quiltersmuse.com Blog

Okay, I admit it. The photos I am about to post show me on one of my “bad hair” days. My excuse is that we decided to go to Rhode Island to visit family, on the spur of the moment. Even though I have THE BEST hairdresser in the world, I did not have time to see her before leaving. That’s my story.

Looking at these photos bring back thoughts of a beautiful, sunny day when my son, James, suggested that Jim and I and his son, Patrick, go to the nearby beach. His wife, Rebecca, was at work, and Hannah was not yet born. It was chilly, as you can see by my sweater. I assume that these candid photos were taken on June 1, 2009 (by intrepid photographer, James Cummings, my ever-loving husband).

Jim caught a photo of James and I having a discussion, while Patrick played with his toys. The hair is too funny.

This is a view of Narragansett Bay from Goddard Park beach.

Dinosaur friends

Same bad hair day

In spite of the “hair issue,” there are a few telling things about these photos. In the first picture, I am holding a book. I had just purchased a book about Sailor’s Valentines (which I have discussed previously in this blog). I wanted to show it to James as he is so interested in material culture from the 19th century. By the way, neither my husband Jim, nor I, ever go anywhere without a book. It makes waiting for anything a lot more bearable. During our formative years, we were always accused of having our noses in a book, so I suppose it is just a continuation of behavior. How else does anyone continue their education beyond school years?

We had a great time. While looking ahead to more chilly weather and snow now, I found it fun to remember this summer day when the only thing on our minds, besides enjoying the day, was intellectual “stuff.” I am so proud of my son and his family. Although I can perhaps sometimes be considered to be “the mother from hell,” I do love them and think that they truly are great “kids.”

To see a photo of my granddaughter, Hannah, please visit my song file, “An Irish Lullaby.”

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications

Background of the story:

When I was about five years old, my family moved to a brand new house that my father had ordered custom-built for us at the north end of Manchester, NH. The land around the house was not landscaped, when we arrived, and previously had been home to hundreds of toads. I decided to “collect them.” I asked my mother for a shoe box, something to hold water, and I set off to collect toads, turning over every rock, and capturing the unwitting little things. Of course, I had to find “bugs” to feed them, too.

Steve Grace at 7 years old, the year I was born.

I thought I was doing a pretty good job. However, one morning, I woke up and found that my big brother, Steve, who was 7 years older than me, had let loose the toads. I called him a “meanie” and set up a ruckus. He explained to me that one should not keep living things in captivity because wild things want to be free. I understood then.

Ever since, I have been thrilled to see toads, including the ones that hopped across the country roads between Deerfield, NH and Bear Brook State Park in Allenstown, on summer nights. I’d spot them while driving my young son and my mother to Nature Programs at the Science Center there. Toads are attracted to hot asphalt, I believe.

Last week, we attended three consecutive nightly meetings and came home after dark. When the automatic light went on by the back door, there was a medium size toad sitting there, as if waiting for us to come home. Inspired by this sight, I went upstairs, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and was in the process of writing what I thought was a lovely poem. I had only finished the first two stanzas, when Jim came in the room, looking over my shoulder.

I said, “No!” Good poetry must be read aloud!

Here is my poem, never finished, because his advice after hearing the preliminary lines was, “Don’t give up your day job!”

Ode to a Toad

There once was a toad
outside my abode
He hopped in the lamplight
abiding.

His heart was on fire
to muck through the mire
to find “lady love” there
residing.

See, this was a stroke of true genius, but now, neither you nor I will know what happened to Mr. Toad! Did he find true love? Or, wander endlessly seeking it? I leave the situation for you to ponder.

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications

I have followed in my mother’s footsteps of writing down things that amuse me. I would like to share the following quote from a Monty Python skit, in the hope that you will enjoy it. I am including a link to an anthology of their work, that I am surprised is still available. I think I will drop the major hint that this is what I’d like for my birthday. Here goes:

‘e’s not pinin’. ‘e’s passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! e’s expired and gone to meet ‘is maker! ‘e’s a stiff! Bereft of life, ‘e rests in peace! If you hadn’t nailed ‘im to the perch ‘e’d be pushin’ up the daisies! ‘is metabolic processes are now ‘istory! ‘E’s off the twig! ‘e’s kicked the bucket, ‘e’s shuffled off ‘is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible! THIS is an EX-PARROT!

My kind of humor! This is hilarious!

Patricia Cummings who has not yet shuffled off the mortal coil, or joined the bleedin’ choir invisible

How many obituaries have you read? Are they not consummately-boring? If you agree, then write your own and keep it updated and ready “for the right time.” Sure, you were born. You wouldn’t be here, if you weren’t. Do we really care what day, or what hour, or exact minute that happened? No, we don’t. Okay, I’ll clarify that. I don’t care. Obituaries could be more general, such as, “She lived 90 or so miserable years.” Close enough!

We know you had relatives. Some of them may have cooled their heels in jail. Do we need a list of these reprobates? I say, “No!” I don’t care who you were related to in life. Who were you?

Now, here comes the kicker. For what reason do you want to be remembered? I mean, what exactly did you do in life?

I don’t mean a list of college degrees. What did you do that makes you different than the other clods who sat in a classroom, perhaps listening to a nitwit drone on and on, wasting your money, the government’s money, or your parent’s money, on some topic you didn’t care about and will never remember anything about in twenty years? (No, I am not anti-Education, for the record).

Did you take what you learned a little further, beyond the knowledge from a preliminary survey course? Did you become a scientist, an inventor, a public speaker? What did you do that makes you special, a cut-above, someone who stands out in a crowd?

Writing your own obituary affords you a chance to have some input into lasting remembrances of what made you … you! If you want, include some of the more obnoxious things you might have done, like scaring the poor nuns by drawing pictures of a naked Superman flying through the air (like one kid I knew). How about the time you went snorkeling to see exotic fish life in Hawaii? Perhaps, you were “Cook of the Week,” in your local newspaper? Maybe you studied abroad, or traveled there to an exhibit where your quilts were shown. You see, we all have something unique about us. Perhaps you served in the Armed Forces, in wartime, or not. All of our experiences make us who we are.

I would like to see obituaries that go beyond the raw data, the peripherals of dates and degrees and relatives whom, by a fluke of nature, we happen to be connected. Obituaries are becoming shorter and shorter. It is worth it to pay a little extra for more coverage. After all, this is your last peep and I think the peep should be your own peep, not a peep from someone else who doesn’t give a peep. (big grin)

Think about it. I believe this is as important as writing your will, and like you will, your obituary should be revisited annually to see if anything has changed or any modifications are needed. Have fun blowing your own horn. Just remember, you are not writing a book, but for heaven’s sake, give yourself a decent peep before you “shuffle off the mortal coil,” “cease to eat crumpets,” and otherwise, look mummified!

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications

Cakes, cakes, cakes. What would a special occasion be without a cake? When I was a little kid, I looked forward to birthdays and holidays, partly because of my mother’s abilities in cake making. My mother loved cakes. She would make a cake on a whim, as well as for a dedicated reason.

There are so many photos of cakes in the family album, I thought I would share a few with you. After all, the photos have no calories!

The cake above was made for James Gorham, my son, and her grandson.

She would add store-bought decorations like little ceramic Easter bunnies, or a miniature diploma, or candied confections.

The photo above shows my (late) brother, Steve, “wearing” and holding two decorations and sitting before a scrumptous piece of cake that my mother made for him when he graduated from the University of New Hampshire with a teaching degree in Agriculture.

Mom would experiment. She would “bake from scratch,” or bake with a cake mix. Her cakes came out well, no matter what. I have her recipe for Buttercream frosting down to a science: 1 box of Confectioner’s sugar, 1 tsp. vanilla, 1 stick of unsalted butter, and 1/4 cup milk. She liked to add peach preserves in the middle of a layer cake.

Her Christmas cakes always had white frosting and coconut on the top, and sometimes, strawberry preserves, in the middle. Her German Chocolate cakes were a lot of work and very special! I really liked her Confetti cake, and Angel Food cake, served with Strawberries, or dipped in Chocolate Fondue.

This photo is from 1986 when my mother made a cake for Jim’s birthday, knowing that he loves chocolate!

During my lifetime, I have made my share of cakes, too.

This highly-decorated bear cake was a “bear” to complete, and it is the only cake of its kind I ever attempted. It was made for my son’s 4th birthday.

I hope you have enjoyed this brief romp through the photo album. Let me know if, on the basis of seeing these photos, you just had to bake a cake! pat@quiltersmuse.com

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications