The Free Milk of Human Kindness ...from Silicon Valley to Rwanda

Friendship is certainly boosted by proximity, but over my lifetime there have been a number of people who I have been destined to respect and love and yet not get to have anywhere near my neighborhood.  Such are my friends Roger and Faith Shaw.

Visiting with Roger and Faith in 2007

When we lived in Carmel on the cliffside estate, our employer had us host a fundraiser for visiting Rwandan cyclists who spoke every manner of smile but very little English.   Faith, who at that time lived in San Jose, was hired to translate their Kinyarwanda so the guys could tell their stories to the  invited guests.

Faith and I had one of those instant bonds; we found that we spoke the same language indeed.  Over the next few years my husband and I had some very dear encounters with Faith and her husband, Roger. For a time we lived close enough to visit each others homes.

While time and distance came between us, for Roger and Faith left California and moved to Rwanda, my appreciation of who my friends are and what they are doing continues to grow.

I hope you will watch an unsophisticated but fascinating video of Roger, learning about his larger neighborhood and showing why he wants to give milk to Mwendo neighbor children, but before you do, from their web page  in Rwanda, here is a bit of Faith's background:

First and foremost, she herself was a refugee separated from her parents after fleeing Rwanda's first genocide. She was taken in by another family, but was shamelessly exploited. They told her that her parents were dead, that there was no hope and they forced her into servitude.
A year later, Mrs. Hindley, an English missionary rescued Faith and hid her under blankets in the footwell of a vehicle and drove her to freedom. Mrs. Hindley re-united Faith with her parents. Later, growing up as a refugee in Uganda with very little money in the family, an unknown sponsor paid her school fees. 
Faith eventually attended Makere University. One evening, outside her college dorm, she discovered an abandoned baby crying in the trash. She took him to hospital and made plans to adopt him. Unfortunately, despite Faith's efforts, the little boy died a few days later. 
Sometime after graduating, Amin's soldiers arrested Faith on trumped-up charges and held her in a cell where she was certain to be raped that very evening. However, a man who described himself as a friend of her father's saw her in jail and somehow negotiated her immediate release. Neither Faith nor her father ever identified the man.   
Faith left Uganda and moved to Kenya and took a job as a teacher. Later she won a scholarship for post-graduate education for refugees. She moved to England to become a student again. It was here that she met and married her husband, Roger. They had two daughters, Zoe & Murika, and later the family relocated to the USA. In 1994, they watched Rwanda's second genocide unfold on the TV news. It was a horrifying event resulting in the murder of 800,000 people. The aftermath was heart breaking. Among many awful tragedies, thousands of children were left without anyone to care for them. This painful reality weighed heavily on the hearts of Faith & Roger and they recalled how someone had helped Faith when she had been a child in need. They couldn't quite reconcile their comfortable family life in California with the suffering of so many abandoned children in Rwanda.

In 2000 Faith visited her homeland and saw children in need in the aftermath of war.
In 2003,  Roger and Faith bought a four bedroom house in Ruhengeri.

They hired a nanny - Judith, and a cook - Gatzinzi, and they accepted the first four orphans, Ruzindana, Anne, Mutoni & Alice. Faith's dad did a great job of running the home and being a role model for the children and staff to look up to. Sadly for all of us, he passed away in 2006. 

In 2006 they incorporated and children kept coming...if the cook
didn't find another orphan, one of the children did.  Faith sold her paintings and jewelry she made to support the children and her church helped too. She would fly back and forth from their home in San Jose, California where Roger was still working in Silicon Valley... but it wasn't the vision they had.  They wanted the children to  live as a  family and they decided together to give up their work and home in California to become  Mom and Dad to an ever growing family in Rwanda.


In 2012 they relocated the rescue home to Bugesera. The website has wonderful pictures of the home they built there and the children who are growing up. It isn't accurate to call the Ishimwe rescue home an orphanage, for the children who live there are sons and daughters.  Faith and Roger have eighteen children!


 In the years since,  Roger has built a fish farm, a whole other story in itself, to help the area be more self sustaining.   Faith started Pioneer School, a place where the Ishimwe children can learn amongst other children of the community, broadening their sense of belonging and purpose.  The Ishimwe children learn at home to grow their food, and raise animals. At school they study reading, writing, arithmetic, computers, music and art and they are learning how knowledge, work and cooperation can call forth abundance enough to share.

Which brings us again to  Roger's latest hope and his video.  The children at Pioneer School all get a big fresh glass of milk each day from the cows at the Ishimwe home.  Roger wants to bring free milk to the neighboring school and several homes where the children are not able to attend school.

After watching Roger's video, I  remembered an advertising slogan from an American bread company of the 1950's, "build strong bodies twelve ways."  We can laugh now at white Wonder Bread with its 12 added nutrients, but Roger's milk will build strong bodies and it is also likely to kindle love and good purpose in the grateful recipients.

And to think of the promise that is attached to giving even a cup of cold water to a little one.


hoping the best for you,

Jeannette
ABOUT DONATIONS!
Some people have asked if they can donate...yes, that would be lovely!
  If you click on the video link that is in the story and I will provide it again HERE you will see to the right of the video picture is a donate button through an organization that Roger chose called Generosity.   They do not charge a fee to either side, but they do make a space to give Generosity a donation as well, if you so choose.  This site requires a credit card.

I gave my donation via PAYPAL to the Ishimwe website  with a note to specify that this particular donation was for MILK MONEY  for ROGER,  You simply click on the button to make a single donation and the option for PAYPAL will come directly up as well as other choices.

Over the Threshold...When Does One Grow Up?

"Girl child", a very free verse poem that I wrote last century and then left buried in one of my many notebooks, surfaced in my mind today because of a friend who is generating conversation on that notorious platform called Facebook with this question:

 "How does one know when one has crossed the threshold into adulthood? An act, a thought, a rite of passage, an event, a milestone...Thoughts?"  

My poem was in response to a similar query in a writing workshop I took to meet continuing education units that the state required of my profession.  The workshop leader shared a prompt and set a time limit and participants scribbled away. After the set ten or twenty minutes of writing we were free to share or not what one's heart and pen had produced. 

Queried, "When did you know you had become a woman? "

this is likely only one of my answers,

but that day, it came out, just like this:

GIRLCHILD

I was very clear about being a girl child,

a girl child who could run and climb and dig and build,

a girl child who could sew and color and read and write poems.

A girl child who must come in now

and wash your hands and help

in the kitchen cutting piles 

of even circles of carrots, 

tiny disks of burning color 
while the orange sun sank 
without me 
into the Pacific fog of hill and shore
and the thin blue line of the horizons,

that by their very unattainable distances, 

were always inviting.

Then childhood itself was torn asunder,

or was it rolled up like a rug?

No, the carpet lay on the floor, dirty and now mine to clean. 

No woman in the house 

but this thirteen- year-old girl no longer a child 

with the work of my mother fallen to my limbs. 

How did she make that sauce? 

Do I unplug when the washer overflows? 

Will it electrocute me? 

Run to the neighbors. 

“Oh honey, why doesn’t your father hire a woman to help you?”  

There was no woman that could be hired
to help this girl at her real task.

What could make me a woman? 

Was it shoes with heels 
that made me feel the strength and length of my legs?  

Was it the jobs in the city,

the hunger in men’s eyes?  

The woman was hidden
in the girl child,

but the child fled
and no woman appeared. 

I suppose there were glimpses of her along the way

that a keen eye might have seen,

but she snuck up on me, 

sometime after college. 

When the ardent second childhood waned, 
she emerged;

neither as optimistic nor as angry, 

neither as guileless or as selfish,

not as foolhardy or as frightened. 

What made me a woman?  

When need gave way and 

the force of love 

forged through me

with eyes for others, 

and I forgave.

~~~~~~~

I didn't mention playing dress-up with my neighbor, but I did that too.

                                     
                                         

Painting and Praying

Thinking of dear ones....

For Herb M. I am so glad you have been part of my life, with prayers and tears and hope brighter than any colors we can see or share...

For Susan H. as she mends in the hospital tonight.

For my traveling darlings ...

For Bill M. and his dear GJM.

For a sweet foot that has walked ever so many miles for me and mine.

*** *** **** **** ** *******

Acorn Woodpeckers to Volcanoes ... Roll along on our Northern Cal to Reno Loop

While we do live definitely in Northern California, we don't live far enough north or east to see Mount Shasta until we mount up on our wheels and ride. And on June 17th we did just that. 

I don't remember what I was trying to capture at freeway speeds, but I caught this yellow truck.  It is a road trip...

Everything is green and gold as the road rolls north until suddenly from various vantage points, a white peak looms into view.

John Muir called her " ...a noble landmark...for all within a radius of 100 miles."

As you approach it's like peek-a-boo...

and I felt happy as a child waiting for the next sudden glimpse around a bend.

It is actually 4 overlapping volcanic cones  rising 14,179 feet

  Black Butte is a lava dome satellite cone of Mount Shasta and has already lost any frosting she may have had this last winter and spring.

Looking north east at the Butte's 6334 feet

We were treated to some very unexpected super gracious hospitality by dear family friends who live right close to Black Butte.  The family tour guide, already a near expert and not yet five years old, also had much to share.

Beyond Shasta, traveling north on old highway 99...the valley was quiet.

We kept stopping to look back at Mt. Shasta and Black Butte .

I took 191 photographs Tuesday and Wednesday...lots had to just be deleted.  None of my photos are great...but the subjects themselves keep me trying. At the ranch, the home of one of my brothers and

 his dear happy-to-have-her-new-horse wife, I watched birds flock to a second-story-balcony-isolated-from the-cat  bird feeding station.  I saw a lot of sharing, birds of different feathers fed together.  In an hour's time I saw 4 acorn woodpeckers, a pair of Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, several Rufus sided Towhees, a lone Nuthatch, a very large woodpecker that I think was a female Red-shafted Flicker, several Quail, Black Birds, Red-winged Blackbirds, Blue Jays, Banded Doves and at the adjacent feeder, Honeybees and Hummingbirds. Alas, the bird photos were  taken through the window glass.

Quail

Acorn Woodpeckers

Remember you can click on the photos to see them enlarged.  

The pastures of the ranch and the Marble Mountains

The pond outside the guesthouse.

Water Iris in the pond.

View past the chicken house on the left and greenhouse on the right from the guest house.

Well...we better keep moving....yes there are horses and goats, one sheep, two dogs, one cat  and beaver in the creeks and osprey diving into the ponds to snack on fish...but we had also promised to visit some extended family in Reno.  So, after pancakes on the ranch, we got on the road, turned back toward Mount Shasta and then east toward the historic timber and railroad town of McCloud.

Generations of hard workers have lived in this town.

We had checked with Uncle Google and learned that the road was open through Lassen Park; and you know, volcanoes have their draw.  The Ranger pamphlets say that Lassen Volcanic National Park is "a valuable laboratory of volcanic events and hydrothermal features."   I think that rather euphemistic language.  Only 100 years ago this peak blew a huge cloud of ash over 30,000 feet into the air; hot stuff, these volcanoes. Hat Creek travels that neighborhood too.  Hat Creek looks quiet now, but ...

Hat Creek not as high as it might be,
 but still a lovely sight

Hat Creek 

"On the  night of May 19, 1915, the few people homesteading outside of Old Station along Hat Creek near the foot of Lassen Peak, a volcano in northern California, went to bed expecting a peaceful night’s sleep. By now they had become accustomed to the sounds of small steam explosions coming from the volcano, which had been intermittently active during the past year. Around midnight, Elmer Sorahan

 was awakened by his dog barking furiously and pawing him. Dressing quickly, Elmer went outside, expecting a bear or other animal. Instead, he dimly saw a 12-foot-high wall of muddy water and logs rumbling down Hat Creek. After running more than a mile to warn his downstream neighbors, the Halls, he burst through their front door exhausted and shouting “Get out! get out! there’s a flood coming.” Mrs. Hall quickly spread the alarm downstream by telephone, and then the family scrambled uphill just before the house was swept off its foundation.
The next morning residents of the area saw that a wide swath of the northeast slope of Lassen Peak had been devastated by a huge avalanche and mudflow triggered by a powerful explosion at the volcano’s summit. Fortunately, because of the warnings, no one was killed, but several houses along the creek were destroyed. When Lassen Peak erupted again on May 22nd, the area was further devastated by a high-speed flow of hot volcanic ash and gas (called a “pyroclastic flow”), and the incorporation of snow into this flow generated new mudflows. Ash from the eruption rose high into the air and wind blew it eastward. Fine ash fell at least as far as 200 miles from the volcano. Because of the eruptive activity, which continued through 1917, and the area’s stark volcanic beauty, Lassen Peak and the area surrounding it were declared a National Park in 1916."  ( from the .S. Geologic Survey) 

Lassen is one of the world's largest plug dome volcanoes

Yikes, President Abraham Lincoln signed a bill to set aside Yosemite Valley to the state of California to be held for public recreation..."inalienable for all time," because of its  unique beauty....but  Congress declared the entire Lassen area a national park because it is a bit of a hot spot!  Park brochures use words like "stark beauty" rather frequently and there are areas in the park with signs that read "Devasted Area."

But it is indeed a beautiful area...and perhaps some day we can visit longer...but we were on a mission and though we stopped here and there we were just passing through.

Just outside of Reno where the traffic really flies...I stuck my camera outside the window ( the passenger window of course, I wasn't driving at this point)  and aimed it westward .... we were entering the desert and  the last stop before we turned back toward home.  

And thus ends my roll along, hope you've enjoyed the trip. I did.
best wishes!
Jeannette

Book Review: What I Saw in California by Edwin Bryant 1848

I am near the end of  reading  What I Saw in California   by Edwin Bryant, pub.1848.  

His journey begins  when he leaves his home in Louisville Kentucky on the 18th of April, 1846  and his journal begins when he reaches the town of Independence, Missouri where he will buy a yoke of oxen and  yoke himself up with other travelers set to leave for the west on May 1st, 1846. 

It is a real log, as he says, "My design is to give a truthful  and not an exaggerated and fanciful account of the occurrences of the journey, and of the scenery, capabilities and general features of the  countries through which we shall pass, with incidental sketches of the leading characteristics of their populations."(p. 18) 

 I have enjoyed his documentation greatly.  Without my having to more than imagine the incredible toil,  he took me, with his words, across plains and over mountains, through wet nights on cold ground. He shared the taste of limpid waters, cold springs joyfully found, the comfort of bird song in lonely corridors, the relief of finding grasses rich with nourishment for their animals, and the heft and potential of soils he described as argillaceous ( Yes, I had to look this word up!).   

    It is June 22nd, 2014 as I write my post.  By the third week of  June in 1846, Bryant's party had already changed out oxen for mules and horses and reached the Platte River in Nebraska where they camp, the night of  summer solstice,  on the river banks  about three miles from a 300 to 500 foot high and mile wide rock formation known as "Chimney Rock"  that has been in their sight all day.  Mr. Bryant thought it looked much like architectural ruins and although he describes it rather well, as he does all the environs, he writes this the following day.

"June 22- The rain poured down in torrents about one o'clock this morning. and the storm continued to rage with much violence for several hours...

If I could I would endeavor to describe to the reader by the use of language, a picture presented this morning at sunrise, just as we were leaving our encampment, among these colossal ruins of nature.  But the essay would be in vain.  No language, except that which is addressed directly to the eye, by the pencil and brush of the artist, can portray even a faint outline of its almost terrific sublimity.  A line of pale and wintry light behind the stupendous ruins, ( as they appeared to the eye,) served to define their innumerable shapes, their colossal grandeur, and their gloomy and mouldering magnificence. Over us and resting upon the summits of these, were the black masses of vapor, whose impending weight appeared ready to fall and crush every thing beneath them...." ( p.103)

I was encouraged by this book as to the value of simple daily writing.  I was reminded of the great efforts many made to come to a land that is so often taken for granted and despoiled rather than appreciated and stewarded as it should be.  And when Edwin Bryant ends his daily scribbling with an estimate of the miles traveled " Distance 10 miles." I  hardly know what to feel.  I am one who can traverse so many miles so quickly and not even feel the wind or weather in my air conditioned car...amazing...and yet...

Black Butte a 6334 ft lava dome in the Cascade Range of California  

I intend to next post photographs of a trip we recently made in that car to visit Grandma Beth  then some friends, on to my brother and his wife on their  ranch  near the Oregon border and then, by way of  Mount Lassen Park, east to Reno, Nevada to some aunties. Imagine how many words Edwin Bryant might have dispensed with if he had downloadable pixels at his disposable.  Maybe I will let the wordy Mr. Bryant influence me, and I'll web-log away as the slide show unfolds.  But this review, meant to entice you to a good read, is all for this morn. (Distance...oh, so many miles) 

with best wishes,

Jeannette

Page references to paper back ( ISBN 0-8032-6070-9) Complete work  also available for free on line at archive.org.

Planting Christmas Wishes

Everyone is trying to Figure Out what's Good for them...

Bread comes up in a lot of conversation lately. Not all bread is created equal and apparently not all people do well eating bread and I know everyone has to find what is right for them. I am not taking issue with to gluten or not to gluten...

Grandma's Bread Platter

But coming upon Grandma's bread plate I found myself reflecting on how bread is one of the oldest foods in our world. Every culture has a variation.  Ah, the bread that has been shared over time...The word companion comes from the Latin  for com (with) and panis ( bread).

But we needn't be literal, bread  has come to mean sustenance, and yours may not be made from grain...but the hope and the prayer remain that mankind may rightly win his bread and protect the ancient gifts of this earth while so doing.   And that there be real bread enough for everyone.

....Give us this day our daily bread...

with best wishes,

Jeannette

Bare Bones Anatomy of a Move

There is a great antidote to times like these...when you've rolled up the rug and  are packing up and saying good-byes and wondering how you ever got so many books 

and what box you put the aspirin in..

                                         You just leave your drawers on the floor...the desk was already in the truck...and your keyboard  perched on a cardboard box

and let someone you had only met via her blog take you for a lovely walk in a canyon you have never been in before.

Nothing to do here but to wonder at the forces that shape our world...the winds off the Pacific can topiary even the Redwood trees.

                                       Yes, thank you Katie and blessings to Steve's memory.

 But back at the ranch ( think seahorses) ... that truck is waiting...to be filled to the gills and not everything we had to pack would fit in a box.  Klaas had gifted us with plants that had grown big and beautiful and we didn't want to leave those behind.

Fortunately we didn't pack alone.  David and Susan came armed with  boxes and wrapping paper and know how!

Blago got back in town just in time to make one more amazing dinner for us on the fire in front of the cottage.

Jeanette not only squeezed me onto her busy acupuncture calendar but came over after work to take a walk with me.

 Bashar, who is very dedicated to the new World Education University,  came and sat on the cliff with us.

The ever faithful Faisal hosted us at his and Bashar's restaurant, wonderful Dametra.

Bonnie and Steve met us for a lunch  out at Jeffrey's.

Artist Daria braved our rough stone paths bearing her energy giving chocolates.

 Debi and Stan stopping by with yet another present after a lovely tea in their home.

Angel helped us constantly and then his beautiful wife Victoria showed up with homemade tamales.

Yes, you all helped us to get on our way, but ironically it is also you who made it hard to leave...and yet...

                                 On Tuesday October 1st  I followed Mark who was driving the big truck, northward bound. We left  Carmel around 4:30 pm.  Our first stop was Inspiration Point on Highway 280  where we  watched the sun set over the Crystal Springs Reservoir but

we couldn't  linger as the rest stop we really needed was one exit north.  So we stopped again and that's where I broke out Daria's chocolates; I don't think I could have driven much farther without them!  

No more stops after that, but a moving truck is slow way to travel. It was after 9 pm when we pulled into the inn behind the old train station in Sebastopol.  We'd be ready to face the next stage of moving in the morning, but for the time being all we could manage to do was sleep...and we did!  In the morning we watched the sunrise above the mountains to the east of us, got coffee and drove the last little way home.

                                       It's overgrown and a little worn down in some respects, being the man who fixes everything hasn't lived here for seven years, but we are oh-so- happy to be back in our own little house.

And the weather has been so lovely that even though we aren't all unpacked we keep running outside to do a little gardening.

So that's it ...just  the bare bones of course...but I've kept you from your own glories long enough for today.

best wishes!
Jeannette

You Feelin' Christmasy Punk? The Sequel

"You feelin' Christmasy Punk" is a rough paraphrase of a Clint

 Eastwood line in a film about tough police detective, "Dirty Harry." 

 And what does that have to do with Christmas? That's a question I could ask all month long...

It happens every December, I have to grab a big breath to even  push open the doors of the local pharmacy, (yes one of the many franchises that have pressed sameness and uniformity and anonymity upon us) and face all the doo-dads and bling and ding-dong and blinkie and fuzzy stuff that it is hoped we will purchase to celebrate....  

And even at my usually staid dentist's office there was... no, I'm not going to describe and thereby burden your mind with another such image.  

But here's a post from 2009 that I hope you'll enjoy...

You Feelin' Christmasy, Punk?

So I have posted a picture of an Advent Calendar we made a number of years ago. I have not figured out a title for this post, and have to laugh at the things that pass through as possibilities.
Okay, I admit that "You feelin' Christmasy Punk?" wasn't the first title that came to mind this morning, but it is something that popped out of my mouth the other night as I handed my husband a Christmas napkin. Dirty Harry invaded the culture and sometimes I let my guard down and like those winsome viruses we are all trying to avoid, I catch my share.

I love Christmas, but I don't like what's been done to it. One of my brothers said to me this week that Christmas doesn't last long enough...and my heart pounded hard. We were on the phone, but I could see him so clearly, working in the cold days to keep abreast of the on-going demands and that nicely positioned December 10th property tax deadline, and yet thinking of all the people he would like to make gifts for...the families he would like to stop by and see...yummy, what kind of cookies are you making? I remember the year, time was slower then, he made us all little copper pots.

But I hear stories about people just feeling all stressed out from the holidays...and that is a sad thing. There are the unresolved family issues, the concern for buying gifts that are too big or too small, unneeded or unwanted...or desperately needed and out of sight.

I just have a few of Aunt Dorothy's little Christmas napkins. She's been gone for many years now. They are faded and were just simply a collection of holly fabrics but she made them and she loved Christmas for what it is. Of course I handed my husband one of his aunt's napkins and asked him "You feeling Christmasy, punk? "

 I'm just fighting off what the tear-it -all- down bullies would erect. What do you mean that doesn't make any sense? ...of course it doesn't. I should just focus my energy on the part of it all that re-members me with what really matters.

"Advent, advent let your little light shine." Today another chicken flew up to roost in the manger. Christmas is coming...don't despair...it doesn't matter what you wear...or how you feel about your hair...or if your hand is empty when you arrive. Just come as you are...you don't even need to feel Christmasy, punk.

~~~~~~~~~

Lost or Stolen by My Own Devices?

     I confess that being thankful...truly being thankful... is not my natural  temperament ... it's easy to let cares and concerns rob me of a full blown "attitude of gratitude."  And I do know that to be able to receive as a child is beyond recommended ....  

   When I was a child I penned this little poem: 


What I am Thankful For

I am thankful for my father and my mother
Plus each brother.
I am thankful for my friends
and the clothes my mother mends.
I am thankful for the food I eat
and the floor that's under my feet
and the roof that's over  my head
and my nice warm cozy bed. 

                                           

There is a simplicity in it that I would be grateful to sustain.

And so I will work  seek to surrender to thanksgiving today, surrender to receiving  and let gratitude inform my heart and mind in old and deeper ways... I remember reading that holidays were made for us, not us for the holidays.

Happy Thanksgiving from Jeannette

Story Time at Write Purpose

Tonight seemed  like a good time to post a playful story that I wrote back in 2000.    I posted it in two parts over on Write Purpose, my web log that has more words than pictures, but you'll find a few pictures there too.  Yes, it is a true story, but of course the police officer ... hmmm what is that phrasing "any resemblance to actual police officers is co-incidental and no actual police officer is being represented here." No, that's not it, but that should do.  Anyway if you are tired from the election, or the weather or the economy ( it is a story about making m-o-n-e-y) and you are feeling a little blue, hop on over to Write Purpose and take a little time off from your worries.

Hope to see you there....You can find Part One of the story  here.

She Was Looking for Someone to Finish It

A small handwritten sign caught my eye as I wound my car down a narrow pine lined street above the ocean.

Turning away from my direction home as if I had known where I was going all along I began to follow a trail of paper arrows toward a small driveway garage sale. I looked over at the commitment I'd already been privileged to make that day to a fresh salmon filet and some lovely fruits and vegetables, it all deserved speedy delivery to my refrigerator.  Now I am of two minds.   I remind myself that I shouldn't be so easily distracted but  then remember  sales where  I have found wonderful treasures like the old guitar. So I could at least peek from the car.

As I drew alongside the humble offerings that edged right up to the road, I saw a tired but soft face, a woman probably about my age. Standing amidst the belongings she'd drug out into a spot of sun in front of a small cottage, she met my eyes directly, brushed her wire blonde curls away from her face and smiled. Just junk or not, now I had to stop.

As soon as I was out of the car I'd confirmed that if the seller hadn't seen me, a drive by scan would have sufficed. There was nothing unusual being offered. I said hello before I halfheartedly peered into a cardboard box of worn paperbacks. "Are you cleaning up or moving? "  I asked.

"Moving, moving on I guess you'd  say. The rent is going up again and I don't know, my daughter says she'll never come back to Carmel."

"You moving closer to your daughter?"

"Oh no, she's in L.A.  She don't like Carmel and I don't like L.A.   I've been here nine years and  I guess I'm just ready for something else.  What're you looking for?"

"Oh, I never know, but it is fun to stop and look and meet people.  I've only worked here six years but we don't have any neighbors on the cliff where we live and work so it's nice to meet folks."

I wonder  if I'm going to get lonely traveling," she said.

"Traveling where?"

"Don't know, really, just aim for places I haven't seen for a long time. Maybe I'll catch up with myself somewhere along the way."  That smile of hers showed up again.  I nodded and she kept talking. " I use to move alot, before I landed here. I got a few more things to put out, let me show you something."

She came out with a patched quilt top in her hands and draped it over a table stacked with dishes." I want twenty dollars for this.  I never did finish, " she said, "and it's got a few spots now and maybe a hole or two, but I can tell you where I got every piece of the fabric.  See, this fabric here is from when I was in Colorado.  I liked Boulder, lots of creative people  there,  especially in the winter time.  And this  here

was a dress my little girl wore and this vintage cloth was from a store three old ladies ran up north, it's from the thirties. This flower print I bought on a vacation in Hawaii.  You ever been to Hawaii?"

"No, can't say that I have.  Are you sure you want to sell this?  You could finish it, even traveling you could take it along and finish it by hand."

"My daughter doesn't want it.  It's not her style.  I do kind of hate to get rid of it, but I'm getting rid of everything else, I might as well. "

I didn't know what to say.  I wasn't sure it was my style either, but in it's haphazard wonky way it did kind of hang together and it was kind of growing on me.   And then there was the woman.  I didn't want her piece by piece memory love project to suffer any more rejection.

She looked at me and said, " I just get the feeling that this might  stand a chance of getting finished if I get it to the right person."

I had a twenty dollar bill in the ashtray of my car.

            Here it is lain out to baste the cotton batting and back on to it.
                                                                  Whimsy abounds...

                                                     
                                                     And I am quilting it by machine.



 I hope that momma at least swings by L.A.  or maybe her girl will come find her...in the meantime I'll finish up this funny old quilt top...I'm not sure who it is for...but quilts do have a way of continuing stories on their own.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~