So come on in, and let’s have a warm conversation on this strange sort of weather morning. My thoughts are scattered, but there’s nothing like a cup of hot coffee and a talk with a friend to sort things out.
It is so-o windy this morning. There’s a chance for storms, then the temperature drops and by Wednesday morning, we may have a freeze, can you believe it? Yesterday was misty, foggy, windy, and, in Tahlequah, it was cold! I was there on the sad occasion of a funeral for a young cousin. Although the reason for going was unhappy, it was good to see family that I don’t often see. I think loved ones are important all the time, but especially in times of grief.
In all the excitement about Easter, I neglected to mention another thing that happened April 1. It was national tatting day. Do any of you tat? It’s an old art, but one that is still going strong for many people.
I love tatting. I like the feel of the smooth shuttle in my hands, the way the thread slips through my fingers and the gentle click, click, as a thing of beauty emerges.
After my mother passed away, I badly needed something new to do, something I had to concentrate on, something to do with my hands. So, I took tatting lessons. At first, the thread knotted and tangled and I spent more time taking out bungles than tatting. I was about to decide I could never master it, but gave it on more try and, at last I got the hang of it. There’s a life lesson, isn’t it? Just give it one more try and the snarls and tangles will smooth out.
Tatting goes way, way back to–goodness, I don’t know where it originated. Ladies many years ago tatted, making lace to spiffy up even the simplest garment or handkerchief. When I tat, I feel a kinship with these lades. I also feel a connection with my mom. She tatted too.
This length of lace has a story behind it. A long time ago in our home at Manos Meadows, my husband and I got into the habit of watching a daily television program together. The show was one hour long. Feeling kind of guilty about sitting still so long in the middle of the day, I grabbed my tatting basket. 
As the show progressed, I tatted. It took exactly one hour to make an inch of the lace. So when I look at this lace now, I remember how it came about. Only thing is, I’m not quite sure of what to do with it. Maybe I should make it longer until some day in the dim and distant future I have enough lace to edge a tablecloth. I don’t know. But it was fun to make.
It’s cloudy this morning and the wind is whisking away last autumn’s reminders from the maple. My neighbor’s tulip tree has shed its beautiful purple blossoms in favor of green leaves. Easter is tucked away for another year and a new mystery is on my computer. This is a different sort of story. Yes, it’s about Ned and her friends, but the whole story is centered around another person–an elderly lady who passed away in a nursing home. You see, she had a secret or two. And, for some strange reason, that’s the reason Ned’s life is in danger. It’s…well, it is really quite mysterious.
A fun fact about the author: I learned to drive on a car that had a stick shift, a starter on the floor, a running board, and no turn signals (arm signals are: straight out for turning left, out and up for turning right, and straight down for stopping.) How about that?
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