Tuesday, July 29, 2014


Finger-painting with my granddaughter is different than when I was finger-painting with my children. I expected the outcome to be a messy gray/brown paint covered paper and hands. Instead, she delicately touched the tip of one finger into the small blob of paint on her page. She used a different finger for each color, and carefully drew a few lines making sure not to intersect the colors. When we were finished, she only had a little paint on only one little hand to wash away.

The next time we finger-painted, I told her to put her whole hand in the paint. She gently touched her hand to the blob of paint, and instead of smearing it all over, she gingerly pressed tiny hand prints on the page. Finger-painting with my granddaughter is different than when I was finger-painting with my children.

Monday, July 28, 2014

Big Ugly Scary Spiders

Every morning I take the doggies out.
I walk out back without a care.
But when I go outside at night,
of big ugly scary spiders, I beware.

At night appear these pretty webs,
perfect orbs, from nowhere, to astound.
I see them catching June bugs,
and spinning them around.

I can only see their undersides.
I'm afraid to walk under, and around.
Even then the view is a bad angle,
so in my spider book, they can't be found.

They're in the center of their webs at night,
but I would really like to know
why in the daytime there are no spiders.
Where'd those big ugly scary spiders go?

By:  Paula Dean Nevison

Sunday, July 27, 2014


The smell of the lighter fluid and the initial singe of the fire starting is slowly replaced by the smell of cooking meat, and barbecue sauce. Early in the morning, my husband gets up, and starts the fire in the smoker. Once temperature is reached, the meat goes on. Today it's two pork butts. The family is coming about three. There will be thirteen of us. I get to work on the sides, potato salad (the one with the bacon and green beans that Grammie makes), and baked beans from two cans (I set them out so I don't forget to heat them up at the last minute). I bought potato chips, and buns (in case anyone wants to make a sandwich of their meat). Homemade chocolate chip cookies are for dessert. My daughter helped me make them. Grammie is bringing ice cream.

My husband is tending to the smoker in the back yard. My brother, his wife, my son, and his wife are smoking in the front yard. The kids are playing X-box on the TV. Grammie is visiting with me while I set the table, and heat up the beans. “Bring the platter. It's time to eat.” Everyone gathers together. God bless the food and all of us. Then we proceed, talking, laughing, eating. Everyone loves it when my husband cooks. His food brings us all together, and together we succeed.

By:  Paula Dean Nevison

Saturday, July 26, 2014

My History of Tatting

French frivolité, Finnish sukkulapitsi means 'shuttle lace'.
Schiffchenarbeit in German 'the work of the little boat'.
The 'shuttle', makouk is Turkish, or maybe mekik, for Turkish I don't speak.
India's tattie meaning 'mat', like those doilies we make.
in Italian it's occhi meaning 'little eye' referring to the rings.

Icelandic taeta meaning
'little pieces of wool combings, to knot, to pick up'.
Originally tatting was made in little bits
painstakingly sewn together with a needle.

In America it's called tatting which probably came
from the old English tat to 'entangle or weave',
or could it be that when women get together they tattled with gossip
(which is too outrageous to believe).

Tatting came from knotting and was used to decorate.
An Egyptian mummy's skirt, with rings, was overlaid.
The Chinese couched their knotting into embroideries
which eventually found their way to European furnishings.

In Europe, ladies, not wanting to be idle, would knot,
allowing them to sit still and still be useful, and show off
extravagant and expensive shuttles, gold and silken threads,
richly adorned and bejeweled knotting bags carried with them
to parties, the theater, and tea with their best friends.

While the French and English nobility were knotting,
flaunting their delicate hands, and brilliant rings,
an Italian nun decided to make a ring from her knot string.
Thus begins, unofficially, the art known as tatting.

Chaucer wrote about it in his Canterbury Tales.
Sir Charles Sedley wrote a poem,
The Royal Knotter, about England's Queen
who takes her knotting on her trip to Wales
(I made that up, but she would have if she went).

So from couching threads to a substantial edge
for a child's dress, or a lady's frill,
to bonnets, caps, and handkerchiefs,
from royalty to nunneries, tatting brings goodwill.

Once was made of silk,
now mostly made in cotton,
Tatting is not a lost art.
It has not yet been forgotten.

By:  Paula Dean Nevison

Friday, July 25, 2014

Christmas Tatting in July

I have been having fun tatting Christmas ornaments. I still need to take care of the ends and stiffen them, but here is what they look like right now.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

The Hospital

Hurry up and wait.
The doctor will come
between 1:30 and 2:00.
At 5:00 you learn, No,
it will be tomorrow morning.
She finally comes at 8
to tell you that you're looking better
(which you already know)
and maybe you can leave today,
but it's not up to her
it's up to the other doctor
who told you that same thing yesterday.
I wish they would coordinate
who's in charge.
Why must I wait?

By: Paula Dean Nevison

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

There's nothing like a 
hospital stay to make time
stand still, and life wait.

By: Paula Dean Nevison

Thursday, July 17, 2014

I Took Algebra in High School

Algebra One, and Algebra Two,
Trigonometry, Geometry, and Chemistry too.
But Algebra I liked the best.
Got 100 on my test.

The formulas, just memorize,
insert numbers, and to no surprise,
it works... every time.
If only life was this sublime.

If only there were formulas for each occasion.
Husbands and wives, they need an equation.
What do you do when the baby cries?
Should you minus M for when mom dies?

No emotions to complicate.
Put in the numbers and there's your fate.
Like Forty-two, or sixty-nine,
the meaning of life, or a good time.

But life does not work like that.
There are consequences for how you act.
No tidy formulas to give a clue.
In algebra, one plus one is two.

Not in life. It's much more free,
because one plus one can equal three.
Life doesn't follow what formulas dictate.
The future is unset. Your choices await.

By: Paula Dean Nevison

Monday, July 14, 2014

Summer Breezed By

School starts August 7th. That seems ridiculously early. I'm not ready for summer to be over. Less than four weeks to get school supplies and new uniforms. Plus I think there is still one more summer reading book to buy. That needs to be purchased quickly. I'm glad I'm finished with school, but I still get up with my children to make them breakfast, pack their lunches, and help them with whatever last minute emergency pops up. 5 AM, UGH.