Jilly Brandon

Hey… that rhymes… and that makes for a happy face.

It’s the little things, like words working together, and dripping off your tongue in a way that amuses you…. that is what a rhyme does for me.

The decrepit picnic table has now been moved to the front porch. It’s turned out to be such a versatile front porch, back deck, and lo and behold I can eat off of it too.. so many practical applications, it makes me scratch my bleached blonde head at the wonder of it all.

Making one object into a multiple usage article can be life affirming. It’s the ultimate in repurposing.

Sorta like collecting other people’s’ discards from their trash pile on garbage day. If it’s at the end of their driveway, it becomes fair game right?

These 4 chairs have taken on another life of their own. If only they could speak about their nine lives, and of the many butts that they have lovingly supported. They have been stained, painted, and repainted, and they are quite literally on their last legs. Some teetering more than others. I feel your pain little blue chairs.

I set them out on trash day because naturally it was “ big garbage day,” and I was in a purging frame of mind.

I pictured a neighbor passing by, and screeching to halt when they beheld the treasures someone had quite probably cast aside, for something new. “ Treasure is in the eye of the beholder” after all.

Maybe it would be a jogger, a lady on her bicycle, a guy in his pick up truck, or a motorized wheelchair out for a morning glide?

I think the lady in the motorized wheelchair is eying them, and will be back with a trailer. Who will house them next?

I sat, still in pyjama shorts and tank top on a rock beside my garden weeding the grass that decided to grow there. Apparently the grass did not get the memo that it was meant to grow on my weed infested lawn. No.. it was proliferating in amongst my flowers.. the very nerve of it. Weeds are maddening.

I was really on a covert ops mission to see who would pick up my chairs. I’m excitedly delirious when I find treasure in others’ trash, and even dragged home a used ironing board from way up the street, only to get back to my little cottage amongst the trees, and realize, I didn’t even own an iron.

The ironing board has since gone to a better place.. Her name is Natalie, and she had an iron, but no board. The perfect union was made.

I decided that my loveseat and armchair needed to find their new “forever home,” and put them up for sale on Facebook marketplace.

They have been much loved, but I was simplifying after all, and it was time.

I was not prepared for the rush of excitement the colorful duo would create. There was a buzz in the air, clearly, as my phone blew up for takers.. Seems like every gal, and their sister were hot to trot to claim these pixies as their own.

The first gal that said she wanted them was willing to drive an hour to possess them..they are that enticing…

I was texting back and forth throughout the morning, with several ladies, who I then had to pacify after I believed the deal to be done. It almost felt like we needed a group therapy session. Women told me they had been looking for just these two, and several sent me photos of their interiors to prove to me that they needed the furniture more than the other woman who sealed the deal with cash.

Amazing to observe in this setting what human beings can be like. When one person decides they want something, it then becomes the object of others’ desires too.

It was fun because I struck up chats with multiple women, and we bonded over the “ patchwork furniture.”

It reminded me of life somewhat. The patchwork pieces that heartbreak, joy, and loss creates within a person can seem scattered, and disjointed. Trying to heal, and give grief breathing space is a moment by moment decision that you decide to allow yourself. As you attempt to emerge from under the heap, it’s with new patches on the homemade quilt of your life.

This particular quilt was made by my Nanny Denzin. I picture her sitting by a toasty warm wood stove, on a cold winters’ afternoon, horn rimmed glasses sliding down her nose, and focusing intently on her work. Probably a cup of tea, and a wee sweetie balancing on the saucer would sit on her side table. Beside her would be multiple scraps of material, from worn out house dresses, curtains, men’s’ shirts, and table linens. Nothing went to waste, for she was a frugal lass being of Scottish descent.

This image I’ve created in my head gives me pleasure. It’s somewhat like a staycation of comfort. The quilt would have kept her legs warm as she worked.. it’s so beautifully crafted.. I’m in awe of her workmanship. Turns out wrapping it about your shoulders in the morning, over a cup of coffee, and a good book, feels like a hug from your Grandmother.

Then this verse..

“Surrender your anxiety! Be silent and stop striving and you will see that I am God. I am the God above all the nations, and I will be exalted throughout the whole earth.” Psalm 46:10 (The Passion Translation)

This one slapped me in the face today. I needed to read it over again to let it sink in.

Seeing boxes about my house again, knowing that I’m packing up creates angst in my head. Decisions… What to keep, what to donate, and what to sell, or discard.

I think I may need to binge watch “ Hoarders” again on TV and glean some perspective.

I need to remember the precious keepsakes that are the most important. These items are the objects that when you pick them up, you unconsciously want to draw them close to your heart. These are the keepers. There will be discards along this process, but it’s ok, I tell myself, to have the “feels” right now.

It’s another season of change, it is the applying of yet a few more patches on the quilt.

Life is but a weaving

“My life is but a weaving between my God and me. I cannot choose the colors He weaveth steadily

Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow and I in foolish pride; forget He sees the upper and I the underside

Not til the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas and reveal the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed in the weavers skillful hand

As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares; Nothing this truth can dim

He gives the very best to those who leave the choice to him.” ( Grant Colfax Tellar)

Spinning, sewing, knitting, weaving, crafting… all activities that create something better, and more useful than ever graced us before .

The infinite possibilities are out there… time to create… because hope comes from creation.

Let there be pillows… and there was… now what was that show about hoarding?