My mother went through various phases of crafting. She exhibited some addictive/creative behavior!
One of those phases was with handmade cards, using some heavy plastic-like material and a tracing tool to make an impression on the plastic. She then colored the raised portion of the card. The process took time and patience!
She had some name for this, which I have long since forgotten. [UPDATE: Sister Karen tells me it’s tarjeta. I find very few hits for this word on line, but it appears to be a Brazilian and Argentine craft.]
Mom’s 1993 Christmas card was handmade, and I cherish it.
From Antwerp a few summers ago:
Thirty five years ago this summer, I moved from Bolivar to Willow Springs to start my first job after college, as Associate Pastor at Trinity Baptist Church.
Young, green, know-it-all, self-rightous, intolerant, probably unloving in many ways.
I didn’t last long.
Mom and Dad followed me from Bolivar in their old station wagon with a trailer full of ‘late basement, early attic’ family furniture. I’ve long since disposed of almost all of it, save for an antique rocking chair.
This was my first-ever rental. I went directly from the college dorm to a teensy two-bedroom house with a wood-burning fireplace and a furnace with a big gas tank in the back yard. And a huge yard it was to mow, with a gas mower borrowed from Rex up the street.
I bought a waterbed a week later.
And moved less than 13 months later after a meltdown at the church.
Two photos from that move-in day:
It’s wedding season.
This shot — of me kissing my sister Karen — was taken as she departed her wedding in 1984, at First Baptist Church, Lee’s Summit:
Interestingly to me, Beth’s then-boyfriend is at far right, and my cousin Cindy is immediately left of him in the photo, holding her infant son who is now one of my aunt/uncle’s primary caregivers.