NEXT GENERATION
                                               BABES CUDDLING IN OLD CHAIR 

                                                 I'm here to tell you a true story about a chair.

                  I know it's true because I was there.     

 

                                                                   I am the Chair.

      Once upon a time, a long time ago, I was young and strong, built with extra padding and heavy brown fabric. But many years passed and I became faded, worn, tired looking and the Old Man who once appreciated me didn't want me any more. Neither did he want my twin chair. I served him well, I suppose. As well as any chair can serve the comfort of humans.
     The year was 1957. I was lifted out of the Old Man's big old house and brought to a small old house. My twin went to a young couple. I never saw my twin again.
     This small old house was occupied by a Young Man and his Bride.

     They picked a place for me in the tiny, crowded living room in front of the big window and spent much time snuggling and whispering sweet, loving sentiments to each other while I held them close.

      "What did you look like?"

      Hmm. Let me try to remember. It's been so long ago.

      The Old Man must have thought of me as shabby, worn out and ready for the garbage pile since he didn't want me any more. But I knew that wasn't the case. I thought I was beautiful.
   
      At one time I may have looked like this with bright colors and soft fabric, strong sturdy legs, heavy springs and new batting to hold me together.

      "You were as beautiful as a garden in the spring. "

      Thank you. But that's not quite the way I looked. Hmmm. Let me think. The legs and arms, cushions look familiar, but the wings aren't how I remember them. I had wings. Yes. That's right I had wings . . . but smaller.

     "Were you white? You would have been beautiful as a bride in white."

      No. I wasn't white. But let me get back to my story of the Young Man and his Bride.
     Time went by and they had one baby. And another. And another. And at last the final another. So they moved to a new and bigger little house. Of course they brought me along. I had become an important member of their family. I was special - big and comfortable and useful for naps. I cuddled the children as they fell asleep while stories were read to them.
     Over time, I began to look worn and faded. My fabric was tearing at the seams and chocolate splotches and coffee spills dulled my original beauty. My springs sagged and padding poked out here and there. The Young Man, now called Father, decided to re-cover me. His Bride, now called  Mother, said that would be fine and he should be the one to choose new material to go over my old fabric.

      Nope! I fooled you. I did not look like a zebra when he was finished.
     There were so many fabrics to choose from and a kaleidoscope of colors.

     It was exciting alright. I dreamed of waking up and being more beautiful and amazingly splendid than ever before

     "So the Father knew what he was doing and skillfully removed  your old fabric, strengthened all your springs, and restuffed your sagging cushions?"

     Umm. Not exactly. Father added some padding to my cushions, turned me upside down and straightened one broken spring, glued a couple of slats together, and attached the new fabric right over the old. The fabric Father chose was bright blue, shiny, slick and slippery. . . plastic

      It lasted a long time. Until Mother decided to restore me to my original glory.  Not that she could do a big, important project like I needed. But she knew someone who could. She placed me in the skillful hands of an Upholstery Specialist.
     The Upholstery Specialist turned me upside down, tilted me over until I was sideways, cut away my seams, and removed old worn batting. I heard the Upholstery Specialist say my old bones seemed to be strong, but a few repairs were called for.
     What a surprise was in store for me while being made new.

                               

    
                              
       "Well, well, well."  I heard the Upholstery Specialist exclaim once I was thoroughly torn apart. "You clever old Chair. You have a much different chair hiding inside of you."

     "What did that mean . . . a much smaller chair hiding inside of you?" 
    
      The Upholstery Specialist muttered  that sometime in my past another upholstery person had covered my original small wings, arms, back and cushion with thicker padding - which made me a thicker, taller and wider chair. The Upholstery Specialist called Mother and told her what had been discovered. She told the Upholstery Specialist to bring me back to my original size. And that she had already chosen my brand new fabric.
                                                          
                                                     A lovely, happy, vibrant shade of orange.

     "So you lived happily ever after. A lovely, vibrant shade of orange  . . . HEY! Hold it! Your are not  an orange chair!"

     You are so right. I had one more very important restoration. But first you must hear the rest of my life story.
     After Father and Mother became Grandfather and Grandmother they moved out of their big house and onto a sailboat. Their children had grown up and had children of their own. A big orange Chair would not fit in a sailboat.  But Grandfather and Grandmother did not throw me into the garbage dump - even though over time I had again become old and shabby, torn and worn.
     Their youngest son pointed to his children and said, "We will take the old orange Chair. Our daughters have cuddled in it, and had stories read to them, and have taken naps in its arms."
     That's where I lived for many years until those children grew up and had children of their own who wanted to be cuddled, and have stories read to them, and take naps with their Mommy and Daddy, snuggling inside my faded, and stained, overstuffed orange arms.


     "But . . . but you aren't a faded and stained, old overstuffed, orange chair!"
    
     Happy to say, I am not an old, faded orange, overstuffed chair any more. Now I'll tell you how I came to be beautiful, new, and restored
     If you recall, the Grandfather and Grandmother had moved away onto a sailboat and given me to their son and his wife.  They eventually gave me to one of their daughters when she grew up and had two little daughters.
     The two little daughters sat in me for story time, naps and cuddling with their Daddy. They didn't mind that I was old, orange and had sagging cushions.
                                                 

     Daddy covered me with a pretty blanket to cover up the stains and spots, tears and stuffing coming out of my cushion. But Mommy would have none of that! She knew I could be beautiful and new again.

     "Out of the chair, girls. I've work to do,"  said Mommy. She slid me out of the corner and into the middle of the living room. I was nervous as she began repairing tears in my old fabric, pulling out my batting, and ripping my seams.

"What's this?" she exclaimed,
tugging at something hiding inside my left side panel below my arm.. "Well, well, well. Must have been your fabric when you were brand new."
      Mommy hammered and screwed in new fasteners and grommets. She pried away old batting and pounded and repaired bent springs.

     Finally she was ready to decide on beautiful and new fabric. Off to the fabric store she went.
     When she returned home she was carrying a large bolt of colorful upholstery fabric.
    
    "Well, what do you think?" she asked laying a piece of the new fabric over my seat and laying the rest of the bolt in front of me.

                                                   That will do nicely. I like it very much.
      

     And with that said, she flipped me over topsy turvy, upside downsy and began covering my small wings, curved sides and arms, seat cushion and foot rest. Oh dear . . . I hoped she knew what she was doing.
     But then all work on me stopped. I was afraid unfinished was my plight for the rest of my days when I heard Mommy admit she didn't know how to put the new fabric onto my back cushion.
     Oh dear. Oh dear. This will never do. But it's not as if I could do anything about it. I accepted my not quite perfect new self . . . content that I was almost a perfectly new and beautiful, old overstuffed Chair.

       "But . . . but you are a perfectly new and beautiful old overstuffed chair now!"

     Yes. Just as you say and can see. Mommy looked up on pinterest how to attach the fabric to my back cushion and followed the directions exactly

                                                                
                          But you know, don't you, that I have always been a perfectly beautiful old
                          overstuffed Chair even when my fabric was torn, my seams were splitting
                                  my springs sprung out of shape, and my batting was falling out.
                                                 I was always beautiful from the inside out.
                                    I know I was because I had love and a place in the hearts
                           of all those who entrusted me with their children's naps, story time, and cuddles

                                                                         Yes indeed!
                                                              That's exactly what I am . . .
                                         a perfectly beautiful, old but restored overstuffed Chair.
                                                            Would you like to sit a spell?
                                                                       Naps allowed.
                                                   
I 

                              

                                  Paths In My Life. 
                            
                               I walk with Jesus. 
                At times He is beside me, or walks in front . . .
              behind with hands guiding me away from danger.                   

At a long, winding and difficult turn in the path I veer off to rest awhile before going on. 
 I see Him up ahead and rush to catch up.
"Lord," I call out. "This a lonesome, desolate place. A place of Unfinished Dreams."






 "Then let's leave this place and find another. A New Path - down the hill to the bottom and through the gate. Turn right and follow the gravel road. When you get to the end of the gravel road turn left. I have prepared a new beginning for you."

                                    "Will it be far off ? 
                    I am old. Alone. Except for You guiding me."   

                                         "Trust Me." 
 We set off down the path under a kaleidoscope sky, ablaze with a rainbow and golden clouds.

                                     
                 Once at the bottom of the hill and through the gate . . .

Copyright 1984 drawing and caption: Author  Monica Lawson   Only to be copied or shared with written permission by author.

                                     A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON MY WAY TO OLD
                                   Originally written October 13, 2014

I'm beginning the Winter of my life ....... but wait ....

Winter of my life would be

when I'm old OLD!

Perhaps I'm  just on the edge of Fall ...... .before Winter.

Spring and Summer have long passed me by.

Gone are the days of raising squabbling children crying in the back seat of the car that their sibling is "...thinking about touching me!!!" (one of my grandchildren's memorable quotes!)

Adding another potato to the pot to make it go further is but a distant memory. 

Canning and preserving food is delegated to the top shelf in my current pantry ... oh wait! I sold my canning collection to a young mother last summer.

In a flash ....grammar school ... high school ... weddings and military service ..... Our children were on their way.

College came for our four children after they were parents.

Weddings and dramas ..... new family member (still occurs through grandchildren's weddings) has settled nicely with all spouses in place in our lives (and ex spouses still in our hearts.)

THE MIDDLE YEARS

Anchored securely in God's Pocket, West Coast of Vancouver Island, Canada

Sunset La Paz harbor, Sea of Cortez, Baja Mexico

High sea adventures and quiet serene anchorages are memories stored in albums and  mementos gathering dust from long distant ports and vivid photos of dramatic sunsets in the Sea of Cortez.

And gathering food in the most unusual manner! No Safeway in the Sea of Cortez... but friendly Mexican fishermen willing to trade lobster.....LOBSTER!! ... for water we produced with our watermaker.

Beach gathering and tidal forays for clams and oysters with other yachties brought us meal after meal of free food to share at almost nightly potlucks aboard our cruising companion's humble to sumptuous yachts.

Hurricane disaster struck, shattering and destroying dreams of sailing off into the sunset. Our sailboat Quasar was safe through this horrific destruction.

"I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE

A COWBOY AND A SAILOR"

Original song title, Dean Lawson

Toward the waning years of our cruising adventure

Eldon and I were visiting family in the states and watching in a theater the movie

"Perfect Storm"

and at the moment the fishing vessel was stuck, bow pointed upwards at the massive

gargantuan wave about to crash over and obliterate

all aboard and the worthy vessel itself,

Eldon leaned over toward me in the hushed

movie theater and said,

"NOW would be a good time to visit

Lakeview and Paisley....."

Why Lakeview or Paisley?

(In our child raising years he had driven tanker trucks delivering gasoline to stations in Lakeview and Paisley and was taken by the quaint little towns in rural Oregon.

My thoughts at the time were .... "Yeah, sure..... 100 years from now ... but in the meantime .. we have little kids to raise." 100 years went by in a flash.)

....... always wanted to be a cowboy and a sailor .....

Check off "SAILOR"

onto "COWBOY" chapter

We did the sailor chapter from 1984 through 2002, selling our sailing vessel Quasar .... difficult last look at her as we pushed the final load of belongings down the dock and away from her bobbing gently at Marina De La Paz.

And onto Lakeview, Oregon,

10 acres of bare land - if you consider waist high sagebrush, bitter brush, scrub brush and trees.... Juniper and one lone Pine tree .... bare land. We found the perfect place for a home site on top of the hill overlooking the valley and Crane Mountain, and only one mile from a trout filled lake.

At the top of the hill were four giant Junipers ... ancient and sturdy (considered by some as weeds worthy of removal)

and we knew placing our home in the middle of the four giants was our way of

honoring our four children .... The tallest, promising shade in the summer, we named Vicki; across the field full and lovely we named Jill; beside 'her' and off away was Dean - strong but with limbs going off in all directions; and finally Neal... densely covered boughs with stout trunk .. strong and resilient.

.....................................

to be continued as we plant gardens, bring new animals into our life, laugh and love, play and stress .... future posts will highlight the joy of living in Lakeview Oregon... and further on to Goldendale WA.. as a widow. 

A conversation between two friends about                               

Trust . . .Hope .  Healing 

12/27/2019

Friend #1

I was just listening to a praise song ... about when God doesn't move the mountains we ask Him to move .. or waters we have to go through .. something like that ... and I related it to Vicki's death and asking for her healing.. the mountain. and the waters, our tears and grief. Any loss is grievous. But it's a journey - whether through mountains of accumulated treasures to be rid of or a body racked with pain waiting for death to release into God's arms.

an image flashed through my mind while thinking about this song ... asking "I will trust , I will trust ..I will trust in You." When I stop hoping in my ability to make something happen by praying fervently, or continuously or with great faith. but release the situation and begin trusting in Him.

I have times when the memory of Vicki's last days torment my mother's heart .. her suffering yet strength to encourage us she would be okay .... and after a year and half I'm still learning to Trust ... Him. Sighhhh .. I switched on Pandora radio to Christian selections and I can almost hear her singing ....I know her voice and her heart and the words that kept her from abandoning her faith right up to the end...

Phew .. I guess I just had to share this moment with someone .. and you are a tender heart who know about grief, loss, sadness .. and joy in the midst of those trials.

Okay .. on with my day. Blessings!

Friend #2

That song shattered me when i first heard it. Sometimes it is overwhelming thinking of the burden i have yet to carry in the near future. Then i think of the scripture that "the battle belongs to the Lord" and how He'll "never leave or forsake me" I fight to remember that every second of every day is just that. A second of time. A second where i have a choice to let go and trust Him. Your journey gives me courage to continue. The courage to take another step of letting go of both people and things and only embracing the Lord As all my "stuff" loses its importance in my life I'm finding that God is taking His rightful place as the only thing that i cant live without. And every day i find other situations to remind me of how powerless i truly am. Without His breath in me i would cease to exist. Without faith i would cease to try. Thank you for letting Him encourage and strengthen me through you. There have been times i was so completely covered in despair i was at a total standstill. Inch by inch i pulled my ostrich head out of the sand. Some    dsys i still dont like what i see and hide my head again. Some days i enjoy the sun, one day we will see paradise and nothing will matter. The Glory of the Lord will wash away every tear and pain. Until then i pray ministering angels surround us all

-----------------------------

I asked my  friend's permission to share our heart to heart on my blog. She said yes.  

-----------------------------

Happy New Year 2020

          
             HELP! I'VE FALLEN AND I CAN'T GET UP!
                                                Monica Lawson  12/23/19
 "Well now, let me help you little one," Master Gardener said lifting the tiny bird into the nest in the tree. "Momma Bird is mighty concerned about you. See. Here she comes. Nothing seems to be broken. You will be fine now."

 Once Master Gardener was sure Baby Bird safely flew off into the trees with Momma Bird, she set off down the path to collect her Whimsical Friends in the garden. They will be stored  in a safe place before the winter snow and frost covers the landscape in its cold embrace.

"I'm here," called out White Rabbit. "I'm ready for a long winter's nap in a cozy dry den. The flowers around  my summer-home stump are  fading and covered with frost."
Master Gardener picked up White Rabbit and carried him to a
bench under the porch.





"Why is this broken brick beside me under the bench?" White Rabbit asked.

"You will see . . . you will see,"
said Master Gardener.

Once again, Master Gardener walked along the garden path until she met Straw Angel. She picked up Straw Angel, carried her out of the garden and set her down to greet guests beside the door to here tiny house.  She fixed Straw Angel's left wing that was missing pieces of straw.
"I'll be fine now. Thank you," Straw Angel said.

Master Gardener tipped her hat and said, "You are most welcome.                  

A double rainbow arched across the Juniper trees surrounding the garden.
"I better hurry and collect the rest of my Whimsical Friends from the garden before the rainbows give way to frost and snow," she said glancing up into the sky.

"Thomas," called Little Girl at the Gate near the edge of the garden. "Do you think Master Gardener has forgotten about me?" 
 "Neowwwww," Thomas assured Little Girl at the Gate. "See. She's meowwwwandering this way nowwwww."

"Thank you, Thomas," Master Gardener said, lifting Little Girl at the Gate up off the stump. "That was very kind of you to let her know she hasn't been forgotten. No one is forgotten in my garden. I have the perfect place where you can wait for winter to pass."
Little Girl at the gate was shy . . . so shy she couldn't tell Master Gardener that she was very lonely sitting on the stump by herself all summer with nobody noticing she was there.
"I hope my winter place has others nearby . . . that would be lovely," she said quietly so not to be heard.

Halo Angel had fallen asleep and was dreaming about her lovely pot of summer flowers. She was startled when Master Gardener pulled her out of the ceramic pot. The flowers in her dream had now faded from last weeks first sprinkling of  snow.

            "Where are you taking me?" Halo Angel asked.

"You shall see," Master Gardener said cheerily."But first I will paint your lovely metal  wings to be rid of the rust caused  by summer rain showers." 

Master Gardener painted her  wings, halo and frame  a bright and beautiful shade of ebony. She placed an empty flower pot in

 Halo Angel's hands in expectation of new flowers next spring. 

"I am indeed a fine looking angel now,"  said Halo Angel. "Thank you for restoring me to my original beauty."  

 Master Gardener placed her on the porch 

beside the front door of her tiny home.

Master Gardener glanced around the garden to see who was remaining, or in need of repairs.

Fred and Frieda Frog, the bell keepers,

croaked insistently, "Ribbit," said Fred. "Ribbit indeed," Frieda
echoed. "RRRReverberrrrations and rinnnnnnngggingggg! Our earrrrrs are tingling and rrrrruined!" they insisted in unison. 
"I'm frightfully sorry. Please forgive me," Master Gardener pleaded. "I did not imagine the bell would ring so loudly, or that Whimsical Garden frog's ears were so sensitive. I'll not place you there next spring. Perhaps in a quiet place for the winter your ears will be good as new."

"Hello," cried out Little Girl at the Gate when she saw Fred and Frieda sitting on the lovely garden bench beside her. 
"Ribbit . .  . ribbit," which in frog language can mean anything a frog wants it to mean. Little Girl at the Gate knew they would be wonderful friends, all safely protected on the porch from storms.
                         Birds In Hand  . . . oh my, it is so sad.

Master Gardener noticed the blue hands were no longer sitting on the rock. The Birds In Hand had fallen, or been pushed off the rock and both little blue bird's tails were broken off. The Hands had carefully held them through spring showers and summer rain.
Master Gardener carried them inside her little home to see if there was anything she could do to repair them. 
 "Hello Turtle," she said, placing Birds In Hand next to Turtle who herself was recuperating from injuries from a fall in the garden. 
"What do . . . we have . . . here?" Turtle asked. 
Master Gardener explained to Turtle about the mishap Birds In Hand had experienced while gluing and pressing and holding and waiting for the glue to set the tail feathers where they once were.

"Little Blue Bird on the left is waiting patiently while the glue holds his tail feathers. I think he will be fine."
 "Yes . . . I can . . . see the . . . crack in . . . his .  .  . tail. It now  seems to be . . . perfectly attached," said Turtle in his charming slow speaking voice.

"Little Blue Bird on the right . . ." Master Gardener shook her head and looked sad. "See how the end feather is drooping and the glue is not sticking? And one small piece still to attach. Tsk, tsk, tsk." She tapped her finger on her cheek.

"Chirp, chirp! Chirp,chirp. I will be fine,"
said Little Blue Bird on the right."I will not be flying away very soon. The feathers I have will do very nicely."
"You have put your trust in me . . . and I will see you through,"
Master Gardener promised. She asked Turtle to watch over Birds in Hand as they healed while she went out to the Garden to see if any Whimsical Garden Friend had been forgotten.

 

There, all alone in the Garden, sat Buster Brown and his dog Tige.

 Master Gardener walked the paths leading to Buster Brown and Tige, and heard Buster Brown say, "Do you remember the old garden far, far away where we sat at the edge of a lovely pond full of goldfish. Master Gardener moved us from place to place - from the little wooden bridge to the rocks beside the waterfall. It was a wonderful place. Do you remember?" 
 Tige had never spoken, not that Buster Brown could tell. They were best of friends and now lived with Master Gardener in her new garden with many other Whimsical Friends. Master Gardener stood back to listen to the lovely tale Buster Brown was telling his dog Tige.
"You remember how we came to live with Master Gardener, don't you?" Not expecting an answer, Buster Brown continued. "She found us one day in a garbage dump where our previous human had thrown us out with other broken things. My leg had broken off and laid almost buried in the trash beside us. 
The day went by and other humans saw us, but looked away, or piled more discards near us. Another human stood nearby. She reached down and picked us up. When she saw my leg had broken off I expected her to toss us aside, breaking off more from my already broken body. This human held us close and picked up my leg. We were placed in the back seat of her car and brought to her home."
Master Gardener came and stood over them. She picked them up and carried them the short distance from the Garden to inside her tiny home. As they entered the house tragedy struck! Buster Brown's reattached leg broke off once more and fell to the floor.
"I'm so sorry Buster Brown!" Master Gardener cried out. "It seems your leg is in need of repair again. I've gotten very skilled at repairing broken Garden Friends. I fixed you once, I will do it again." And she did. 

                 Come next spring, when you visit her garden,

                  and you stand very still in the middle of the 
           Daisies and Sweet William, Poppies and Snap Dragons 
  you may hear Buster Brown reminding Tige about all of  the              adventures they've had over the years in the 
                             Master Gardener's Gardens.
For certain she will introduce you to her Whimsical Garden Friends

 repaired and restored by her loving heart and skilled hands.

"I see now how useful that broken brick will be," said White Rabbit. "It will hold Buster Brown's repaired leg in place until it is completely healed.
 And if you visit Master Gardener this winter and listen with a quiet heart you might hear Whimsical Garden Friends whispering under the porch covering, protected from the snow and ice, visiting and sharing about their 2019 spring and summer adventures in The Garden.
                        Merry Christmas and a Happy 2020 New Year from The Master Gardener