I can't claim to have done anything overly exciting today...just the usual hum-drum...but I thought I'd tell you a tale of a 24-year-old and a pot of soup.

Savannah and I had just come back from the shop and I asked if she or I were going to make the soup for supper. She, being rather exhausted, was on her way to a refreshing shower...and didn't exactly give any answer.

Of course, one could argue that I didn't give her time to answer the question.

I blurted out some nonsense like this: *in a normal voice* "I don't make very good soup..." *then in a mock horrified tone* "Ah...I've sealed my own fate!!"

Then I promptly clattered down the stairs to go take dominion of that area of my life called "Soup Making". I really am trying to show a little more initiative in the kitchen. Honestly, I'm 24 and I know how to cook, but I too frequently let someone else deal with it. I'm not talking about those days when I wander in circles because my brain is about as smart as a pile of cotton balls, but those days like today when I feel pretty good (if one ignores the low-grade Mollart's Meningitis that has been plaguing me on and off for close to two weeks now). 

Now, the jury's out on the taste quality of that there pot of soup simmering on the stove. We haven't eaten yet....

Um...anyway. Since my aunt was here yesterday, we did our family Christmas today...

I think I'll do this in a picture gallery collection kind of thingy with random stories to go along with it.

Yesterday was a rather different sort of Christmas, with Grandpa being slightly grouchy. I think this is my favorite photo of him from the day:

We ate and acted rather silly before delving into the small pile of "Christmas" as Grandma would put it...so first, the sillies:

Then...the presents and such. Nothing spectacular, but everyone enjoyed themselves well enough, except for Grandpa...who was asleep with the remains of his breakfast in his hands.

Afterwards we ate lunch/dinner. I guess it was the double dosage of my parasite killer that put me on the verge of on the verge of passing out.

Okay...move on today, since it's a little fresher in my mind...

We started out with breakfast (how original!)...really late and maybe five minutes sooner than we might have because I was fixing to dissolve. I have a way of doing that when my innards begin to rebel against their emptiness.

After I washed the breakfast dishes, we congregated in the living room and began the usual routine of having Katherine pass each gift out (she tries to be really fair about it all, one for Daddy...one for Mommy...one for Savannah...you get the idea) and then we all watch expectantly...and make dumb remarks while watching. Then, of course, there are plenty of, "I forgot what I put in that box...come on! Hurry up! What is it?" ;)

But before that actually began, I have a little tale to tell...I got a Christmas card in the mail...with a little letter in it. This is how it was signed:

Now before you start squalling at me about holding out on you...and the quality of my "boyfriend"s handwriting, let me explain that Bob is 94. You remember this guy (on the left), right? 

Anyway...I shipped him and Johnny off Christmas cards this year and Bob sent me one in return along with a sweet little note. USS Hornet vets, both of them. :)

See, kissing 90+ year old vets has some serious perks. ;) But you know, if I can help brighten his day, I'm glad. Now...I just need to make more of an effort to go see my 93 year old man daily!! (*Points finger at own face: "Ya hear that, Rooster?")

I'll stumble back into the pictures here...they aren't exactly in order being from three different cameras...and I seem to have missed a couple that I thought I had in here...but oh well. The "odd" pictures with Daddy's guitar are from Mama's treasure hunt. :)

Sometime in here we ate lunch...gave the cat a bath (vinegar and water in an attempt to quell the poor things itchy sessions--fleas, you know)...flipped the breaker a couple of times (too many heaters running in the apartment)...you know, normal stuff. 

After we got the mess cleaned up, we settled in to watch "The Return to the Hiding Place" a family gift that I splurged on, along with "Princess Cut" and "Alone, Yet Not Alone"...I look forward to seeing those too, but I have to say that I really enjoyed RttHP. It was very well done and the message was strong and clear. Best line in the movie: "My allegiance is with the King of HEAVEN!!"

In a nutshell then--our Christmas. Odd...but in the end, good.

Merry Christmas! See you next week. 

I spent a good while getting my small number of gifts wrapped today...that can be a bit of a tricky job with Curio cat tucking her nose into sacks and loving to tromp through whatever one is doing. Fortunately, she actually spent more time sleeping than anything.

Runty, who does not like music, was somewhat freaked out by the fact that I wanted to listen to bagpipe music while I wrapped. I only made her suffer through my bagpipe CD twice and then I took pity on her and changed it to strings instead. I hope she appreciates the fact that I didn't sing too. She puts her ears back every time I sing within her ear-shot.

I even tried to do a really nice, neat job of wrapping. My packages are usually the worst wrapped in the house. They probably still are, but at least I really actually put a little effort into this year. (I mean the neatness, not the slap-dash.)

I guess, since we're planning on doing our "family" Christmas on Epiphany this year that I didn't have to do it today, but it's kind of nice not to have to move stuff in order to get into my side of the closet......

But about the move of our in-house festivities...we found out Sunday that my aunt, who lives north of us, is coming down for part of Christmas Eve and over night into Christmas day. It will be more convenient and less rushed and all this way. 

About the time I got done with my wrapping, I began to notice the 'burn' in my stomach. It's been kicking up a little bit recently away, but it really began to hurt. A little food helped some...but I couldn't help but thinking about last Christmas and how miserable I was (physically; it was actually a pretty good day regardless) and hoping that I wasn't on the verge of a repeat. While I still don't feel wonderful in the tummy area, the ice-pick man has let up quite a lot. 

I'm feeling a bit lost in the week because I spent both Monday and Tuesday afternoons Christmas shopping with Katherine and Mom respectively. I can't help laughing a little bit at the fact that I went to find Christmas gifts for my sisters and I came home with two hats for myself amongst the loot. My hat collection is a little smaller than the other girls and since I'm now going to a church that covers (I mean the women all do), I'm now wearing a hat weekly instead of just on a whim whenever I feel like it. It isn't really a problem for me except when I forget and put my hair up too high. :D

My biggest "grump" this year is that I haven't anything for Grandma. She handed me a skirt a while back and told me that if I wanted to get her something for Christmas she'd take another skirt like it. It would be really, really easy to make and I was planning on it and just never got to it. I guess, if I could land my hands on a piece of material I could still get it done...despite that fact that Grandma has far too many clothes anyway (which of us doesn't!) But it's a nice easy skirt...and it would be easy for her to put on and all....and I really would like to give her something this year. You do know that I'm pretty awful about getting people things until the last minute and all, don't you? I tell myself every year that I will do better "next year" but it doesn't seem to help.

Oh well...Merry Christmas, you all!

Well, sort of. This upcoming Saturday, Savannah and I will be doing so in the church choir. Mmhmm. The Mouse Soprano and the Froggy Alto are singing in a choir. But never mind. 

When Mrs. E, our choir director first laid out the guidelines of clothing choices, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to wear. My red Chap's sweater with my black wool skirt. Until a few practices after and I realized how horridly hot I'd be. Particularly as I get sweaty when at all nervous. 

Then I had an idea. A red corduroy vest. Not just any ol' red cord vest, but a double-breasted, militaristic red corduroy vest. 

Problem #1: none of the vest patterns we have hit the spot.

I designed my own.

Problem #2: I had never drafted a pattern for an adult.

Solution? 

I took my own measurements (with just a wee bit of help from Katherine on those really hard to measure spots) and marked them down on the miniature scribbled pattern I'd draw on a piece of college ruled paper. I did end up borrowing one of Katherine's vests to figure out the armhole curvature, since my attempt at it freehand was 100% backwards. (I have this slightly dyslexic thing that happens occasionally and I can't think my way out of it.)

I measured and drew it onto a few sheets of scrap paper taped together and cut it out. Minus the seam allowance, of course. :p So...I had to redraw it and add in the seam allowance.

Well and good...but I wanted a stand up collar. Back to Pintrest I went and found two different tutorials. Between the two of them, I drew up a collar. 

I cut out the mock-up out of fabric that, assuming it worked, I could go ahead and wear. It fit! :)

Then I ran into Problem #3: The pattern wasn't going to fit on the red corduroy dress I was using for material. Removing the pockets from the skirt did nothing to help, since the very obvious markings of where the pockets had been was completely unacceptable. COMPLETELY. 

Then inspiration struck! I'd put a seam down the back of the of the vest (it was supposed to be cut on the fold). I laid the pattern actually over the skirt seams (I had them lined up evenly) so with the center back seam, I actually ended up with a three-seam almost decorative look. I then put three matching seams down the back of the collar. They didn't end up lining up exactly, but I didn't rip it out since it's not overly noticeable and I may have that part covered with my hair anyway.

Due to a mistake in the initial stitching together, I ended up having to sew the armholes by hand. I wasn't going to rip the whole garment out when it's not too much trouble to hand-stitch an armhole....

Then came the next question. Four big brassy/gold buttons or six small black ones? I liked the brass and my sister liked the black. Since I was aiming for an early 19th century military-esque vest, I decided I would go with the brass...only to realize four (I had five total) would not look right. Six would have been perfect...but since I didn't have enough, I returned to digging through the button box and came up with eight black rimmed buttons with a silver lattice/basket-weave like center.

I also put three small shirt buttons on the inside to hold the inner flap shut nicely. (The perk of having hundreds of buttons cut off the men's shirts that we use for aprons and children's clothes.)

While it didn't turn out completely perfect, the sides being a wee longer than I was aiming for and a little extra room in the back about the waist, I like it. I may look slightly wide in it, but I think with a fuller sleeved shirt it will counter-balance some of the extra room. 

(Sorry about the picture quality...the batteries are getting low...and my photographer was probably standing a little too close so the flash was too bright. Oh well. Gives you the general idea.)

All in all, I don't think it's a bad job for the first time ever drafting a pattern completely from scratch!

I was setting the table for lunch when I noticed a sheet of paper on my desk that hadn't been there earlier. You might ask me how I knew it wasn't there earlier when my desk is covered in a variety of papers...but that's doesn't really go with this story. Anyway, the headline caught my eye.

No arrests made in triple murder near Lakeport

Shamefully, I don't really know exactly where Lakeport is located, but I've done enough poking around in Florida history for the past five years that I immediately recognized the name. I picked up the paper and suddenly realized that it was a newspaper article from 1933.  I wondered why Daddy (for it was he) had put the article on my desk, so I sat down and read it. 

The first two paragraphs tell of three men, all between the ages of 27 and 28, one of whom was named Lincoln Widden (the Widden's were Confederate, so his  parent's obviously had a little Yankee brainwashing or it was a family name--'scuse the commentary), who were murdered...probably by more than one person since the weapons used in the murder were clearly identified as a shotgun, pistol, and high powered rifle. All things those Florida cattlemen would have been carrying for protection against wild animals--of all sorts. (Florida was still a rough place.)

So I kept reading...and the third paragraph suddenly blared my great-grandfather's name in my face. Oh. 

The elder brother of one of the murdered men had been similarly ambushed and wounded three years prior...and had accused my great-grandfather of the deed. Senior was arrested but later released after he put forth a perfect alibi and was not indicted.

I had heard of the murder accusation before, but I'd never seen it in print. Which brings up the following  thoughts.

My great-granddad died when Granddaddy was only three, so he never really knew him. It's kind of hard to access what kind of a man he really was, but there are two opinions on the man--two very stark contrasts. People either loved him--or hated his guts...decades after his death.

Daddy tells a story of when he was a teenager, a little old lady came across the street while he was mowing, and gave him a piece of her mind about his granddaddy.

Savannah met a man a couple years ago who told her a tale of how great-granddaddy saved his granddaddy's life during the depression. That family loves the memory of a man who remains a mystery to me.

Naturally, as he is my ancestor, I like to think the better of him. I know that the Methodist church down there has my granddad and his sister's names in the windows--paid for my their father. He is said to be one of the deputized men who took down the Ashley Gang (I forget what they were guilty of). 

On the one hand you hear stories of his compassion...on the other of his cattle baron orneriness of running his cattle through town purposefully after they told him to circuit them around to the rail-head.

Now, I know that the truth probably lays somewhere's down the middle. He was a man. Probably for the most part a good man--but likely with a streak of alligator. 

Was he an actual believer? I have no idea. I'd like to believe that I'll someday meet my great-granddad in heaven. But anyway, the rough, tumultuous history of my dad's side of the family just stands to prove that God can pull any kind of family out of the blackness and bring them into the light of the Gospel.

Uncle Hooker is said to have hung a man from a wagon tongue for killing a beef during the depression. The man was hungry. 

There is at least one woodscolt in the family tree and I suspect that the rumor that a certain member up the line died of an botched abortion is true. So, I guess the question remains--was my great-grandfather a murderer? Or at least, an attempted-murderer?

It's humbling, one's beginnings...for without the flawed people before us we would never exist. It's also very fascinating. Someday I may decide to write a semi-biographical tale concerning several generations of pioneers, soldiers, and cattlemen...I don't know if I'm big enough for the task, but it sure would be an intriguing research project if nothing else........