Wednesday, August 31, 2011
As we meandered via air across this great nation we enjoyed the flowing rivers, painted sands, canyons & majestic mountains as we approached Oregon.
Do you ever think about how this country
was formed beneath the oceans ...
& how those fluffy clouds hold angels on
the rivers flowing that created the
i have lost track of which mountain is
which but the majesty of each rising
above the earth is so powerful ... I always
get emotional when I see them
& think of how much fun God must have
had when he designed this earth ...
Cathelene, Harold, Marydon, Emery,
Ansel & Tatiana ... our precious son's
wonderful family arriving at the family
The following are our return home trip
that shows the Grand Canyon, the Painted Dessert & the richest sunset as God
closed the door on another day.
Posted by Marydon Ford at 11:59 PM
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
In 1915 Jesse A. Currey, rose hobbyist and Sunday editor of the Oregon Journal, convinced city officials to institute a rose test garden to serve as a safe haven during World War I for hybrid roses grown in Europe. Rose lovers feared that these unique plants would be destroyed in the bombings. The Park Bureau approved the idea in 1917 and by early 1918, hybridists from England began to send roses. In 1921 Florence Holmes Gerke, the landscape architect for the city of Portland, was charged with designing the International Rose Test Garden and the amphitheatre. The garden was dedicated in June 1924. Currey was appointed as the garden's first rose curator and served in that capacity until his death in 1927.
Be sure to go back to the previous posts, if you haven't to view 50 other beauties we saw @ the International Rose Test Gardens in Portland, OR.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on
the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom.
(Sharing just a beautiful piece that has to be part of everyone's lives, at one time or another. as it is ours)
When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty
his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy, I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar.
They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then
the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.
I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar to admire
the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's
treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the
Jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table a nd roll the coins
before taking them to the bank.
Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production.
Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were
placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would
look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you
out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than
me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled
coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier,
he would grin proudly. 'These are for my son's college
fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me.'
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping
for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad
always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream
parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the
few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home,
we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop
the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around
with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other.
'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and
quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there; I'll see to that.'
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued
to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer
when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to
serve dried beans several times a week, not a single
dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me,
pouring catsup over my beans to make them more
palatable, he became more determined than ever to
make a way out for me 'When you finish college, Son,'
he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to
eat beans again - unless you want to.'
The years passed, and I finished college and took a
job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents,
I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that
the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose
and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside
the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad
was a man of few words: he never lectured me on the
values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The
pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more
eloquently than the most flowery of words could have
done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the
significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my
life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than
anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born,
we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom
and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns
cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper
softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. 'She probably
needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my
parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back
into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand
and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her
eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser.
To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed,
stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with
coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my
pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of
emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I
looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped
quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was
feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could
This truly touched my heart. Sometimes we are so busy
adding up our troubles that we forget to count our
blessings. Never underestimate the power of your actions.
With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for
better or for worse.
God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another
in some way. Look for GOOD in others.
The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or
touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller
- Happy moments, praise God.
- Difficult moments, seek God.
- Quiet moments, worship God.
- Painful moments, trust God.
- Every moment, thank God.
Joining Donna @ Brywood Needleworks Monday Memories
~ Love Is... ladies are ~
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Looking for a place to bubble & burst is our gorgeous, sweet Spencer. Golly, she just radiates warmth & beauty ... you can't help but fall in love with this charming lady, & her sweet hubby.
When you enter her gorgeous home, the decor will sweep you off your feet! Every little wee corner & nook is filled with charm & treasures. This lady is talented
beyond belief ... chic, french, fluffy, elegant,
romance & warm cottage delight.
Short on time to visit, we covered the world in an hour.
And a lovely table full of fresh fruits, dips & fabulous deelish cookies with a cool ice tea.
This is the lovely card accenting the gift
She made this sweet flower pin ... I have to learn how to do them.
And a cute mini-chalk board gift tag ...
And, this elegant runner that I laid my vintage lace over. I absolutely am stunned at how beautifully it goes in the dining room. Spencer did a gorgeous job
Now sometime ago June had sent me a beautiful flower that I placed on my lamp shade. Everyone loves it.
I told Spencer that her flower was going on our foyer lamp as the wee green leaves will go perfectly with the green marble base ...
& it sure does add the perfect touch.
THANK YOU SPENCER!! for the most wonderful
visit. We so look forward to your coming east.
This is a continuation of hundreds of hundreds of roses that I photographed at the International Rose Test Garden. You may view more posted yesterday also.
Madame Caroline Testout was a late 19th century French dressmaker from Grenoble, the proprietor of fashionable salons in London and Paris. She regularly purchased silks from Lyon, which was an important center for rose breeding. The nurseryman Joseph Pernet-Ducher was called 'The Wizard of Lyon' due to his success in developing hybrid tea roses. Madame Testout was an astute businesswoman and understood the value of good publicity. She asked Perner-Ducher to name one of his new roses after her. He agreed, but considered her choice of seedling to be mediocre. The 'Madame Caroline Testout' rose made its debut at the salon's 1890 spring fashion show. It was not strong on scent, but became an immediate success with Madame Testout's well to do customers as well as the gardening public for its abundant silky, rose-pink flowers. The new variety's popularity spread to America, and in Portland, nearly half a million bushes of 'Caroline Testout' were planted along the sidewalks. By 1905 Portland had 200 miles of rose-bordered streets which helped attract visitors to the Lewis and Clark Centennial celebration. Portland came to be known as the 'City of Roses'.
Posted by Marydon Ford at 8:28 AM