I'm just your basic complicated simple red dirt girl who feels most beautiful when wearing skirts that caper and earrings that dangle. Entering into my Second Life (my tenured phase, I call it), I tell, write, stitch, and perform stories about this time of life when the mythological (and downsized) empty nest is now filled with aging pets, aging parents, a retired husband, and the knowledge that you're living on the finite side of infinity.
Young Jeanne and her paternal grandmother stand in an unending field of red clover one beautiful Easter, with Jeanne holding her Easter basket filled to overflowing with brightly-colored eggs she found at her material grandmother’s house mere hours before her daddy took this photo.
Click the triangle to listen to Jeanne read A Remembering
A Remembering by Jeanne Hewell-Chambers
Silently
her fingers touch every
wrinkle
every freckle every pore
of my face.
Her exploratory adventure
begins with my fingers
turning them into a treasure map
as her cute, chubby fingers
trek over my fingernails and knuckles
to my palm
my wrist
up to my elbow
and around the bend to my shoulder.
From there
her pudgy, inquisitive fingers
meander across my collarbone
to the base of my neck.
Up, up, up they go,
using my chin
as a home base,
her index and middle fingers
walking my jawbone
first to my left ear
then to my right.
Her curious fingers dip into the
pools of my ears
and skip around the rims
as though they’re an amusement park.
She moves slowly
taking her time,
knowing I will honor her curiosity
with patience
and possibly this poem for
the daily journal I keep for her.
My cheekbones
provide a bridge to my nose
which she explores thoroughly
from the edges that hold it in the space
above my lips
to the smallest part
between my eyes
(unless you count the nostril caves
which she thankfully
chooses not to visit!)
Her fingers slide down
freom the top of my nose
to the bottom,
and from there
it’s a short hop to my lips
which plant themselves on her face
and knees and toes and heels
and hands and shoulders and fingers so often,
they need only the most cursory
going over.
Back up the nose
then over to my eyes
which admittedly makes me nervous.
Will she be gentle
or will she poke me in the eye
and push them out of the socket?
Is that even possible?
This 2 year old would know.
Up my forehead then across my hair,
her fingers climb
to the
tip top of my head
where decades ago a fontanel existed
giving my brain room to grow.
She lingers longest here atop my head
right in the center.
The crown,
some call it,
where wisdom,
divine connection,
and clarity
is fostered.
What is she doing?
Is this a hands-on anatomy class
or something else?
No sounds are uttered
and I wonder . . .
If I can be still enough
for long enough,
if I can avoid interruptions
of people needing something
of the to do list tapping its foot
or the timer clearing its throat
to let me know it’s time to switch the laundry,
If I can manage that sizable miracle
of quiet,
might my fingertips –
through their nerves
and muscles
and haptic intelligence –
remember a night when
2 year old me shared a pillow
with my grandmother,
tracing her face,
intently memorizing what even then I knew
I’d never want to forget?
Might my fingers remember
my grandmother’s 2 year old fingers
tracing the face of her grandmother
and that grandmother,
as a 2 year old,
memorizing the face of her grandmother?
Through some enchanting mystery
might I remember
generations of love
through my fingertips?
~~~~~~~
A note read by Jeanne explaining the 10-day gap between penning and posting.
On September 1, 2025, I began a daily writing practice. This poem, while penned on September 2, is posted on September 12, 2025 because such is my life. The 2 year old and her boundless curiosity live with us. Enough said about the 10-day gap between penning and posting. Thank y’all for reading along.
Jeanne reading Journey (with a touch of frogginess from lingering seasonal allergies)
JOURNEY
Today I praise
the multitudes inside me
the girl
the teen
the woman
the mother
the daughter
the friend
the wife
the student
the teacher
the fledgling.
I praise
the questions
the doubts
the wonderings
and wanderings.
I praise
the light
the darkness
the fallow
the storms
the harvests
inside me,
knowing it takes all these elements
for seeds to grow and bloom.
I praise the Committee of Jeanne
The Child who knows the value of play
the soft whispers of The Wise Woman
who says things only once
because that is enough.
I even praise
the stern, sure, booming voice
that has something to say about everything
and declares and decrees with great authority
from the end
of his wagging finger.
I praise
the chorus
that creates pitch (im)perfect beauty
when my heart, hands, brain, and soul
sing, stitch, and scribe
hymns of
words
cloth
paper
movement
silence.
I praise
the deep ever-replenishing well
of knowledge
wisdom
curiosity
creativity
tenderness
anger
fear
humor
vulnerability
confidence
that resides deep inside,
creating the Cartography of Jeanne.
With great exultation,
I praise the occasional gumption mustered
to tug on the zipper
of the invisible bubble I call Home
and turn myself inside out,
letting my face
my body
my entire Being
feel the sun
of being genuine.
~~~~~~~
Poem 1
September 1, 2025
Let’s begin with the what and the why of it all . . .
NOTE: Today (well, technically, 2 days ago – such is my life!) I begin writing something every day. Some days it will be a poem. Other days a story. Some days it might be editing and revising a previously written piece. Why am I doing this? Because I can no longer not do it. The words jangle and knock around inside me, and finally one taps their watch and looks at me with a look that clearly says – no words needed – It’s time.
When blooms on dogwood trees exhaust their pollen supply,
stems of the red tulips tire and bend, and
leaves on daffodils fall limply to the ground,
we will continue to push our chairs back
so others can join the ever-growing circle
of smiling tear-marked faces
telling stories of Betsey
and the heart prints she leaves all over our lives.
We – family, friends, colleagues, patient families –
will grow the imaginary fingers and toes
needed to count
how very, very glad we are to
hold this Betsey thread that connects us
and how very grateful we are
to love and be loved by her.
~~~~~~~
Since Wednesday, we ride through Atlanta, enjoying the symphony of color as we drive from hotel to hospital to sit beside this amazing woman named Betsey Chambers, paying tribute to her life in memories and stories, smiles and the occasional irrepressible chortle. She is many things to many people, and it makes me hopping mad that the thug that goes by the name cancer will win – if by winning you mean shutting down her bodily organs, that is. But when it comers to kindness, intelligence, fun, laughter, and all things good, this bully doesn’t stand a chance because when the time comes, Betsey will live forever in our hearts and our stories. Our body memory will never forget the feel of her hug or the sight of her smile or the sound of her laughter or the myriad of ways she imprints our lives. All prayers, good energy, positive thoughts, and lit candles you’re willing to offer for ease and peace in her last days and for her family now and then will be mightily appreciated.
Have you got kindness stories? We’d sure love to hear them!
Tell us about times when someone was kind to you, or times when you were kind to someone else. Maxine Hess and I are collecting kindness stories for our Imagine a World: Nancy’s Larks + Be Kind exhibit at the Southeastern Quilt & Textile Museum. Whether you grab a leaf to pen and deposit your story when you’re at the museum or email them to me, your stories will be added to our adorable Kindness Box built by Maxine’s husband, George, and shared at our Kindness Celebration from 4 to 6 p.m. on December 3, 2024. If you’d rather, you can send your stories anonymously, and they don’t have to be long. Just a few sentences will do. Click here to send you story – and send as many as you can and will. Send them till your fingers need a nap . . . then rest and send us some more. We can’t wait to read them! And hey, if someone tells you a kindness story, please pass this along to them – including my email address – and encourage them to send their kindness stories, too. I’ll be posting some of my own kindness stories here, so be sure to swing by every now ‘n then to read them ‘cause they might be a spark of remembering kindnesses for you.
Maxine and I will be at the museum on November 19, 2024 and again on December 3, 2024, and we’d love to see you, hear your stories, take you on a tour of the exhibit, answer your questions, and/or just sit a spell and chat. Hope you can come!
Want to poke around and find out more about The Imagine a World: Nancy’s Larks + Be Kind Exhibit? Click right this way.
Kindness. Women’s issues.
Social justice.
Personal histories.
These are just a few of our shared interests.
We, like many others, discover our common threads through art, and more often than not, we use cloth to tell our stories and speak our truths.
“You, too?” If we had a nickel for every time we’ve said that, we’d buy all y’all lunch.
We’re not carbon copies, yet even in our differences we find opportunities to rejoice, chortle, and learn. If that’s not the mark oftrue friendship, please tell us what is.
Here’s to the joys of an ever-unfolding friendship that began with a funny story at Sacred Threads 2019. Ask us to tell you that one some time.
~~~~~~~
Imagine a World: Nancy’s Larks + Be Kind – a collaboration by Maxine and Jeanne – will be on exhibit at the Southeastern Quilt and Textile Museum in Carrollton, GA from September 25 to December 20, 2024. Here’s a Directory of where you can find more information.
Heavily-feathered birds, all dressed up and ready to travel to the Imagine a World Exhibit
————————————-
Before we get started, a few things I want you to know:
– Though I haven’t sent our emails in several years, I’ve sent you 2 this week. That will not become a habit, regardless of how much I have to tell you.
– I plan to write articles here – especially now that there’s so much to tell you with the exhibit opening soon, so I’ll send an email once a week or once every other week with links to articles I’ve posted. Today’s article is time sensitive, and I’m gonna’ try to do a better job of planning ahead. (I need my 19 month old – and adorable – granddaughter who lives with us to get on board with this! Wish me luck, and thanks in advance for understanding when I don’t get as much done ahead of time as I’d hoped.)
– Most importantly, I want y’all to know that I appreciate you. Now, let’s get on with the exhibit news.
—————————————-
To hear me read this post, mash the right-pointing arrow above.
Turns out, it takes a flock to create a new world.
Would you like to help create this new world where everyone
and we do mean everyone
is welcomed with open hearts?
Do you enjoy creating something that’s fun, fast, and freeing?
Are you like us – dedicated to supporting folks with disabilities and creating a world fluent in Kindness?
Great! Then read on . . .
Nancy draws, I stitch her drawings. It is our Communion.
Our birds are based on Nancy’s fourth set of drawings
(scroll down to the third entry to start reading about her birds)
that sure look like birds to us.
Delightfully different birds.
Just as no two people are the same,
no two of these birds are the same.
We’re not copying her birds, mind you,
we’re just using them as examples
and as permission slips, if you will,
to cut loose and be free
as, well, free as a bird.
Some of our birds have no wings.
Some have one wing.
Some of the birds we’ve made have 4 legs
Some have one leg
Some have 7 legs
Some have no legs.
Some have seashells for eyes.
Some have no eyes.
Some have feathers
Othes are embellished with vintage jewelry.
All sing a song
even if we can’t hear it.
These birds don’t come with a pattern,
they’re cut free-hand
with scissors or a rotary cutter.
We sometimes draw freehand birds on cardstock paper
and use those as templates,
just because it tends to save time,
allowing us to make more birds.
We’ve made birds from placemats,
bedspreads,
old clothes,
and fabric we love and have been saving
for something special.
The thread doesn’t have to match the cloth on these birds.
They don’t have to be beautiful by art design standards.
Nobody is grading these birds
or selecting them based on their aesthetic appeal.
That’s the whole point of this exhibit:
everybody is welcome
and everyone delightfully different in every way imaginable,
We don’t judge in this world.
That wouldn’t be kind,
and kindness is the only language
spoken here.
We welcome these birds – every one of them –
into our circle of friends,
welcome them to our table,
welcome them to this new world,
knowing that their presence will
make this a better world
a more enjoyable, fulfilling place for all of us
to live.
If you’re interested, fantastic!
Grab some fabric
cut some one-of-a-kind birds
and ready, set, sew!
Oh – one very important note:
we will need your bird to bring
their own hanging loop with them.
That is to say, they need to come with a
hanging loop to help them fly through the sky.
You can topstitch these birds
or stitch them right sides together,
turn, stuff, and stitch the opening closed.
And the stuffing?
Feel free to use what’s within reach:
paper towels, tissues, fabric scraps, paper –
you get the idea.
You can embellish as you well
or send them plain.
Either way they will be welcome
in Kindness Route 1.
They’ll quickly find friends
as they fly through the sky of our world
and tickle visitors who come to call
colorful reminders that (with apologies and appreciation to Ray Stevens)
that everyone is beautiful in their own way.
The fine print:
We don’t plan to send these birds back to you,
but if you really, really want your bird
to make its way back to you, let me know, and we’ll figure something out.
Instead, we’d like to offer them up for adoption
as a way to raise money for
the Southeastern Quilt and Textile Museum.
Each bird will take this story
to a new home where they will be
treated with kindness for the rest of their lives.
The financial contributions will be put to good use
by the museum. I promise.
And we – Maxine and I
plus all the visitors
and museum volunteers
will be enthralled with your bird’s presence
in this amazing world we’re working together –
and now with y’all –
to create.
I feel quite sure
that adopted or no,
they’ll leave a lasting impression on all who see them.
So what do you say?
Will you become part of this big, fat, crazy idea?
Will you make a bird (or several) today or tomorow
and get it in the mail to us so it can arrive
by September 24, 2024?
Even if it’s gonna’ be late,
please send it
because whenever it arrives
your bird(s) will arrive to
big smiles
and much gratitude
and will take a place in the sky
of this world of kindness.
(We’d just love for your birds to be part
of our Opening Night event, if at all possible.)
Note: Not that we’ve tried, but
Maxine and I don’t believe it’s possible
to make these birds without a smile on your heart and face,
and we Know that the kindness, caring, patience, exuberance
in your heart
will transfer into the bird(s) you make
with every stitch.
We’re oh so grateful
to the Southeastern Quilt and Textile Museum
for this opportunity,
to y’all for helping us fill the sky with
birds not of a feather, but of a story.
Birds of a story – their own individual story.
helping us change the world
by changing lives,
bearing the important message that
you can never go wrong with kindness.
Send your beautiful birds to:
Southeastern Quilt and Textile Museum
306 Bradley St
STE C
Carrollton, GA 30117
Whether you send birds or not,
we thank you for helping us
change the world
by being kind
to even the most different among us.
~~~~~~~
Road signs you can click to find more information and updates:
FOR YOUR CALENDAR: EXHIBIT DATES
Opening Date: Wednesday, September 25, 2024
Artists Mix ‘n Mingle: 4 to 6 p.m. on Wednesday, September 25, 2024
Storytelling + Workshops: October 15 (stay tuned for specific details)
Storytelling _ Workshops: November 19 (details coming soon)
Kindness Celebration: 4 to 6 p.m. on December 3, 2024 (Y’all are gonna’ LOVE this! Stay tuned for details.)
To hear me, Jeanne Hewell-Chambers, mash the arrow on the left of the above media file. (Apologies in advance for my allergy-laden voice. Oh, and any knocking around you hear in the background? That’s The Engineer repairing our air conditioning.)
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth . . .
~ from Kindness, a poem penned by Naomi Shihab Nye
At Sacred Threads,
a sacred coincidence . . .
When one woman uses her elbow
to shove me aside
and position herself
in front of the man who was
sharing a phone number with me
of someone who might be able to help me find
a suitcase lost in transit,
I turn – stunned –
to find a woman quietly waiting
to talk to me.
“I think I have something that belongs with you,” she says.
Thinking blocks or quilts for The 70273 Project,
I mentally envision my luggage
in search of space to get her contributions home with me.
It is not cloth contributions Maxine brings me,
however, but a story of Minni,
a woman who,
through a series of coincidences,
finds herself working at the Nuremberg Trial
of physicians. On trial were
many members of Aktion T4,
the secret organization
responsible for murdering (at least)
70,273 people with disabilities.
From rudeness to kindness.
From being shoved aside,
to standing smack dab in the middle of new possibilities.
76 years after the
end of Aktion T4
(though not the end of the
unimaginable murders, mind you),
a big, fat, crazy idea
lights on my shoulder and whispers
”Listen up, Shug, cause here’s
how you’re going to spend the next
several years of your life
and all your children’s inheritance.”
And because I couldn’t not do it, The 70273 Project was born
10 days later,
before I could think myself out of it.
From knowledge of unfathomable atrocities
comes worldwide compassion
and vows to be constantly vigilant
for opportunities to
counter hate, arrogance, and meanness
with compassion and education.
Were they caught up in their game
or were they a product of their home environment?
We’ll never know,
but their callous disregard for Nancy’s precious life
impacted countless other lives.
From their senseless actions
comes a new way of communicating, a wordless soul language
Few words
+ small marks
= communion.
It’s a world of riotous color
comingling with black and white.
A world filled with a forest of trees,
the likes of which you’ve never seen.
Brightly colored moss covers the forest floor,
and birds of various abilities, likes, talents, and song
fill the air.
It’s a land where differences are
not feared or shunned
but cherished and celebrated.
Stories are lived, shared, enjoyed by all
in this world.
The living beings who call our world home
learn from each other
enjoy being with each other
nourish each other in ways large and small.
Life is a feast in our Rural Route 1,
and we hope you’ll make a note on your calendar
and visit us here in the land of social media
and there at the museum
to learn more about Minni and Nancy,
The 70273 Project, how kindness can (and does) triumph,
and more. Much, much more.
Who knows?
Perhaps you’ll even find your way to visit the exhibit.
We sure hope so!
Imagine a World: Nancy’s Larks + Be Kind
Opening Wednesday, September 25, 2024
Artist Mix ‘n Mingle 4 to 6 p.m.
Treat yourself to being the first to know about
opportunities for involvement (there are several,
and I think you’re gonna’ like them!),
special event details, sneak peeks, and other fun tidbits and tales
by subscribing.
~~~~~~~
Road signs you can click to find more information and updates:
When Sue’s son died, she discovered yoga and how it calmed her body and distracted her grieving brain. A while later, she became a certified yoga instructor, offering classes online and in person. Then she began offering grief workshops (We met when I took one of her good workshops.), and recently she started her Growth From Grief podcast. Last week I was tickled to be interviewed by Sue for a podcast episode, and let me tell you: we had so much fun (yes, your can have fun while grieving), we decided to do a second interview. We talked about things you’d expect us to chat about: grief, living with loss, self care while grieving, and we also went off script and talked about other things. You’re not surprise, are you?
If you want to watch our interview, sit back, maybe grab some popcorn, and enjoy. If you enjoy it – and.I sure hope you do – maybe you’ll enjoy some of Sue’s other podcast episodes and go to her You Tube channel to snag yourself a subscription and give her a thumbs up.
If you’d rather listen as you walk, do yoga, or I don’t know, maybe make some art, click right here.
And that’s not all! Perhaps you’d like to join me in her Five Weeks to Grief Relief program that combines movement, writing, and sharing with other people who speak the language of grief. Best hurry on that one, though, cause early bird registration ends soon.
And now, my friends, enjoy Part 1 of Growth From Grief: Stitching Stories: Grief, Memory, and the Healing Power of Art. Please check back next week for Part 2 of our chat. And now, on with the show . . .
Nancy’s 4th set of drawings – 95 delightfully different, wonderfully wonky birds. Stitched individually and presented here in book form.
Imagine a World, a poem penned and read by me, Jeanne Hewell Chambers (who is fluent only in English and Southern, and while I adore the word “reliquaries”, it tangles my tongue every time. That’s why I spelled it in this reading. Sigh.)
Imagine a small town as big as the world being created
through quiet, non-aggressive, unpretentious ways
by kind hearts and doers of good deeds.
Imagine this big small town furnished with a single table graced with lush bouquets of chortles,
understanding, and recognition. Imagine ever-replenishing platters of stories being constantly served up at this table,
witnessed without judgment
and told with undaunted mettle.
Imagine a table with an abundance of leaves, where there is always room
for anybody to pull up a chair.
No special invitation needed
because inclusivity is not a word here,
not something talked about in committees,
it’s an action
a way of being
our native language.
Imagine a table where
we don’t count limbs or digits
because those are inconsequential numbers
that don’t tell us a twit about who you are or what you’re capable of.
A table where you don’t have to see to be Seen
or hear to be Heard,
be ambulatory to move forward
or hold a fork to be Fed.
Where you don’t have to sit up straight to be taken seriously
or be quiet to be allowed to stay.
Imagine a table where
those who view the world in the rich orderliness of black and white,|
formulas, and one right answer
mingle amicably with those who experience life in spirals
of riotous explosions of color and questions.
Where everybody shows up with baskets laden with attributes and abilities,
with experiences and erudition
unique to them,
and where all are welcome
because it takes every kind of elan
to accomplish good and worthwhile things.
Imagine a table
where some impart much wisdom without uttering a word
while others let their joy or needs be known in indecipherable, inarticulate shouts.
A table where
we listen over, under, around, behind, and through words,
where we listen to soulful eyes,
hands that come together in a hearty “Yes!”
and hands that remain forever still in laps.
We listen to eyes that smile
and reliquaries of tears that leave hushed traces.
A table where
we listen to crayon marks on paper,
spontaneous shuffling of feet,
and hanging heads.
to the tiniest movement of a single finger
and the almost imperceptible turn of a head
to eyes that aren’t comfortable
engaging with other eyes
and eyes that roam without cessation.
A table where we remain deeply attentive to each other
because we know that there are countless ways to express and convey
and all deserve to be heard.
This is no fairy tale . . . at least it doesn’t have to be.
Right now, right at this very minute,
there are enough capricious, uncalculated caring folks
who pledge covenants
of encouragement and empathy,
kindness and curiosity,
laughter and listening,
and in unending ways large and small
we roll up our sleeves and build this table.
With grace and gumption,
we vow to help people build their wings
without jealousy, fear of diminishment,
or dread of becoming grounded
because we know with absolute certainty
that there’s sky enough for all.
Every chair is a storytelling chair at our table
because everybody has stories worth sharing.
Every. Single. Person.
We listen to each other with openness and attentiveness
not just because that’s what we want to be shown when we tell our stories,
but because we are absolutely certain that by bearing witness with curiosity and respect –
even to those whose stories are difficult to hear – we learn something that will help us do our part to make the world a better place.
We delight in knowing that our common threads are often disguised as differences, and that our stories,
when offered and received in gentle communion,
prove ever so much more potent than bullets,
more unifying than threats,
more gratifying than feuds and vendettas,
when it comes to living together on this beautiful blue orb called Earth.
~~~~~~~
Several years ago, in a story of magic and awe that I’ll tell you about in installments here ‘n there, I met Maxine Hess, and now here we are – collaborating on an exhibit at the Southeastern Quilt and Textile Museum in Carrollton, GA. We call the exhibit Imagine a World: Nancy’s Larks and Be Kind, and we are creating the world we want all y’all and us and our families and future generations to inhabit. The exhibit opens September 25, 2024 with an Artist Mix ‘n Mingle from 4 to 6 p.m. Here’s where you can watch it unfold, get more information, ask questions, and hopefully come say Hey to our faces when we’re there.
Had all gone according to plan, today would’ve been spent celebrating Mom’s 96th lap around the sun, but alas, she took her last earthly breath 14 days after this photo was taken. I would’ve baked a cake and delivered it to her. We would’ve done what we did last year: spent the weekend with her, taking her to her favorite restaurants and shops. We would’ve laughed a lot, hugged frequently for no apparent reason, and made new stories while telling old familiar favorites (again).
It’s been a hard year – as many of y’all will understand what it’s like to have grief keep its boot on your neck – and though I honestly didn’t feel like doing anything but laying curled up in bed, I threw my legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and got to work baking pound cake after pound cake after pound cake using her signature recipe, of course. Last Friday, The Engineer, SeaByrd, and I picked Alison up after work, and off we merrily went to Fayetteville, GA where we spent all day Saturday delivering bags filled with pink forks, party plates with matching napkins (pink, white, and lots of flowers as were Mom’s favorite), and 82 slices of pound cake to many of her friends and family.
We couldn’t get a bag in the hands of every person she loved – such is the nature of being the daughter of an extroverted, much-loved and respected mother. If we missed you, please accept my deepest, hugest apologies, and don’t you even think for a minute that it lessens Mother’s love for you. It’s simply a matter of the finite nature of time.
Last week was quite busy, as you can imagine, and should’ve been exhausting, but it wasn’t because labors of love fuel energy levels instead of depleting them. When we crawled into the hotel bed Saturday night after spending more than 12 hours delivering the “party bags”, a peace wrapped itself around me like I’ve never experienced before. That peace rocked me to sleep, and lingers with me still. If and when it does decide to take its leave, I will do anything.- including taking on more big, fat, crazy ideas – to know that peace again. (That sound you hear is The Engineer and Alison groaning!)
I haven’t figured out how to deliver you a slice of cake through the ethers, but I can make sure you get a copy of the letter I tucked inside each bag along with a copy of Mother’s pound cake recipe. Let me know if you bake her cake, and if you do, please raise a fork to Mom’s memory.
First, the letter . . . Like any Southern woman worth her sweet tea and lipstick, Mother had her signature cake recipes. Mom’s made-from-scratch cakes were one of her love languages, and she baked them to help loved ones celebrate milestones and moments; sooth hearts bruised through sadness and hardship; forge and foster relationships with friends and family. She even baked and decorated a multi-tiered cake for her brother Charles’ wedding. (And almost before the kiss sealed the deal, the green leaves that once adorned that cake, adorned my cute, chubby face because Aunt Jeanette – who didn’t need to because I already adored her – let me get to the cake first.)
Mother cherished you and the goodness you brought to her life. She loved the meals you shared and the adventures you went on together – whether traveling afar or just down the road. She loved laughing with you, and she especially loved the stories you shared with her and the ones you created together.
Come July 22, Mother would’ve celebrated her 96th lap around the sun. Oh my goodness did she pack a whole lotta life in her scant 95 years! Consider this a slice of her birthday cake, and as you enjoy it, please take time to savor some of your special memories of Mom. Say her name. Talk to her. Tell stories starring the two of you – tell them right out loud. Or share them with us. Chortle. Shed a tear or three if they come.
Thank you for the joy you brought to her life, for the kindness you lavished on her, for helping us celebrate her birthday, and especially for remembering her, how she lived and how much she still matters.
In love and gratitude,
Jeanne + Andy
Alison + Ava Jeanne
Kipp + Marnie + Calder + Embry
PS: Mother’s pound cake recipe is on the back. Bon appetit!
And now, The Recipe:
ADA HEWELL’S POUND CAKE
INGREDIENTS:
3 c. granulated sugar
1/2 lb. (2 sticks) unsalted butter
2 T. Crisco shortening
6 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract
3 c. all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 c. milk
INSTRUCTIONS:
Cream the sugar, butter, and Crisco with an electric mixer, about 3-4 minutes.
Add eggs and vanilla. Beat with an electric mixer about 10-15 minutes. Be sure to beat for the full time.
Combine the flour and baking powder. With the mixer on low, add flour mixture and milk (alternating) to the creamed sugar and eggs mixture. Mix after each addition until just combined.
Pour batter into a tube pan that has been generously sprayed with non-stick baking spray {or buttered & floured}. Bake at 325 degrees for 1 to 1 1/2 hours until a toothpick inserted in the top comes out clean.
Cool about a 1/2 an hour in the pan; remove cake from pan.
A bird in Nancy’s fourth set of drawings
Nancy draws, I stitch her drawings. It is our Communion.
here ‘n there