Monday, September 22, 2014

Needle Pricks

Lin shared her story about quilting and her experiences "getting back into it" after some time off.  This brought back a flood of memories.  I am in possession of a very old quilting frame because my late wife, Ellie, was a quilter and I still have some stuff.

 This was the last quilt Ellie made.  Pattern is "Hunter's Star."

 There are eighty blocks in this quilt, all hand-pieced, 32 pieces per block.
That would be, uh, hmmm.  Way north of two thousand pieces.

 Ellie chose a light pink backing and had much of the quilting done before she died.

 Her friends in her quilting club finished the quilting. (Bigify to read.)

The quilting frame is tall and the artisan stands while she works.  A tall barstool will work, too.
It occupied a four foot by twelve foot space in our living room for quite some time.
Each of Ellie's grandchildren has a crib-size quilt that their grandmother made.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

He Cares for Me

Yesterday, a beautiful, nay almost perfect, Fall morning, I left the house on the bicycle quite late, yet in time to get to the post office before the noon locking of the door.

Exercising more caution than is my wont, when I came to the highway I stopped and planted both feet whilst waiting for the traffic to pass.  How unlike me.  I usually ride along the berm, hoping for an opening through which I might dart.  Six blocks along I came to a red light, and again I stopped. What is this strange behavior?  Right next to me was the rear end of a 53 foot semitrailer,  and as we both started through on the signal, I had a flashback to my teen years, a time in which I very likely would have grasped the back of the truck to allow it to tow me through town.  Sometimes, on Nevada Avenue, back in the day, about the time the driver shifted into sixth and the speed approached forty, I would let go, and let him go.

And thus it was that as I pedalled through the intersection and the truck pulled away from me that I thought "How many times did the Lord or His guardian emissary protect me when I was too stupid to watch out for myself?"

I know you will be incredulous, but as I thought about that I realized that the times were doubtless numerous; then I wondered how often He protected me in situations that I don't know about, some of which may not have been the result of my own stupidity. I'll never know, but I've no doubt the number of times is staggering.

And why, you might think, would vanilla believe that the Lord cares for him and protects him even in his folly?

This, for starters.  God sent Moses to lead His people out of bondage, and notwithstanding their repeated disobedience, and folly, and murmurings, God protected them and watched over them.  It is no stretch for me to believe that God who cares for and protects a couple million "stiffnecked" people in that day cares for this hardhead today.

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust. Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence.  He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.
Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;  Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.  Psalm 91: 1 - 6

Further reading: Deuteronomy 32
"Moses on Mt. Nebo" by Nehemiah Persoff

Saturday, September 20, 2014

I Don't Know Why

I found this fascinating, nor do I know why I am directing you to this tale.  But there you go.

This serial killer, Louise Peete, died in the California gas chamber, 20 September 1947.  Grisly details?  Here.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

A History Lesson in Rogersville

Caney Creek, Tennessee
October 1, 1901

“Hidy, Miss Dora!”  It was Uncle Jeptha.  I was in town with Mama.  “Miz Rutledge, Ma’am!  Fine day.  Might Dory sit here on this bench with me whilst you shop?  I get her a sassparilly.”

“Please, Mama?”

“Certainly.  Now you be right here when I get back, hear?”

“Do you know about the war thet was fought right here, Chile?”

“You mean the War Between the States, Uncle?”

“Thet’s the one.  Waal, they was a big ol’ battle right here where we are a sittin’oh, thirty-seven, thirty-eight year ago.  Way afore your time. Afore mine, too.  Ha!" 

“My Grampa Rutledge was in the war.”

“Most ever’one hereabouts were.  See, the thing is, Tennessee were with the South, but lots a fellas hereabouts had fit for the United States years afore, ‘n they join with the Union.  Lots a families plum split apart account a thet.   Your Aunt Grace Grandaddy were one a them.  He join the Union army, go off to fight for the North.  But one November he get a short leave, come home to see his wife ‘n kids.  ‘N whilst he were here, His cousin Avery, Avery were Reb all the way, Avery tell the sojers in grey thet ol’Steven were at his house.  So they capture him, send him to prison camp.  Waal, sad ending account a Steven tuk sick there an’ die.  Never get home again.

"So thet is how come your Aunt Grace fambly have nothin’ to do with Avery’s chirren ‘n gran’chirren to this day.”

“Oh, that is a sad story, Uncle.”

“War is a sorry bidness, Honey, a sorry bidness.”

Mama pick me up then and Nellie Belle carry us home.

Please, God, don’t ever, ever let there ever be war again.

Goodnight, dear Diary.

© 2014 David W. Lacy 48

Wednesday, September 17, 2014


BBBH is today's guest writer on String Too Short to Tie.


Grandbabies are always in demand
But sometimes, upon my head, I could stand 
They give us a chance to bake cookies
Which we are not supposed to eat
With the excuse made to others
This sin we won't soon repeat

We go to the show and watch Snow White
Then go high up a hill to fly a kite
Get to play games down on the floor
With beautiful little people we adore
We can go to the zoo and watch an ape
Or slithering serpents at which we gape
Can give hugs and kisses and say goodnight
Pull up their blanket and tuck them in tight
We sit around rocking in our chair
Glad one of our grandbabies could be there
I always wanted to see them more
But if we don't work, we will be poor

They grow up so fast, how time flies
When I look back tears fill my eyes
Hands tucked under a chubby cheek
Lying on a little pillow fast asleep
Angels watching over their souls to keep
Thank you God, I think I'll weep

Psalm 91:11    Proverbs 22:6

from Gifts from God, Grace Jo Anna Press, 1995
©Grace JoAnn Harrison Lacy 1995, 2014

One of those grandbabies is forty now, and none of them are kids anymore.  But there are great-grandbabies!

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Elgin Baylor

Born September 16, 1934 in Washington, D.C., Elgin Baylor was perhaps the greatest small forward (6'5") ever to play in the NBA.

I was a student at Seattle Pacific during the time Baylor played for Seattle University.  I saw him play NCAA ball.  Did not see him as a pro where his career extended into his late seventies as management employee.

I post this honoring his achievements on the occasion of his eightieth birthday.  Much has been written about his career. For those who are basketball fans, look it up.

Happy birthday, Mr. Baylor!

Monday, September 15, 2014

Football, You Bet! (Replay)

Friday nights in Perfect, as in half the towns and villages in the state, the lights come on in the local high school football stadium.  This past Friday night, the lights went out, so to speak, for our local warriors of the gridiron.  What I am saying is that they ran into a buzzsaw, suffering the worst defeat in the school's history.  Now I have many acquaintances and a grandson who are members of the team.    We all understand that in a contest of this nature there will be a winner and a loser.  But we are all winners if we pick up the pieces, move on, and face the next encounter with pride and courage.  And of course we hope that the rival who beat us is grateful to us, the loser, for without a loser, there can be no winner.

Since I was thinking football, I went back to the archives and pulled up this story I posted four years ago.  It is from the "Loonville" series of tales I shared which were based on our experiences in that fair community long ago.  Perhaps I'll resurrect a few more of these vignettes?
Here we are in Loonville, Friday evening deep into high school football season! The air is crisp, but not bitingly cold. Nylon jackets will be the order of the night, as we gather at the football field for the kick-off between the Loonville Shawnees and the Podunk Hellions. Arch arch-rivals, districts separated only by county road 600 North, if you are coming from Podunk, or 1600 South if leaving Loonville. Same road either way.

Sometime since then, the mists of memory befogging the details, both communities recognized the political incorrectness of the one moniker and the social inappropriateness of the other. The teams have been redubbed "Hawks" and "Argonauts" respectively. These changes were just wrong on several levels, imho. Loonville is situated full within the stomping grounds of the Shawnees of old. What better way to honor them than by keeping their name alive? Yes, I know the history is not pretty. And as for Podunk calling themselves Hellions, I taught school there for six years, and that is not wrong.

Friday nights are no more intense in Texas than they are in Indiana when two hard-nosed teams harboring grudges and enmity meet on the field of honor. The Shawnees are coached by Jim Laird who for a man of his tender years (he's in his mid-forties) has the highest percentage wins over losses of any coach in the state. Virgil Grimes who coaches Podunk has more wins, but he is but a couple years from casting his bait into a lake in the Ozarks on a daily basis. The rivalry in football, back to the earliest date that both schools fielded football teams, stands at Shawnees 12, Hellions 11, deadlocks 4. Loonville must defend its honor and maintain the edge. Podunk, on the other hand, is riding a 32 game win streak and has only five more to go to set a state record.

There is no need relating the play-by-play, and how Corcoran, with but eight seconds, fourth and seventeen...

So anyway, Podunk is now riding 33, and there is no joy in Loonville.

© 2010 David W. Lacy