Recently I was contacted by someone from the Minnesota Live TV program on KSTP in the Twin Cities. The woman happened to be a grade school classmate of my daughter-in-law Katie! But what she really wanted was to ask permission to feature my Little Yellow Sweater blog post on their TV show. She found it endearing and wanted to share it with their viewers. After getting permission from my kids to show the photos of them and their children, I responded “Yes!”
Last year winter was a no-show. As it turns out, that was a moot point for me as I was in no shape to take advantage of its usual offerings. In fact, the lack of snow and cold was to my benefit as I walked my way back to health following surgery and throughout chemotherapy. I relished the clear sidewalks and mild weather as the length of my walks grew all winter long.
This year I admit to viewing snow and cold with some trepidation. My body is not what it once was and each foray back into the sports I love has been fraught with uncertainty and apprehension. Will I be strong enough? Is my balance good enough? Will I be warm enough in the cold? So I viewed winter’s delay this year a reprieve from testing myself. Almost a relief.
And then it snowed. A true significant snowfall. And it became clear what I wanted to do.
I was up early the next morning. I knew my window of opportunity was narrow, and I was out the door putting on my snowshoes before sunrise. My goal was to be on the Lester COGGS trails just across the street while they were still pristine, covered in snow, devoid of footprints and especially before the groomer arrived.
Snowshoeing felt safe. It’s an easy activity, does not require speed nor agility. I could plod at my own pace with nary a concern. Suddenly I couldn’t wait to be out there.
Jackpot! In the quiet of the early morning I had the trail to myself. Snow clung to the trees and muffled all the sounds. Only animal tracks marred the fresh blanket of snow. I stayed toasty warm with the effort of trudging through the fresh powder. This was what I loved about winter! It was all coming back to me now.
I went out two more times that day and the next. I love snowshoeing up the local rivers, and recruited friends to accompany me up the Sucker River and Lester River. Memories of past excursions came flooding back, and these adventures rivaled those experiences. We managed to scramble up and back down waterfalls, avoid the fast running open water exposed by holes in the ice, and stay upright. We marveled at the gurgling water under the ice and the beauty of our surroundings. Sharing it with friends who relish this kind of thing made it all the better. Yes, I do love winter!
Two days later I was ready for the next challenge. I viewed cross-country skiing as crossing a higher threshold. It requires balance, coordination, technique and skill. I decided the best approach was to ease myself back into it. Although skate skiing is my preferred method, I chose classic as I could do it at a slower and more controlled pace. And I planned to ski at Boulder Lake where the terrain is very mild. I wanted to set myself up for success!
Donning far more warm clothes than I normally do, I nervously carried my skis from the parking lot to the trail. Stepping into my bindings and securing the straps of my poles around my wrist, I maneuvered myself into the tracks. This was it. I had to move forward. I double-poled once. Twice. Three times. I gingerly began striding. And I felt it – I knew just what to do! Despite the introductory wobbles, I was off and skiing!
It certainly helped that conditions were absolutely perfect. The trails were freshly groomed, and had hardly been skied. Except for the few folks who started around the same time and flew off into the distance, I had the trail system to myself. The sun came out, the sky turned that brilliant blue, and the trails were as mild as I remembered. When I came to the intersection at the far end of the first loop, I eagerly continued on to the next. And then the next after that. It felt so good I didn’t want to stop. I admit to more butterflies on the first downhill, and lost my technique trying to ski up the inclines, but that paled in comparison to the joy of being out in the snowy wilderness. Taking in the glories of winter.
Snow makes all the difference. Without it, winter is drab and long. With snow on the ground, there are so many ways to enjoy the outdoors. It reminds me that this is what I love about winter. I am so grateful that my body is once again up to it, giving me back the activities I enjoy. Allowing me to reclaim winter.
I first set eyes on the little yellow sweater over 40 years ago. We were expecting our first child, and Rich’s mom got it out of storage and gave it to us. It was tiny, hand knit with extra fine yarn and tied in front with two white satin ribbons. Rich and his two brothers had worn it home from the hospital – way back in 1953, 1956 and 1959. It was such a treasure, laden with family history, just as my dad’s baptismal gown has been.
Karen was the first of the second generation to wear the sweater in 1984. As proud new parents, we were excited to dress her in the sweater, take pictures and buckle her into the car seat wearing the sweater. Carl came next, two and a half years later. Out came the sweater again, and he too wore it home. After each child I carefully packed it away, so when Erik was due to arrive in 1990, I pulled it out, ironed the ribbons and put it in my hospital bag. Apparently, he and Carl dressed alike for their trips home!
Karen 1984
Carl 1986
Erik 1990
The sweater took a long hiatus as our family grew up, but when the time came, I knew right where to find it. The little yellow sweater was moving on down to the third generation! Karen gave us our first grandchild, Ben, in 2010 – such an exciting moment! And it was all the more precious when she too dressed her first child in the little yellow sweater. Mya followed just 22 months later, and she also donned the sweater.
Ben 2010
Mya 2012
Next the sweater found its way to Carl’s house for his first born. Maren wore it home in 2017.
Maren 2017
To be clear, we don’t have a perfect record here. Somehow the sweater missed the latter two babies in Karen and Carl’s families. But who’s counting? The fact that at least one child in each family works for me. And after all, we all know that life gets more complicated as the family grows.
In fact, with the impending arrival of Erik and Katie’s first child, I almost forgot about the little yellow sweater! It suddenly dawned on me when we were visiting them for Christmas that I had neglected to bring it to them. With their due date looming just weeks away, when we got home I wasted no time going straight to the box where I kept it, only go find it empty! How could it be? How could I have let it stray? I racked my brain for memories of which grandchild had worn it last. I dug through my photo files to see when I last had a picture of it. All to no avail. Frantic texts to Karen and Carl initiated immediate searches, but it didn’t turn up. I too looked high and low in our house with no luck. And then it came. A text from Karen – “I found it!” She mailed it to Erik and Katie in Seattle, arriving shortly before the impending due date. Whew!
Saige joined the line of models for the sweater, wearing it home just over a week ago.
Saige 2025
On a side note, I should explain the presence of the bears. On the day each of our children was born, Rich went out and bought them a bear. It stems from his own Tommy Bear that he received as a baby, and still has. That too is a tradition that has been passed down. I don’t have a picture of Rich in the sweater, so Tommy Bear will have to do!
It remains to be seen whether another grandchild will wear the little yellow sweater. But I have to admit, I hope it makes it down to the 4th generation!
I’m up to 12 yards of snuggly fleece fabric. That’s what it takes to outfit 8 grandchildren and 8 stuffy friends in Grammy Jammies. Along with 10 solid days of sitting in front of my sewing machine. But the smiles on the kids’ faces and the love that it brings make it all worth it.
It’s no surprise any more. After 15 years, they come to expect the Jammies, and I love that they do. This year the guesses began in September. “What color will they be this year?” By then the fabric was already stockpiled in my sewing area. But they know better than to expect me to answer. My friends also quiz me on the progress, awaiting the unveiling of each year’s model.
October was serious production month. It started with cutting out all the pieces – the most tedious part of the project, in my opinion. I’m always relieved when I know I have enough fabric. Serious sewing came next. I’m in my own zone when I’m in that mode, ticking off the jammies day by day. Meals and sewing dominate my days, along with easy listening audio books.
Grammy Jammies always come in the same cloth Christmas bags. They were a gift from a dear friend years ago, and I made more to accommodate the growing population.
By the end of the month all was in readiness, at least for Round 1. Kid jammies are delivered around Thanksgiving so they can wear them leading up to Christmas. I was fortunate to find a time when our whole family gathered in November for a baby shower for Erik and Katie, who are expecting their first child in January. Naturally, Baby Girl had to have her first pair of Grammy Jammies!
Round 2 is shorter, as the jammies are a fraction of the size. But they still entail all the detail work of the larger model. Friend Jammies are my special addition, and arrive at Christmas.
And yes, Baby Girl got a new Friend too!
Isabel has already put in her order for next year. “No feet next time.” At 9 she’s migrating toward the next stage. It starts with dropping the slipper feet, then moves on to Jammy Pants. I’m fine with that. Kids grow up, and if that’s what it takes to continue the tradition, I’m all in!
After a tumultuous year, I was determined to make the most of the Christmas offerings this month. For me, it signaled a return to normalcy, and was a celebration of health.
I kicked off the season with Bentleyville. That was a huge draw for our grandchildren, and I made two separate trips there with them, relishing their excitement and wonder. The lights and music never cease to lift my spirits, and I delighted in the new technology fueling the soaring tree with creative designs that changed with the music. We even happened upon “Mayor Bentley” and had a fascinating conversation with the founder of this light display.
My sister, Susie, and I took in Julebyen, a Nordic Christmas Village with cute little outdoor market stalls offering crafts, food, and friendly sellers. Big tents offer entertainment, more vendors of handmade goods, and some protection from the cold wind. All with a prominent Nordic flair.
After an absence of several years, largely due to bad weather for travel, once again Rich and I ventured over to Plummer, Minnesota to see the Holiday Train. Canadian Pacific Railroad has sent a train across Canada and another in the US for the past 26 years, benefiting food shelves in every community they visit. The brilliantly decorated rail cars move from town to town, with stops to present top talent in a live musical tribute to Christmas. The train is best seen at night when its lights illuminate the darkness. There is nothing like seeing the train approach in all its glory. This year we convinced friends to join us, and we topped off the evening with a classic bar and grill dinner and staying in a motel that is a converted old-folks home – seemingly a good joke on us.
I insisted that Rich and I resurrect our tradition of attending some kind of Christmas concert, which started when our kids were in high school then college choirs. This year I chose something different, Mr. Sun Performs Nutcracker Suite. It’s a string quartet but of a different nature, comprised of string bass, acoustic guitar, mandolin and fiddle. Performing in the beautiful Sacred Heart church building, their unique take on the traditional melodies was constantly surprising. From jazz to bluegrass and a nod to improvisation each piece was intriguing. Sometimes it took me well into the tune to finally discern the familiar melody! Even though it wasn’t my usual cup of tea, I enjoyed the uniqueness and challenge to my musical ear. And the subtle humor of individual band members who chatted informally along the way gave me pause to grin and laugh.
Susie and I are ushers for the Duluth Playhouse, and I prodded her to sign up as soon as the schedule for the holiday performance of Cinderella came out. The shows were packed, and we greeted countless theater goers at the door to check them in, finding a few familiar faces in the crowd. It was my first time ushering since my surgery, and it felt so good to be back in circulation. I was pleased that I lasted the 5+ hours of duty that ended long after my new bedtime. And the play and its performers were amazing. I do love theater, particularly musical theater, and must make an effort to resume attending.
On the domestic side, my good friend Julie and I got together for our long standing tradition of making candy cane cookies together. It all started in junior high when I joined Julie and her mom for this annual baking fest. Julie and I struggled to match the perfection of her mom’s beautifully formed candy canes, while her mom diligently tended the oven. She’d take them out just as the edges showed a hint of browning and carefully transfer them to racks where she’d sprinkle the crushed candy cane and sugar mix on top. Over time, we brought our own daughters into the fold, and smiled to see them struggle as we once did. Distance and busy family lives put this activity on hold for many years, but this year we vowed to resume it. Once again we struggled with the cookie dough, and I insisted Julie take her mom’s place at the oven (to spare myself the fear of messing up!). We produced a credible if less than perfect assortment of cookies, pleased with our effort regardless. Just to prove we have mellowed over the years. It was a morning filled with memories and the warmth of long friendship. And we are already planning to do it again next year.
With less than a week to go now, I am looking forward to celebrating Christmas with Erik and Katie in Seattle, followed by mini-Christmas exchanges with our other two kids and their families in early January. Filled with the holiday spirit.
Cruising down one leg of the Loop Trail bike paths, mountains rising in the distance, sunshine pouring down, I couldn’t help but think “Now this is vacation!”
It had been over a year since Rich and I took a trip together. Between my cancer journey and his surgery and complications, we have been tied to the medical community since the beginning of January. As our appointments finally began thinning out and we both felt good again, we decided we needed to take the plunge. It was time to get away, to prove we could be comfortable without our medical teams within reach, and enjoy doing something normal again.
Independently, we both began researching AirBnBs in Tucson, specifically Oro Valley. When we discovered the coincidence, it was an easy decision to finalize our destination. We’ve been there four times before and knew that it met all our basic needs – sunshine and warmth, a familiar environment, beautiful mountain views, and plentiful parks. More than that, it caters to our individual needs. For Rich, there are ample opportunities for birding, with varying habitats in state parks, canyons, and local spots he has already discovered. For me, there are the bike trails. Tucson’s Loop Trail provides 131 miles of paved trails atop the walls of the washes (commonly known as “rivers” even though they are mostly dry) that carry floodwaters during heavy rains. In addition, we already knew of a good bike rental service.
Rich booked an AirBnB less than a mile from the Loop that was a haven in the city. In addition to its full kitchen and amenities, the backyard was nicely landscaped and even included a private pool. I was immediately drawn to the covered patio where we could eat outside or sit in the shade. Better yet, it backed up to a lesser wash where we could meander through desert environs right outside our back door.
That first morning I felt the freedom that comes with leaving home. I had no commitments, no schedule to keep, no accomplishments to complete. I could follow my heart’s desire, and I was doing it. Cycling in shorts and the thinnest of top layers, I felt the sun on my skin, the mild breeze in my face and the strength in my legs as I pushed the pedals. The mountains rose up in all directions, ringing the circumference of my cycling domain. And the ease of traveling down miles of protected bike paths lured me on. This was far removed from my usual biking workouts. This was pleasure cycling.
We were located just off La Cañada del Oro leg of the Loop. I traced that link down and back each day to reach the further extents of the Loop, embracing its growing familiarity. That day I had chosen my favorite leg of the Loop, following the Rillito River Park on both sides of the wash. I passed familiar sights with each passing mile, and noted trail improvements, additions and closings for construction. By its nature, most of the Loop is flat cycling and I felt no compunction to press the pace. It was enough to be outside in the warm weather.
Each day I re-discovered a different leg of the Loop. The eastern section of the Santa Cruz River Park covers a good stretch of rural environs then re-enters the heart of the city. The trail continues for miles, eventually ringing the city (which I cycled one year), but I chose to turn around at the extensive park in south Tucson.
The western side of the Santa Cruz River Park delivers surprising water views, with flowing water in a portion of the wash and El Rio Preserve, a seasonal lake fed by floodwaters.
Cycling was the core of my five days there, and filled my soul. But it was about much more than the cycling. I was able to make peace with not accomplishing much, and just going with the flow, letting each day unfold.
Because the night-time lows were in the 30s and 40s, mornings were chilly. So rather than dashing out at first light as I would do at home, I found it easy to linger. A few mornings I rambled in the wash, as the sun quickly warmed the air. Other days I puttered and journaled. Either way, once it was warm enough I’d sit outside to enjoy my coffee and breakfast.
I had not yet visited the Tucson Botanical Gardens, so I spent an afternoon there. Naturally there were plenty of desert plants, but I found the special displays even more enjoyable. In the hot and humid butterfly building the butterflies flew free among the orchids and greenery. It was hard to see them at first, but the longer I stayed the more I spotted. The floral watercolor paintings and quilt displays were equally captivating. You just never know what you will find in a garden!
Rich and I went to Catalina State Park where Rich spent rare up close and personal time with a Great Horned Owl, and I hiked the Alamo Canyon Loop Trail. What started out as a flat sandy trail morphed into boulder scrambling when it reached the canyon. With great caution (my balance is not so great these days) I approached a viewing spot at the canyon’s edge then continued around the end of the gorge and back down the other side. The silence of the afternoon hike proved to be very restorative.
Sunsets were a highlight of each day. Although we could see the sun go down in the distance, it was the light show on the opposite side as the sun painted the mountains red and caught the occasional clouds – all viewable from our back yard.
At the end of the day spent each doing our own thing, Rich and I sought out a few of our favorite restaurants in the area, not necessarily fancy but places were we enjoyed spending time over a good meal. It was there that we could relax together, and reflect on the day.
We had chosen well, I felt. As hoped, both the location and the lodgings allowed us to pursue our own passions. It allowed us time and space to unwind in our own ways, to nurture our needs. The sunshine and warmth lifted our spirits, and mountain views inspired us.
Yes, Oro Valley was the perfect match for us. And it was a blessing to be well enough to enjoy it all. I’m certain we will return again.
We look forward to our stint as keepers at Crisp Point Lighthouse every year. It’s a very special place on its remote beach at the far eastern end of Lake Superior, where we camp at the base of the tower for up to five days and work in the Visitor Center. The best part is having the grounds and the flashing light all to ourselves at night, and witnessing the dramatic sunrises and sunsets that paint the sky behind the tower.
This year, with my cancer treatments, we had to cancel our winter travel plans to Florida and Costa Rica. Rich’s surgery and its aftermath further grounded us this summer. So it was with great anticipation that in late September we set out for Crisp Point. But we never got there. Mid-way through driving across the Upper Peninsula, Rich suffered a TIA, or mini-stroke, that exhibited itself with slurred speech, a weak left arm and impaired vision. Talk about scary! Fortunately, we had just switched drivers, so I was at the wheel. We turned around and sped back to the nearest Emergency Room in Ironwood, and then on to Essentia in Duluth where they admitted him to the hospital. We were very grateful to be back in the hands of his own medical team.
Fortunately, Rich’s incident was a transient occurrence – in fact lasting no more than 40 minutes – and left no damage. But the window for getting to the lighthouse had closed. To say we were disappointed is an understatement. It had been a goal all year long. Throughout each health challenge we strove to recover with Crisp Point as our payoff.
Enter the cabin. Back home again, I suggested we go to the cabin for a few days. Our calendar was empty due to the planned lighthouse gig, and on successive days we miraculously had no medical appointments. Rich felt hesitant, having just gotten out of the hospital, but agreed. Packing was easy. I reloaded our lighthouse food back into the cooler, slimmed down the clothes I had packed before, and collected a few items needed at the cabin. Off we went.
It was a beautiful sunny day, with nascent fall colors lining the road and deep blue water in the lakes we passed. As soon as we arrived, I hauled a lawn chair over to a sunny spot and opened a new book – a real book this time, not my Kindle. I spent the remainder of the afternoon reading, and continued all evening. I can’t remember the last time I relaxed like that! Rich was similarly occupied, stretched out in the cabin.
Throughout the next two days, we indulged our interests. Rich went out birding early one morning and hiked in Suomi Hills. I got in two bike rides and a long walk. We slept well in the deep silence of the woods, and enjoyed dinners overlooking the lake. When the wind finally calmed down at noon on our last day, I launched the kayak and savored the peace and silence as my paddles sliced through the water.
We both relished the warmth provided by a new mini-split we had installed in the cabin this spring. It seemed too modern for our modest 3-season cabin that we have heated with a wood stove for 34 years. But we decided that a few modern conveniences would make it easier to use the cabin as we age (as hard as that is to admit!). What a treat it was to have easy heat, and Rich especially appreciated not having to add logs to the fire in the middle of the night!
Despite the heat, I craved a fire in the fireplace. Rich was less enthused, so I decided it was time to develop my own fire-building skills. The first couple of tries it was a bit of a struggle to get the flames to catch, but by the third time I had a system down pat. I enjoyed my breakfast in front of a roaring fire each morning, and read by the crackling flames each evening. We were both happy!
It wasn’t the Crisp Point Lighthouse experience we craved, but it was a good get-away. We left doctors and hospitals behind, broke out of our normal routines, spent more time together, and just let life flow. That’s the beauty of owning a cabin. We can go whenever we please, at the drop of a hat, no matter the season. It’s our own little slice of heaven.
Crisp Point wasn’t meant to be for us this year. But you can be sure I’ll be poised to send in our request at the stroke of midnight when sign-up begins for next year.
It’s finally time to break the silence. I’m sad to say this poor blog has been neglected while I took a time-out to focus my writing on CaringBridge to chronicle my cancer journey. It filled a need, to be able to focus on coming to grips with cancer, healing from surgery, and working my way through chemotherapy. But even more so to process my feelings, share my experiences, and connect with a caring community that supported me all along the way. I invite any of you to read my story and posts here.
Throughout this time I’ve continued to be as active as possible, first doing a lot of walking then adding cycling, gradually working back up to regular 25-mile rides up the shore. So when I was planning my trip out to Seattle to visit my son Erik and his wife Katie, I couldn’t help but think about last year when Erik and I cycled all of Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands. At the time, we pondered riding on Lopez Island next time, a prospect that loomed large as I packed. Could I manage it now? It had the advantage of being smaller and less hilly than Orcas, and I craved the opportunity to return to some adventure in my life.
Not only was Erik game, but he proposed an add-on. “Why don’t we go over the day before and camp overnight?” We arrived on the ferry in the late afternoon and made our way to Spencer Spit State Park. We had reserved a walk-in site on the beach, and oh what a gem! The local currents had created a sandy triangular spit of land that stretched across the gap almost to Frost Island. There was a log structure out near the end, and a pool of water in the interior. We quickly dropped our gear and set out to explore. We learned that the shape of the spit changes with the currents, but will never reach the far island due to the strong current in the channel.
We admired the sun setting over the trees behind us, then returned to our campsite to set up and make dinner before it got dark. The meal was extra tasty, as it always is in the simplicity off the outdoors with a tent. We bedded down with the lights of yachts bobbing on buoys just beyond our shore and the sound of waves lightly lapping.
Morning brought fog. After a hot breakfast and camp coffee, we packed up and stashed our gear in the car. As last year, our goal was to cover as much of the island as possible, and reach the shore on every side. We had found good cycling maps online that showed us the amount of traffic on each road and whether it had shoulders or not. We aimed to ride the quieter roads, that reached the extremities of the island.
Setting out, the fog was so dense that it obliterated all scenery. Looking out at the water was like seeing a white wall! From the park we crossed over to the east side of the island then headed south through Lopez Village and into more rural landscape. There were numerous farms (surprising to us – who farms on an island?), unique house architectures, and a flavor of laid back island life. Just 7 miles along, my back tire went flat. Erik changed the tube like a pro, and we were on our way again in short order.
We made our way to the southern peninsula of the island, out to Agate Beach where we reached the end of the road for the first time. We’d hoped to get out to Iceberg Point, but it was off limits to bicycles, so we made do with a picnic lunch overlooking Mackaye Harbor. Close up we could see boats anchored, but the fog obscured what we soon learned was a huge rocky outcropping beyond. Fortunately, starting then, the fog began to lift. We could still see it lurking in low-lying areas, but it soon became sunny and warm – a beautiful afternoon!
We tootled around that lower bulb of the island for much of the afternoon, exploring each small road until we could go no further. More than once we hit private land short of the shore. I hesitated at the top of a very steep hill, knowing that if I went down I’d have to come back up again. But the adventurers in us enticed us forward, only to find a dirt road not far beyond! We navigated that as well to reach a glass-walled modern mansion in the distance beyond the No Trespassing signs. And for the record, I did walk my bike back up that hill! It was well worth it though, for the quiet, woodsy small roads we traveled.
We had made plans to take the 4:15 ferry back that afternoon, and after checking the time we decided we needed to beat it back to the car. So we took the main road up the center of the island, which turned out to be fine despite its high traffic designation. We got back to the car with time to change out of our cycling clothes and mount the bikes on the car rack and head to the ferry. But we were mystified to find ourselves first in line for the ferry. It just didn’t feel right. Inquiring at the office, we learned that the 4:15 was strictly a walk-on ferry! Only then did it dawn on us that we’d picked that ferry in the early stages of planning when we didn’t expect to bring the car over. Oops!
We had plenty of time to kill before the 6:20 ferry, so we headed into Lopez Village where we loaded up on charcuterie items and headed out to Otis Perkins Day Park where we planted ourselves on a big log on the beach. There we were content to sit, soak up the sun, enjoy our little feast and take in the views of San Juan Island across the water – the very sights we’d missed in the morning fog.
We easily made the next ferry and enjoyed the setting sun as we motored back toward home. Feeling the sun’s still-warm rays, it was easy to bask in the warm glow of another successful island cycling trip. We covered 36 miles, hit all the coasts and saw the island in both fog and sunshine. What’s more, I did it – my body held up, I felt great pedaling through the miles, and relished the whole adventure. Leaving cancer behind. And the mother/son moments were priceless.
Of course, now we’ve set our sights on San Juan Island…
“Maren has asked for an American Girl doll for Christmas.”
The words immediately transported me back to when the coveted dolls were new, and we bought the Molly doll for our daughter, Karen. She came with her own book Meet Molly, wore glasses, had long dark braids, and a World War II background. The dolls had extensive accessories and wardrobes you could buy, but being a frugal parent I zeroed in on the sewing patterns they also offered.
“Mom, do you think you could make an outfit for Molly?” She was an excellent seamstress, and I knew she’d take up the challenge, but I didn’t anticipate the extent to which she would go. She made not only one, but all six outfits included in the package.
I was pretty sure I had those patterns. When we cleared out Mom’s house after she died, I collected many of her sewing tools. Sure enough, I found the packet squirreled away in my sewing cupboard – a treasured prize. These patterns were not for the faint of heart. They included elaborate instructions for tailored clothes, but that didn’t phase me. I already had my own designs in mind for Maren’s doll, but needed a guide to size and fit.
For further assistance, I asked Karen if I might borrow Molly to use as a model. So Molly came for a visit at Thanksgiving to help me in my task.
My vision was to start with fabric scraps from outfits that I had made for Maren and other grandchildren. I chose a knit dress and the summer jammies I made for all of them. I spent hours measuring Molly, cobbling pattern pieces together, drawing my own patterns, sewing sample pieces and trying them on her. I could feel Mom at my side, handling the same paper pattern pieces she had used, reading the same instructions and translating them into completed outfits. Like hers, it was a labor of love.
In time I got the hang of it, and completed two outfits, pleased with my first attempts.
But what is Christmas without Grammy Jammies? You guessed it, it was time to make the 21st pair of Jammies this year.
It turns out that a doll is a lot less forgiving than children or stuffies. American Girl dolls are amazingly flexible, but that only goes so far. Getting the proportions right was trickier than I expected, but after some trial and error I had a credible pair of jammies for Maren’s doll. Perhaps you spotted her in my last Jammie post, where she snuck into the pictures from Christmas.
But that wasn’t the end of the story. Maren’s birthday falls right after Christmas, so I had one more project up my sleeve. Resurrecting and modifying the girl’s dress pattern I’d used before I fashioned matching outfits for Maren and her doll. Once again, I felt Mom looking over my shoulder, approving of going above and beyond. Of making the most of my sewing skills and the satisfaction of seeing them delight a little girl.
Maren and her doll had the good fortune to attend a tea party at the American Girl doll store in Chicago with her other grandma, as well as her Mom and Aunt with their own American Girl dolls. It filled my heart to see Maren and her doll wearing their matching outfits for that big outing.
This post is not about the 21st set of Grammy Jammies. It was supposed to be, and I promise to get back to that story. But life has taken a sudden turn, and I need to take a short time-out.
I might as well get right to the bottom line. Ten days ago I had surgery that revealed I have stage-3 ovarian cancer that has spread to the lymph nodes. In addition to healing from that extensive ordeal, I am preparing to begin chemotherapy in a few weeks. The good news is that I am healing well at home now and making good progress. And I have felt the warmth and support flooding in from family and friends. It’s a new journey for me, but I feel ready to take it on.
I gave CaringBridge only a passing thought initially. That couldn’t really be for me. Those are really serious cases. Well, maybe that does describe me. But as time went by I began to experience the strong desire to keep those loyal friends and family informed. My brain swirled trying to keep track. Who did I tell what? When did I last update them? Did I send them that photo? I felt a shift. I could keep everyone updated at once. Send them to the single source of information. I’m in!
So I encourage you to visit my CaringBridge site here. I have posted several journal entries to catch folks up on the journey, so be sure to click on the Journal icon to get the full story (or follow this link) and scroll down. Note: You will need a CaringBridge account to access the site.
Meanwhile, I will work on getting back to that Grammy Jammie post.
Superior Footprints 