climbing flowers - KauaiMy aunt is pretty good at hand work. Did I mention that before? Anything I could ever want to do, she would be the go-to-girl . Between her and my mom, pretty much everything is covered. How lucky is that? Master craftspeople at my fingertips. I'm bragging now. And she might balk at the term, but you get the idea. Even the simplest things, I ask about. Like what kind of yarn to use if I wanted to crochet my own wash rags? I am just about done with the synthetic sponges I bought in bulk last year, and am thinking I won't buy them again. I know I can purchase these on Etsy, but come on now, I can make these (I'm guessing I'm not the only one who says this to herself!)
When I was growing up, I had a lovely woman as my babysitter, but she became more like a Grandma. She was wonderfully loving and affectionate and kind. I'd like to say I learned as much from her as I did my own mother, and certainly more than any of my grandparents, who all lived in a day's drive away in southern California. I called her Grammy. When I was little, her lap was about the most comfortable spot in the whole house. From her, I learned about living with only a washing machine, no dryer, and hanging up the laundry on a line to dry, about scheduled meals, four o'clock crackers and grapefruit juice with vodka (good for the blood), homemade candy, the song of mockingbirds, and crocheted washrags. It was the only time I saw her do any type of handwork. She would wear out her kitchen washrag and would need another one. Crocheting merely served her as a practical use.
So, not having had the foresight to ask Grammy herself (who passed away in '92, God bless her), my aunt Sheila had the answer. 100% cotton was best, she said. Several weeks later, I asked again just to remind myself. "Just a minute," was all she said as she walked into her room, re-emerging with these two lovely washrags she crocheted for me.

Yesterday, I confessed to her that I was having a hard time using them, they were so beautiful. "I knew you would," she told me.
In the picture there is my one and only Brandywine tomato that made it. The only one that came out at all. I think our weather isn't suited for these types of tomatoes. My hubby picked it late at night and thought it had ripened completely, but it hadn't. I had dreams about that tomato...well, I'll still partially fulfill them.
Next post will be a delicious recipe for Gazpacho soup (but this tomato pictured is not slaughter-bound. It is going between two slices of yummy bread with some basil).


