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Sue Spitulnik

Writing, Sewing, Travel, and Thoughts

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Sue Spitulnik

I am a retired grandmother that grew up in western New York State, left for 25 years, and am now back in the area. I happily live with my husband and two cats. I am pro-military, writing, food, family, and quilting. I am con-exercise, insulting commercials, and lack of common sense. I have met some great friends through this website.

National Aunt and Uncle Day

I was recently had the opportunity to attend a dinner in the private home of a board member of Writer’s and Books, a non-profit literary organization in Rochester, NY.  Along with the espresso served at meal’s end were these thin, almost see-through, cookies.  I looked at them in wonder and asked, “Are these lace cookies?”  The hostess smiled and said, “Yes. They are.”  Each bite brought back more memories of my Aunt Alda.

Aunt Alda was my mother’s older sister.  She never married, though we heard she had more than one proposal.  She taught school in Haddenfield, NJ, for over thirty years so I only saw her during the summer and over Christmas vacation until she retired and moved north to live near us.  I can remember going to the train station to pick her up at Christmas time.  During her visit she would play card and dice games with just me, or read stories.  I don’t remember my mother doing that when I was little, so I looked forward to her visits.

I do remember my mother being proud of me for being the only one in my second grade class that knew what state I lived in.  That was because it was my job to mail the letters she wrote her sister.  And, in those days you didn’t have to teach your child their full address as soon as they could talk.  Life was simpler in the ’50’s and ’60’s.  You knew your neighbor’s names, and kids ran all over the small towns in the southern tier of New York state with no fear of who might be lurking.

I digress.  Once Aunt Alda retired I saw her most every day.  She would eat dinner at our house most nights, and we ate at her house once a week.  We being me and my mother.  My older sisters were out of the house by then and my father was still working from 3pm – 11pm.  I  enjoyed suppertime because there was always talk of current events, local town news, and church events.

It was Aunt Alda that took me to Rochester every week to visit my mother when she was in the hospital through out my last three years in school.  It was Aunt Alda who took me shopping for a new dress for my mother’s funeral when I was a senior, and it was she who answered some of life’s most difficult questions.  I think of her often.  She is also the only one who had ever made me lace cookies!

 

 

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National Day of Threading the Needle

This day represents one of my top interests.  I grew up in a 4-H household learning to bake, do household chores easily, including folding fitted sheets, and sew.  We started our sewing lessons by making our own sewing box to hold our scissors, threads, seam ripper, hand needles, tape measure and straight pins.  Our first sewing project was an apron.  I still wear one when I get serious in the kitchen.

My projects advanced to skirts, blouses, dresses, and other clothing.  At that time,  girls still wore dresses to school every day.  I proudly wore “homemade” gowns to high school formal dances.  Happy they were different than anyone else’s.   I got an easy A in history by making a replica of the flag Betsy Ross made.  I wish the rest of the class had been that easy for me.

Soon it was time to make baby clothes.  I was a U.S.A.F. wife, lucky to be able to stay home with my children.  Making their clothes filled hours, the clothes fit, and were less expensive than buying pre-made.  My son was born first.  His Aunt Georgia made him a baby quilt.  When my daughter was born in England, there was no big sister handy to make her a quilt, so I made one myself.  It was just squares of flannel sewn together on a sewing machine.  I’ve been making quilts ever since.

A typical comment quilt makers hear is, “Are you really going to cut up all that good fabric, then sew it back together?”  Absolutely!  Choosing the colors and fabric designs for the quilt pattern you want to make is part of the fun for me.  The days of using old clothes, flour sacks, or fabric scraps to make a quilt are generally gone.  Building a fabric stash in your cupboard, drawers, closets, and storage tubs in now the norm.  Quilters will drive long distances to check out a new quilt shop.  There are even events called Shop-Hops.  If you visit all the shops that are involved in that hop, you are eligible for nice prizes.  The local one near where I live lasts four days and covers 400 miles if you go the full circle all at once.  It is no longer and inexpensive hobby.

A quilter needs homes for her quilts.  In other blogs I have mentioned my husband’s large family.  They are the recipients of quilts I just have to make because there is a new technique or pattern that has caught my attention.  I give them for 5oth anniversary’s, weddings, and in some cases just because the fabric told me who it should go to.  Oh, my children and sisters have a bunch too.

I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my hand, but I must have had a needle because my sewing studio is larger than our family room.  The colors and creativity make my soul sing.

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National Day of Cousins

It just so happens this day falls on the last day of a family reunion for my  husband’s family.  These cousins know how to have a good time, and keep the family close.  Not easy to do considering there are cells over the country.  Not everyone attends, but those that can still travel, usually do.  We aren’t as young as we used to be.

The group my age do their best to carry on the family tradition of togetherness they learned from their parents.  I wish I had been part of the family when they were alive.  I missed knowing some hard-working, intelligent, caring people.

Friday night we gather at a restaurant for dinner.  There were 21 this year, including two ladies we claim as family that really aren’t.  Most of the discussion is updating each other on personal news.  The conversation was extra special because we heard stories from the next generation that are now all over 21, about their memories of being little.  Some tellers wanted their parents take of what they remembered about certain happenings.  After dinner there is a pub crawl, starting at the local Elks Club.  Cash registers like it when we visit.

Saturday there is a picnic at Stony Brook State Park.  There is food, conversation, laughs, memories, and the obligatory trail hike.  I didn’t get the exercise gene, so I skip that.  This year we figured out this reunion has been happening for over fifty years.  In the evening we all go out for dinner again.  By this time the conversation has slowed a bit and we all look a little bedraggled, especially when it’s hot.

Sunday morning we all say good-by in the hotel lobby and have already started planning for next year.  This morning a three year old was walking through the hallway, with big eyes, saying, “There’s more cousins!”

One comment made a few years ago by a lady cousins sticks with me.  It was honest, and oh so true.  “We are together just long enough to not get under each other’s skin.”

Ain’t family grand?

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National Day of the Cowboy

This one I had to talk with my husband about.  A cowboy, technically, is someone who rides a horse in order to herd cattle.  He may also perform other ranch duties using the horse as his transportation.  In the Midwest, and Southwest, these jobs remain today.

My first thought of a cowboy was John Wayne, especially in True Grit, or James Garner playing Maverick.  I could go on, but I’m dating myself.  Not really cowboys, but “men who won the west.”

I am going to have to ask my grandson if he knows what a cowboy is.  His video games have super heroes and military men whose only function seems to be, kill something.  I don’t like those types of games.  He assures me he knows it is only pretend.  Then I think back.  Was my generation any different when we played cowboys and Indians and the Indians were always the losers.  When we played in the woods behind my parents house, no one ever wanted to be the Indian.

It seems history always has it’s set of losers.  When you analyze it, it isn’t very pleasant.  Our earth never has been a place of peace for everyone.  It makes me sad.

P.S.  When my novel gets published, you will meet some people that participate in the rodeo.  I guess you could call them cowboys and cowgirls.  Mary, Becky and Penny compete in barrel racing.  Milt and Vince used to ride brahma bulls, but don’t any more because the bull won.  They don’t let it get them down.  Milt shows us we can be happy with life, no matter what it  hands you.

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National Hammock Day

I wonder if everyone has had the pleasure of laying in a hammock.  On TV they make it look so inviting in the advertisements, especially with a cold drink in hand, under a shady palm tree without an apparent care in the world.  Maybe it’s the cold drink that takes the cares away!

We had a hammock on our side porch when I was in grade school.  It didn’t look like the flat ones of today.  It looked like an accordian and was made of very heavy canvas.  You pulled apart the folds and sat in the middle.  Sometimes your butt hit the floor is you flopped into with too much force.  Then you held the far side out and lay down.  It wasn’t really comfortable for a little kid, because it tended to fold back around you.  It was more fun if there were at least two of us in it, and another to push it with all their might.  When it stopped moving we would thrust our arms into the air, pretending we were butterflies emerging from a cacoon.  We didn’t have a lot of cares or responsibilities at that age.

This summer I am keeping  my grandson company on Thursdays, I look out the window and see a hammock.  I never have been much of a sun person, and it doesn’t even tempt me considering the hot temperature.  Besides, I sure wold hate to try to sit on it and end up flipped over onto the ground.

 

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National Junk Food Day

Junk Food probably means something different to everyone, depending on your own routine diet.  In my “puddle” it means chips, dips, candy, and even ice cream.  You know all those things we know we shouldn’t eat, yet enjoy so much.

When my children were young and we were on vacation, especially when staying a few days in a hotel, we would designate one evening, junk food night.  My son was probably about ten, so my daughter would have been eight.  We would go to the store and they could pick out anything they wanted.  Twizzlers, Cheetos, M&M’s, and Coke were the usual first choices.  Sometimes a bag of cookies, but I made those at home, from scratch, so store bought ones weren’t really a go to item.

We would spend the night in the room, snacking, watching TV, playing cards, and laughing.  About 10:00 pm one of them would say, “Ahh, I don’t feel so good.  Maybe we shouldn’t do this on our next vacation.”  But the next year would come, and we would do it again.

One year we made smores in our room.  We got all the ingredients, and some candles.  We cooked the marshmallows over the candles which worked fine, but almost set off the smoke alarms.  I didn’t think about that ahead of time.  My kids thought it would have been fun if they did go off.

I’m sad that today, parents and children alike have their noses glued to their “devices” and barely talk when they are in a hotel room.  They will never make the memories I have with my children.

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