History Snippet: Plains Indians

Reading to me about the Plains Indians, Son4 continued, "...In many tribes, women would cut off a finger to mourn the death of a loved one."

He looked up and said, "Well, that's productive," then lowered his head to the text and continued reading.

The sincerity of those Indian women engaging in a practice such as that is so similar to men and women today believing in, and acting upon, the theory of evolution and the religion of psychology.  Maybe man's rebellion against God is ever so slightly more sophisticated in the 21st century. 

No, maybe it's not.

O Timothy, keep that which is committed to thy trust, avoiding profane and vain babblings, and oppositions of science falsely so called: which some professing have erred concerning the faith.  Grace be with thee.  Amen.  I Timothy 6:20-21

Snowman Play Day 2

Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.  Psalms 16:11

Snowman Play Day 1

But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice: let them ever shout for joy, because thou defendest them: let them also that love thy name be joyful in thee.  Psalms 5:11

The Baby Bagged a Buck

Only 14 years old, Son4 didn't have a photo ID, and there had been some confusion in the house over whether or not he'd need one in order to acquire a hunting license.  The evening before gun season opened, he studied online, and it was determined this feat could be accomplished, so he and Charles jumped in the truck and made a trip to town.  I pondered at the time this man-thing which could prompt a couple of fellows to trek into town in the cold dark of the night.

Son4 was up in the darkness of morning, applying his man make-up, and told Mom he was going to "hunt" from the pool deck.  Gentle prompting to choose a more reasonable spot to plant himself was met with an explanation that the deck would be grand.  When Charles arose shortly thereafter, he slipped into the living room and apprised me in a low tone that Son4 was planning to hunt from the pool deck, despite Dad's urgings to choose a better spot.  I told him I'd already unsuccessfully been to that well, and we shared a parental Isn't that cute smile.

All suited up in camo — when draping themselves in lumber and spindles would have made more sense to me — Dad and son exited through the front door, while I sat knitting in the living room.  Imagine my surprise when 20 minutes later I heard a distinctive *x!CRACK!x*

I tossed my knitting aside, rushed to the windows, and looked intently at what was occurring on the deck.  Both men were standing.  They were facing one-another and talking.  Then I saw Son4 point toward the cornfield across the road.  More talking between the two.  Then I saw Dad give Son a high-five.  WHAT!?  I rushed to the door, threw myself onto the porch and hollered, "Did you get one!?"  Indeed.  Okay, I teared-up.

An exciting day it was on the prairie.  And a few days later, the bounty was hauled back from the meat locker and appreciatively and admiringly packed into the freezer.  Lovely venison steaks were on the table for dinner that night.

Don't mess with a man with a painted face.  He just may know what he's doing.

O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.  So is this great and wide sea, wherein are things creeping innumerable, both small and great beasts.  There go the ships: there is that leviathan, whom thou hast made to play therein.  These wait all upon thee; that thou mayest give them their meat in due season.  That thou givest them they gather: thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.  Psalms 104:24-28

That Sausage Dog...

Chewed on the corner of the rag-rug-in-process.   I may have been able to get away with sending it west without a word, but those pesky kitties in Little Loo's house probably would have gone berserk over dog slobber in the house and busted me.  Especially Lyric.  I think he's just berserk most of the time over nothing.  Inject dog spit in his environment, and there would be no living with him.

I wasn't liking the way the rug was developing anyway, since once I got my rag-rug-rhythm, those first few rows were looking pretty lame by comparison and would have required edge binding to hide my stupidity initial lack of ability to perform.

So scrap the rug.  It's taking nearly as long to dismantle it as it took to create it, but when that's accomplished — if not before — I'll be knotting my way to another.  La-la.

O that there were such an heart in them, that they would fear me, and keep all my commandments always, that it might be well with them, and with their children for ever!  Deuteronomy 5:29

Rag Rugs

With winter firmly planted upon the plains, my thoughts turned this year not to weaving, but to rag rugs created by other methods.  I'd bought a used book last winter which broadened my rug-making horizons, and I wanted to try my hand at something other than weaving.  In August, Little Loo had chosen from my stash of sheets ones which would complement her home decor, so I might make her some area rugs, when choosing a seat by the woodstove made the most sense to frosty toes and other chilly parts.

Tiring this past week of inhaling fabric dust, blinking away bits from my eyes, and sneezing, I halted the sheet ripping process and sat down with the color strips I knew I wanted to begin and end her first rug -- a toothbrush rug -- as well as the tool Charles made out of a clothes hanger and electrical tape.  The toothbrush rug was chosen during the hours it required to sort through 1" strips of 3 sheets, removing unraveled threads and clipping the ends for later joining, for I'd pause intermittently to study rug-making in Country Rag Crafts, and reflect upon the reward I'd eventually receive from all this rote, dusty work.  This went on for hours, until I'd finally made my choice, and once the choice was made, I was ready to stop cleaning and clipping strips for a while, even though the 5 colors chosen were not all ready to roll.

As it turns out, halting the preparation process was a grand idea, because it appears this particular rug can be completed and present enough interest with the use of a single sheet.  That's owing to the sheet having had one decorative end, which presents itself intermittently throughout the rug.

But a girl can only tie so many knots before she's feeling a bit like she'd rather be doing something else for a while, so I took a break from the rug and spent an entire day studying online other rag rug-making options, and doing a little brainstorming as I stared at that knitting loom I brought in here a couple of weeks ago — having no clue it double knits, a use for which I can think of nothing appealing to me at the moment — and realized it could, without compromising the integrity of its intended use, be refashioned into a weaving loom.  So weaving a rug on a frame loom may be the next (or simultaneous) project.  And I ordered rug canvas yesterday with the eager intent to make a lock loop rug.  Again, Charles whipped out my locking tool, using his trusty knife and a wooden candy apple stick.  "What are these, and why do we have them?  I don't want to have you carve one up, if they're important."  Someone was able to recall they came to us in a bag of caramels, so they could be mine.  All mine.  I can hardly wait to tackle the lock loop project.

So ragging and rugging will be this winter's go-to projects.  And when I was asked on my recent birthday what fun things I wanted to do, I pondered only a moment before I realized my life as a keeper at home is wonderful.  Nearly every day I spend doing the things I like most to do.  Doing those things on my birthday would be perfect.  How blessed could a girl be?

The aged women likewise, that they be in behaviour as becometh holiness, not false accusers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things; that they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children, to be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed.  Titus 2:3-5