Diana Card

A Birthday Bear

This little guy is on his way from the Michigan studio of my stunnin' friend Pat Murphy, of Murphy Bears, to the birthday bash of Max von Spiegelfeld, who will celebrate his first year on Saturday.

  Pat Murphy is a very talented and wonderful artist; she makes bears and felted wool critters, and collects all kinds of antique and vintage props, tiny clothes and accessories to go with the bears, owls, birds, squirrels...I think I've seen a squirrel or two in her menagerie...and every piece she makes is destined to become an heirloom. I mean it. They are absolutely stunning, as Pat herself is.

So, while we wait for this little guy to arrive, as well as Max's birthday, check out Pat's website at Murphy Bears to see what delightful creatures she comes up with! 

 

To a Good Friend

I was extremely sad to hear of the passing of my old friend, BJ Andrews, in York, Maine.

I'd like to use this space to tell you a bit about her, as I knew her. 

BJ was the very first person I met when I moved to York in 1985, and started to work at the pottery, as a decorator. She had already been there awhile, also decorating pottery, so we instantly had that in common. From the moment I met her, she was funny, boisterous, and filled up the dusty barn basement where we worked with a personality I'd never seen the like of.

As we got to know each other over the coming months, she took me into her circle...I had no idea then how big her circle was...and into her family as well, when she found out we really didn't know anyone in the village of York, our family being more from Ogunquit. Her three girls were in or almost out of college; our daughter Deirdre had just started the 5th grade, and our son John was enrolled in the Strawberry Patch Nursery School, so on the subject of children, we were both interested in each others' stories, and everyday events and stresses, but had little else in common there. Her girls were dating and and just about to leave the nest; I was still feathering mine.

She loved to shop, and as far as I knew, could've shopped all day long. I disliked shopping, as much then as I do now, but when she called, I went. It was just so interesting watching her hunt and gather, and believe me, she had hawk's eyes when it came to finding the best of everything, and usually at a great price. My idea of shopping was quickly picking up what I needed without examining too many choices, and then going for coffee. We did have the coffee thing in common, and over the years, drank gallons together over the wonderful conversations we had.

BJ was 18 years my senior, and looking back, more like a mother to me, in many ways. I hadn't gotten to where she was in her life, and so many of the things she knew, I hadn't experienced yet. She had what I'd call...confidence and flair; she knew just what to wear, how to put together just the right look; the perfect finishing touch...I can still hear her famous charm bracelet with it's many treasured charms jingling about as she painted pottery, swatted at a passing bee, or yanked a baby perennial from her garden to share with someone. Her gold earrings were constantly nearly being lost, usually from one earlobe at a time. She would come to work looking fabulous, quite often in some linen shirt and skirt, and on most days she'd walk around with smudges of cobalt slip on her face, or dust, then let out a yell at the end of the because no one had told her.

She loved social intrigue, good stories, big news or small, and was always interested in everyone's family. I know she thought at times she wasn't "up" on everything, because we often had serious discussions about it when we became better friends, but it was in her own mind. She knew about so many things, was very intuitive and was curious about every subject ever brought up in any conversation. I have no doubt that BJ could have conversed easily with anyone in the world, and on any subject.

The dinners, celebrations and parties she was constantly giving, whether impromptu or planned, were perfect down to the very smallest touch;  she truly had a gift for the details in life. She loved her family, her friends, Maine, her enormous Christmas trees, summer picnics, flower gardens, the entire Village of York, her church, all the many activities she was involved in, and so much more. Some of my best memories are of the rug-hooking group we belonged to, the wool gathering 'hunts' we went on that got quite competitive at times, and laughing constantly, of course. We were always laughing.

I lost touch with her, after quite a few adventures, a few misunderstandings, and many, many happy times. I still had to get to where BJ was when I first met her, and it meant moving on, and doing different things. Growing up, I suppose. Many things that happened between us, I understand now, but had no comprehension of then. I wasn't old enough, and aging is important for that reason. We were both stubborn, though, and in the end, I think that kept us apart. 

I have missed her dreadfully all these years, and I will think about her until the day it's my turn to go where she's gone. I know she wasn't afraid to leave at the end, and was very brave. She has left yet another lesson for me to learn, when it's your time, say your goodbyes, if you are able, and go as gracefully as you can, with dignity.

"The way to know life is to love many things." -Vincent van Gogh

This quote was on the front of her funeral service program.

Bravo, BJ. You believed it, and you lived it. 

 

                             

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Getting in the Hay

Farmers around here will be getting in the hay soon.

When we were growing up on the farm, if you were old enough, you helped. My father brought his hay in loose, not baled, as it's done these days. It was mowed, raked into long rows with a dump rake, and when it had dried in the sun for just the right amount of time, he and my older brothers would "bunch" it into managable piles around the field. Later on in the day, the tractor and a trailer without any sides would be slowly driven around the field and the bunches would be piled onto the trailer by my father and two or three of my brothers. As they were pitching the hay on the wagon, it had to be packed down by stomping and walking around on it, so the maximum amount of hay could be put onto each load.

For this particular job, the packing down, one had to be fearless, and quick. We almost always went barefoot in the summer, even when packing down hay, and more often than not, snakes, bees, and prickly plants would be tossed up with the bunches as well...my brothers enjoyed giving us a "thrill" whenever the opportunity arose.

As you can imagine, the hay pile on the trailer got quite high, and the ride back to the barn, while thrilling, could be very precarious and tipsy, especially if the load had been thrown on in a hurry or was a bit unbalanced. Still, we all loved to ride on top of the load back to the barn. I still think about Daddy tossing whichever little kid that was waiting around the field for the ride back, up onto the top of the piled-high hay.

This is picture of Daddy, with me in his lap on the tractor...I was way too young to help, but not too young for a photo shoot, and my six older brothers; Wayne, looking at me, with Johnny behind Daddy and I. On the trailer are Willis, wearing the hat, Douglas, holding the hayfork, Donald in the middle, and Norman.

My mother took this photo most likely in the summer of 1958. Wonderful days.