that we bought for her long ago, with tiny pictures of the little Philosopher and his cousin Ikes, back when they were still the only grandchildren. I took it home with me, and I wore it to Thanksgiving to bring a little bit of my mother with me. This made me think about the other locket that we gave to the Sparrowhawk's grandmother. It had pictures of the Philosopher and the Diva in it. When Gram died, someone gave that locket back to us, too. I found it in the drawer where it had been languishing. The chain had broken, so it couldn't be worn. It is pretty but by no means valuable--a shiny gold color, but certainly not made from any precious metal. We were young and poor when we got it for her, probably at a department store, but it could equally well have been the dime store. Gram was not accustomed to the finer things and was not the kind to scorn our modest offering. She had to drop out of school in third grade to work with her mother at a hotel in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. It was there that she met her future husband, a fireman on the Canadian Pacific, which ran through town. Gram was quite something--tough and sparky, but loving and kind. Although she never had much of an education, she was very intelligent and curious about lots of things, always willing to try something new. She learned to water ski when she was in her sixties. I'm not sure how she recognized me as a kindred spirit, when I was a long-haired hippie girl wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and a string of love beads Queenie made, spelling out "I love you" in Morse code, but she did. It was love at first sight, and I loved her too.
Anyway, I thought I could fix the locket, so I got the needle nose pliers and another set of pliers to hold it steady with my left hand, and I took the chain apart and put it back together again so it works. Ta da. I know that a cheap thing, once broken, is liable to break again, but it's fixed for now. I've been wearing it all day. Here's to you, Mary Schoffer!
