Sunday, December 2, 2007

Sell Out On Grandma Strange's Rag Bag

Good Afternoon to All.

I have received an excellent response to Grandma Strange's Folk Art Rags. I have sold over 100 in the last week. I have been up nights knitting more of them. I called my family in to help. My daughters are so wonderful. One night we didn't go to bed just so we could mail out orders the next day.

The most gratifying part of this situation is the time my daughters and I have spent together.

There were several times I could feel Grandma Strange's presence in the room. I am positive she was here. You are certainly guaranteed a part of Grandma and her love and wisdom comes with each and every rag from her folk art rag bag.

Remember the price includes postage.

Friday, November 30, 2007


hey! No one has ordered any rags yet. Grandma Strange would be hurt. And that was a LIE. Grandma Strange would be upset with me for attempting to sell them. She would tell me to give them away or donate them to the soup kitchen or homes.

You don't have to purchase them. Take a peek at them & leave a comment on what you think of them. I enjoy making them because they bring back some of the few wonderful memories in my life. It is my way of sharing some of Grandma Strange's love with others. When you see the crazy colors & errors in the making of them, it makes you laugh. Nothing is perfect..............

Finding God

I have a question.
Why is it elderly people & people in jail or prison always discover God? Is it like a "last ditch effort" to get the pass in to heaven when they leave this planet? People that have never had a thought of God or any type of religion become very religious.

It could be a fear of death or a fear of what they have done in the past. They are realizing they are going on a trip they hadn't planned. Perhaps fear of the unknown makes them take the path of prayer.

The male wolf in my family gave up & prayed on his death bed. I wasn't there, I heard it from the female wolf. There was a place waiting in anticipation for him, but he was trying to go in the wrong direction, if you get my meaning there.

I just felt the need to voice my question. I am going to knit some Grandma Strange rags. I feel the need for her comfort. I think I hear the Sheeny Man coming down the alley.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Grandma Strange's Folk Art Rag Bag

This blog is partly devoted to my Grandma Strange. If you read my blog you will come to know her well.

My Grandma Strange was old fashioned & a loving Grandma. She always wore a braid in the back of her hair & always wore an apron. Grandma knitted dish cloths/cleaning rags from left over yarn before paper towels were manufactured or purchasing rags became popular.

Grandma taught me to knit and while we knitted the afternoons away, we would talk. She would show me that every rag we made was different, not perfect, just like people. I learned many life lessons during my knitting visits with Grandma Strange.

I remember my visits like they were yesterday. Grandma was quite plump & would always greet me with warm hug. It was like being engulfed by a billowy pillow.

Now, as an adult, I would like one visit with Grandma Strange, but it is not possible. So, I knit rags in loving memory of my Grandma Strange. No matter how bad life is or what is going on, I can always knit & picture Grandma here to talk things over with. There were times she only had to look at me & I knew what she was saying.

Remember, these rags are just like Grandma Strange's Rag Bag. None of the rags are perfect or the same as the one before or after. I kept the bright, funny colors too. We had to use the left over yarn. There was never yarn to make one rag the same color.

If you would like to purchase a rag or two, the prices are :
One Rag: $ 5.00 (all prices include postage)
Three Rags: $12.00
Five Rags: $20.00
Each rag is approximately 81/2 inches square
NO charge for special color combinations

Grandma Strange's Folk Art Rag Bag

Did the Law pass for not spanking children?

I just discovered something. There isn't any difference between calling this a blog or calling it a journal. No one reads anything you write about so it is a public journal of sorts. That is O.K. with me.

I am going to add GRANDMA STRANGE'S RAGS on for display & for sale tonight. This is kind of like talking to yourself on paper. It is better than writing in a journal because I like the click, click, click of the keys on the board. It sure looks better when you are finished writing. Yes, this blog thing might be good.

Something has been bothering me today & I do not know the reason. If you have read any of my postings I mention the fact that I was raised by wolves. I do that because my childhood was dreadful & abusive in ways that people find very difficult to believe. I am sixty one years old so it doesn't live with me as it once did. Today I actually have a headache from it. That is what made me think of coming here to write about it.

I think the dark, cloudy weather has something to do with it. The bad weather brings out bad memories for some reason. There were four of us kids in the family. Why do people say "were" instead of "are"? We're still here. I am the oldest. I have a sister one year younger than me & my two brothers are two & three years younger than me. Quite a close family you could say. It was close in age only & the fact that Wolf mother was Catholic. Wolf male did not have any religion, except his own that he made up as he went.

This particular day that will not leave my mind today was when we were in junior high. My youngest brother was always in trouble for something. He got into a fight with another kid & was suspended from riding the school bus for two days. My brother was not a bad kid. He wasn't born that way.

I had no idea what was going on in the house when I returned home that day. It was very quiet, too quiet. Everyone was in their own bedroom. I went to my room & a few minutes later mother wolf returned from work. Father wolf came out of their bedroom & ordered her to make some coffee. Before she even removed her coat she started running water for his coffee. He watched her carefully measure the scoops of coffee into the pot. If it wasn't perfect, she would have to put it all back in the cannister & start over again. The water for the coffee had to be the right temperature coming out of the faucet or that would have to stop & start several times. Preparing coffee in this demented house could take some time. Don't you dare drink out of someone's glass or cup either. That could get you a black eye for sure.

When he was satisfied with her work he told her to sit down in her chair. We all had designated kitchen chairs to sit in. Just like the three bears, only different. It was very, very different. A bit of sarcasim helps some times.

The wolf father told her she had better look at her youngest son because he doesn't think he will be able to attend school for a few days. "Uh Oh......"! was my first thought while I was eavesdropping in the hallway. I went toward my brother's room & my sister stopped me. She told me we had orders not to enter his room. Yeah, right. I turned on the light & entered with the female wolf behind me.
My brother was laying in a pile on the floor. He wore glasses & the glasses were still on his face. The nose piece was broke in half & the glass in both frames were actually shattered. He had blood smeared every where. Blood was still trickling out one ear. He was laying there staring off into space. At first I truly thought he was dead. His face had already swelled which made the cuts look worse. His lips actually appeared to be one huge lip. His eyes were turning black under the broken glasses. There were even scratches on his face. The male wolf never cut his finger nails or toe nails. The female wolf had to do it for him. She wasn't doing her job.

Wolf female took one look at her son laying there, inhaled a big sigh & started toward him. The male wolf yelled at her to back away & let him lay there where he deserved. She actually sighed again & walked away.
I can't write any more about it right now.

I had a totally different title when I started this posting. As I was writing I found out why I was so haunted today by this childhood memory. I was watching CNN & they were talking about the no spanking law. They were arguing the pros & cons. I wish I could argue that with them.

I wonder if it passed. I hope it did.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

The Waiting Room

I am breaking away from Grandma Strange for a moment.

I have to share my visit to the doctor. I have a disease. It is called COPD. Most of you would know it by emphysema. I have several doctors that treat me. People with COPD spend many hours with doctors. Have you sat & watched the action in a waiting room? I forgot my book to read, so I had nothing to do while waiting.

Patients sit there tapping their foot & gazing off in space. The cell phones ring, some are answered & some are ignored. Each phone plays a different song. Waiting rooms could be compared to an elevator. Usually no one talks or even shares a smile of acknowledgement that other people exist sitting next to them.

There is a woman sitting across from me. She is looking at a book but never turns a page. She might as well be looking at it upside down. She watches the other patients & when they look back, she pretends to be reading the book. Next to her is an older man. He is accompanied by a younger caregiver type person. He, in between coughing up a lung, is telling her how incompetent she is & she cannot even prepare toast for him without burning it. Over in the corner is a working type guy. He is dressed in heavy duty work clothes. He is one of those guys that looks your body up & down as he talks to you. He never meets your eyes, just your body parts. I sincerely want to stare back at him, but I don't want to encourage him to follow me home.

I have the utmost respect for doctors. I don't know how they can listen to people's ailments all day. I always had a strict rule for myself, don't ever ask an old person how they are, because they will tell you. I have now become one of those "older people". I am blessed with a disease that doesn't allow me to talk as I did when I was healthy. I know many people appreciate that.
I simply run out of air. I don't have enough air to breathe & talk at the same time.

Doc must be running behind today. He is a wonderful doctor & I love him or I would not be sitting here without a book to read. I might go borrow the book the lady across from me is not reading.

O.K. gazing it is...........My gazing takes me to the see thru sliding glass window to the receptionist area. The glass is adorned with various credit cards that will be accepted as payment. I see many new drugs available. (for "whatever ails you" as Grandma Strange would say) The tape holding all this paper is discolored & old. It is curling on the edges & faded. The literature racks are empty. Activities long since past are still stuck on the window. Under the window are scuff marks on the wall. I look at the pictures & they have fingerprints & dust on them. If I had a book I wouldn't have noticed the dust on all the chair rungs. If this area was made more pleasant for the patients, they might not feel like the discolored, curling tape.

The frazzled, tired receptionist glances periodically at the clock on the wall & then back to the waiting room full of patients. I get the idea that this is not her dream job. She receives several personal calls. She chats while the office phone rings. Her response to the patient calling is, "can you hold a moment, please?" & continues her personal call. After a few minutes she ends the personal call & treats the incoming call as an intrusion.

I could gather from her numerous conversations there is a cook out tonight with her family. They discussed what everyone is bringing & who is picking up the kids. That will be nice. She
can relax & perhaps enjoy a nice glass of wine.
I hope the scheduled rain doesn't ruin her plans. It it does, I am glad I won't be a patient here tomorrow. There is nothing worse than the wrath of an upset receptionist. That could ruin your day.

As I look closer, not only does the window need cleaning, but the entire area looks unkept.

Great! Someone comes out of a room. It is all our beloved receptionist could do to raise her head & talk to the patient. The lady needs some tests run & it seems they can't decide on a good time.
Finally, the receptionist tells her to take it or leave it, that is all there is. (I think that glass of wine for her tonight just morphed into a vodka martini straight up)

I got up from my chair & started pacing. I walked down the hall to the bathroom. Next door to the bathroom was an open door I had not noticed before. I peeked in & discovered it was the janitor's closet. I looked at this as an omen. I quickly filled my arms & returned to my post. I just could not sit any longer. As I returned I spotted a drug representative & actually grabbed four boxes of Kleenex. I discovered all the literature pamphlets in a box. Reception girl left her station long enough for me to spray Windex & clean off the old tape & signs on the see thru window. I used the Pledge can on everything that didn't move, including a bald guy's head. I tossed out all the bits & pieces of junk laying around the room. One of the patients asked if I would go home with him. The book lady actually laughed at that. Before long they were telling me I was missing a spot here & there.

As people were coming in & out I kept telling the nurse to take someone else. I really wanted to finish what I started. I was standing back enjoying my work. I turned around to get some approval from my fellow patients & I suddenly realized I was the only one in the room.

I was sitting on the table waiting for the doctor to enter & I looked down. Did you ever notice the black rubber step on an examining room table? This one needed a good scrubbing. NO, I sat there & didn't move. By this time I was too tired to do anything about it.

My appointment went fine. As I was leaving & once again admiring my work, I had a thought. Now I know why they call it a WAITING ROOM. I think they plan those long boring waits on purpose. They don't employ cleaning staff. One or two patients like me is all they need.

Oh, woe is me. I just realized I see a different doctor tomorrow.