August 4, 2014 by Born To Organize

Vintage Postage: A Daughter’s Love Letter and a Blogging Giveaway

Dad’s easel hangs in my crafting area with special photos

Today’s post is a bit of a departure from my gardening antics. It’s a love letter, a giveaway and a way to celebrate my dad. He died in early August, 1969 at the age of 54. I was nine.

This year, things are different. I’ve worked many hours with a caring and knowledgeable therapist, reaching in to the dark corners of my confusing childhood. My willingness to do the hard work finally paid off. I’ve been able to integrate the vulnerable girl I was into a strong, caring adult. Through Fran’s guidance, I’ve arrived at a happier place.

Will you celebrate with me?

Eric Milner

Eric Milner Landscape Design

My father, Eric, had lots of hobbies. Outdoors, he gardened, spending hours working with his hands to shape our beautiful, Ontario garden. He dug a small brook along the garden path to collect water and snow. The garden brimmed with flowers and in the summer, garden vegetables and fruits. I tasted my first cherry tomato from his garden. My sister Sharon and I would race around pinching the snapdragons. Dad taught me why bees are important and why you should never hurt one. Mom gave me a pair of spoons so I could dig in the dirt under the kitchen window while dad played in the garden nearby. There are many cherished memories of our home in Canada.

During the winter months, dad worked on his indoor hobbies. He built a wooden model of the Golden Hind. He painted, collected coins, made home-made movies with his Super 8 and he collected stamps from around the world.

Dad in India

Born in Oldham, England, dad studied horticulture and design. He lived in Darjeeling, India for many years where he worked on a tea plantation. He was a captain in the army, and worked as a translator. After the war, disillusioned with life back in England, he moved to Ontario, Canada. There he met our mother on a blind date. According to Mum, she didn’t want to go. Her friend convinced her that my dad was a good dancer so she went. They married a year later.

Mom and Dad get married

My parents moved to California in the fall of 1966. By Christmas, 1968 dad had lung cancer. He died the following year.

My tall, slender dad loved teasing us. He would exclaim loudly at something outside the window, then when you turned back your dessert was gone. We fell for it every time. He came home from work hiding small gifts behind his back and my sister and I would get to choose which hand. He saved extra postage stamps to encourage our own collections. He loved animals and children, art and photography, and most of all he loved us. And of course, he loved gardening.

Vintage Postage Give-away

My dad collected stamps from his travels and through buy and trade. Packets of stamps arrived in the mail, ready for soaking and mounting in his Burgundy-covered New Age Stamp Album. May years after his death, Mum sold a few of his stamp albums and gave each of us the money toward college. She saved the rest of his albums and they came to me after she died. I’ve leafed through them from time to time, amazed at his vast collection. My oldest son took one of his albums for show and tell in grade school. Recently I sent some of his stamps to a dear and trusted friend and realized the joy in releasing them to someone special. My sister plans to make cards for her friends with the album in her care.

Here is where you come in. My dad would get a kick out of the idea of mailing these stamps around the world again. The album pages have come free of their binding. They’re ready to go. If you look for a ‘sign’ you can find one anywhere, so for me, this is a sign to mail the stamps to you, and quickly before the post office goes broke. I once viewed his albums as a life and a hobby interrupted. Now I see them as a gift to be shared, and as a way to celebrate his kindness, generosity, curiosity and care. Will you please take part?

Sample Pages

The stamp issue dates are mid-1937 to mid-1938.

Please make your requests using the contact form. Click here. This keeps the requests private and allows you to provide your complete name and address for mailing.

On the form, please request your first, second and third country of choice. Include your full name and mailing address. That’s it. Please make your request by August 31, 2014. If I still have pages after that date, I will let you know. Click on the list of postage stamp countries to see what’s available:

List of postage stamp countries

Pages of postage stamps 1937 – 1938

What can you do with a bunch of old postage stamps?

Use them to make mixed-media art
Make a birthday card for someone special
Laminate them in strips and use them for bookmarks
Add them to a scrapbook page
Give them to a child and make up a story to go with them
Celebrate history
Take part in this gardening nirvana blogging adventure.

Pinterest curates some great pieces of art using postage.

Please let me know what you think in the comments, and then send your request via the contact form. I would love it if you joined in the fun?

June 13, 2014 by Born To Organize

Daddy’s Designs, Daughter’s Haiku

In honor of my dad, I’ve written haiku to go with his landscape drawings.

Dad painted and drew as a hobby, but he also studied horticulture and worked at a nursery. These drawings are loose pages from one of his sketch book. My parents sold his paintings before we moved to the US in 1966. These are among the few possessions to arrive with us from Canada. I don’t know if he drew them for a class or for a potential client, but I love them dearly.

Many years ago I had one of dad’s landscape paintings professionally framed. It was expensive at the time, so I never thought about framing his sketches. I should frame them now. The thought just occurred to me as I type this. I guess I needed to write this post.

Daddy’s Designs

Beautiful drawings
lovely landscapes in pencil
Eric Milner. Dad.

Eric Milner: Garden Design

Art flowed from his hands
three-dimensional gardens.
May I sit under the tree?

Eric Milner Design: Patio Near Garage

Eric Milner Designs: Planting Pocket

Garden steps and ramps
I’m glad he would never know
Sharon would need one

Eric Milner Designs: Steps and Ramps

Carport patio
storage wall, movable planter
a caption haiku

Carport Patio: Eric Milner Designs

Eric Milner Designs: Zig-zag

Write your own Haiku here.

November 27, 2013 by Born To Organize

The Giving Garden

One of the coolest things about our neighborhood is the general camaraderie. Neighbors talk to neighbors.

On the surface, that sounds so simple, but time and again we hear from others how lucky we are to live on a street where all the neighbors know each other. Over the years, we’ve covered for each other with emergency child-care, extra meals in times of poor health, emotional support and carrots.

Carrots?

Yes, even carrots.

The grandfather of one of the daycare kids walked by while I was curbside chatting with (yes) another neighbor. I reached over to offer him a fresh garden pea, when he stopped me and asked if he could have ten. More specifically, his granddaughter needed ten items to trade during Kindergarten class for a lesson on trade and Thanksgiving.

Our quick search didn’t yield ten pea pods, but there were still plenty of carrots. Not just any carrots, but the very carrots the wee kinder (gardener) planted herself. He came back with his granddaughter later that day. Her brother gave her special permission to harvest his carrots as well in case she didn’t have enough.

Baggy in tow, she pulled up several carrots, bagged them and happily smiled for the camera.

Harvesting

Grandpa asked her to rinse the dirt from her hands in the fresh rain water, and then she wiped them on the grass. I stepped in and dried her tiny hands on the inside of my jacket, because honestly, once a mom always a mom. I scooped her into a hug and she was on her way.

Harvested carrot

All smiles

You reap what you sow . I felt such a welling of emotion as I turned to come inside. Ten little carrots were on their way to the classroom, and once again the giving garden filled me with joy.

November 13, 2013 by Born To Organize

The Colors of Fall: Our Own Special Tree

Colorful leaves

New England states are known for stunning displays of fall color. My husband and I crossed the country by train one year so we could enjoy the spectacular (and fleeting) beauty.

We also had the good sense to plant our own fall color in the strip of land between the street and the sidewalk. Though there were four beautiful trees growing in the back yard when we bought our house in 1996, we didn’t have a single tree out front.

Planting the tree
August, 1996

We planted two that first year, and have since planted a couple more. The Magnolia shows off in early spring with huge, snowy-white flowers but the fall belongs to the splendid Chinese Pistache.

The City of San Jose requires a permit before planting a tree in the sidewalk strip, the space between the sidewalk and the street. They provide a list of “approved” street trees. Approved trees must have non-invasive roots, non-staining fruit and other good-neighbor qualities. In the past, neighboring streets sported Liquidambar trees. They’re pretty but a nuisance when planted curbside. Invasive roots lift the sidewalks, causing myriad tripping hazards, and the seed pods are hard enough to twist an ankle when stepped on. I remember getting them caught in the wheels of the boys’ s stroller and later in the undercarriage of scooters. One by one, homeowners removed the Liquidambar, leaving neighborhoods bereft of trees.

A few years back the trend reversed, and once again families are planting trees.

Planting a tree is an act of hope and optimism. It also says “I’m here to stay!” My family moved a lot when I was a child, and I moved even more during college and my early working career. The same was true for my husband. Planting a tree outside our front window said “we plan to stay awhile.”

August, 1996

Spring, 2011

Now and again my husband grumbles that our tree is not as tall or as full as the one across the street. I immediately come to our trees’ defense and assure him that it’s just fine. BK (before kids) we used to measure the tree’s height each year. We settled into life raising two boys, and measured their growth each year instead.

Growing boys, sleeping tree

Now we have three strapping teenagers (two boys and one tree) and all three are taller than me. The colors of fall, and our beautiful tree, are an introspective time to reflect.

November 12, 2013

This little hummingbird sang while I raked

March 10, 2013 by Born To Organize

There’s No Place Like It

Flowers in a cup
‘Kiss me I’m a Scrapbooker’

What a fun weekend! A group of us stayed at a local hotel and worked on crafts and photo albums the entire time. We did lots of eating, laughing, and impromptu dancing as well. Michelle Obama’s not the only one doing the ‘Sprinkler.’

I finished one of my craft-it-forward projects, and got a start on a second one. I came away with lots of great ideas, one of the perks of spending a weekend with so many creative souls.

One of the women at my table gave each of us a St. Patrick’s Day cup. March crept up on me and now Saint Patty’s day is just a week away. I bought the silliest of impulse purchases at the craft store before I left: a small shamrock kit, promising a sprouted plant within the week. We’ll see.

I walked in the door around 5 today, to the smell of homemade carrot soup and decadent brownies. A lovely bouquet of flowers were waiting on the counter.

My youngest son wanted to plant the shamrock seeds with me, something we often did together when he was younger. It was fun, proof that you have to go away once in a while to be missed. That little pot of seeds already brought me luck, whether it grows or not. ♣

If I had to summarize the perfect time away it would be this: feeling lucky to get away, and even luckier to come back home.

Will you be wearing green next Sunday?

August 1, 2012 by Born To Organize

Losing Daddy

Eric Milner Landscape Design
My father’s garden drawing

The man who inspired my love of gardening died when I was a little girl. I remember the heat of the day, not unlike this one. When I flip the calendar to August, it may as well be 1969.

I hate August. I hate the smells in the air, the oppressive heat, and that burdening longing that ricochets around in my chest. I’m 52 years old and I miss Daddy.

As a girl, my grief went on forever. I performed a ritual each night before I went to bed: I would kiss his framed picture on the desk in our tiny two-bedroom apartment, and then I would touch his cane and the memory book from the funeral home. Only then could I fall asleep. I’m not sure why the artifacts from the end of his life had special meaning. Perhaps my young mind was trying to reconcile the impossible; that the man in the picture was gone.

Eventually I could tell people he died without falling apart, but then follow-up questions like “how did he die” would trip me up. At some point I crafted the self-contained sentence, “My dad died of lung cancer when I was 9,” incorporating the most oft-asked questions with hopes of putting all of them to an end.

When my at-home ritual and obsession became too much for my Mom, she got angry and threw away the funeral home book. I understand now that she was suffering from her own grief and profound loss, but her anger and frustration stung me. Perhaps it did help me move forward. I only remember the shame when she said, “you have to get over it!”

Grief isn’t linear. It’s impossible to chart its course. Who, more than me, wanted to get over it and move on?

My father’s death and burial were shrouded in mystery. I don’t know why no one took me aside to explain what was happening. One of the most poignant things my therapist asked me was “where were the adults?” One morning I woke to find that our frail father was taken to Peninsula Hospital in the middle of the night. I went with my mother for a “visit” but was not allowed into his room. I sat imagining all sorts of horrible things. Later I learned on the play ground from my older sister’s friend that Dad was in a coma. Finally Mom sat us down and said “your dad isn’t going to make it.” I made her say the words “your dad is going to die,” because I needed to know exactly what was going to happen. I went to sleep each night, telling myself that I wouldn’t cry when I learned he was gone. Ironically, when the news came it was true. A loss like that cuts you to the core. Tears eventually came, but on that early, hot and oppressive August day when I walked in on my mom destroying some of his papers, I simply called out “no.”

We didn’t attend our father’s funeral. I recall that either we were afraid to go, or my mother decided we were too young. She had been traumatized seeing her own father buried and wanted to protect us from the same. Whatever the reason, they are now part of family legend, with no surviving parties to corroborate.

In reality, trauma was piling on all around us. No one explained that he had cancer or what that meant. I didn’t understand that he was dying. I didn’t get to say goodbye to him, alive and weak in the hospital or graveside after he died. I thought I saw him walking down the street one day while riding the school bus home. I broke out in a cold sweat. I desperately needed to get home and tell my mother.

Unfinished business is exhausting. It follows you like your own shadow, lurking and ready to pounce when you least expect it. I’ve spent years in a therapist’s chair, on a yoga mat and in creative writing classes sorting this out. In the late eighties, with the help of a friend, I was able to locate my father’s grave. I went alone and wandered in the shade of the trees and took comfort in the tranquility. After that visit, I never felt the need to go back.

Yet here I am all these years later, continuing to write about Daddy.

July 3, 2012 by Born To Organize

Independence Day Approaches

After the 4th of July Parade

Tomorrow we celebrate Independence Day in the States, a holiday affectionately know as the 4th of July or simply “the 4th.” We live in a family oriented community with lots of fun activities, so we have a safe and sane 4th without driving anywhere. Our neighborhood pool association hosts a parade around the park, followed by a watermelon eating contest by age group. Older kids decorate bikes and scooters, while the younger ones follow in strollers. The park is two short blocks away.

In the afternoon and well into the evening, we have a block party. One of our neighbors started this event over a decade ago. It grows bigger and more elaborate each year. We all bring side dishes and desserts to share, and a handful of neighbors set up barbecues. Most years the local fire department stops by. The kids get to climb in the truck while we all go mad with our cameras. Occasionally the fire-fighting crew opens a fire hose and things really get exciting.

I sign up for distributing name tags each year. I also maintain the neighborhood email directory. It’s a fun task as it allows me to introduce myself to new families each year, people I might otherwise miss.

Today I purchased three small annuals in red, white and almost blue to replace the pink geranium. We have a clever pot with our street number etched into the ceramic facade sitting near the curb on the concrete wall. I can’t wait to re-plant it with annuals for a fresh, celebratory color splash. If I have time, I’ll spruce up the fairy garden as well.

If you live in the US, please have a safe and sane 4th of July. Keep your animals indoors in a quiet room with lots of cool water on hand. Enjoy!

The Humane Society provides the following tips for keeping your animals safe on the 4th.

June 17, 2012 by Born To Organize

Father’s Day: Lost and Found

I celebrate two fathers today, my dad who died when I was nine, and my husband, wonderful father to our sons.

My dad was a horticulturist by trade, but loved all things gardening so much that he gardened on the weekends as well. We took turns on the one-way wheelbarrow rides, while he hauled rocks to our London, Ontario back yard. He built a meandering brook throughout the garden, then added trees, flowers, and in the short summer, vegetables. I tasted my first cherry tomato from that garden. I remember walking through the back door of our kitchen with a handful of tomatoes and giving them to my mom as she prepared lunch. Is it any wonder I inherited Dad’s green thumb?

Eric Milner
Father, painter, gardener, hobbyist, animal-lover

My husband loves the garden and the gardener, but not the actual day-to-day joy of gardening. That said, we’ve spent many an hour together planning, creating, digging, and simply enjoying our garden. Like anyone who truly loves you, my man celebrates and embraces my joy of all things green. Our sons love and admire him. He’s smart, kind, clever, generous and most days, a kid at heart. The greatest gift to any son is to be a stand up guy. What lucky boys!

Mike Francini
Husband and father, self-described computer geek, Renaissance man
He’s traveled the world, speaks with fluency in two languages, sails, tinkers, and loves his family.

Happy Father’s Day to the dad I lost and to the dad I found. Happy Father’s Day to you and yours.

May 27, 2012 by Born To Organize

Passionate about Purple: For Sharon

Flowering Blooms: Madonna Inn

Multiple Sclerosis is a cruel disease. It can knock you to your knees in the prime of your life, robbing you of energy, activity, appetite and independence. My younger sister was diagnosed with MS over a decade ago. She continues to fight it. She drives herself to the Y each day for a 15 minute swim to reduce the fatigue and the joint stiffness that are a part of her daily life. She commutes to Palo Alto and puts in an eight-hour day in a contract position at the VA call center. A college graduate with over 30 years of work experience, she’s struggled to find full-time employment for over three years. My sister is grateful for the temporary position, hard-won through Project Hired but the benefits are meager. When you have a chronic illness, doctors visits are more common. She avoids going if she can. Her illness is untreatable, progressive and unrelenting.

She caught a cold this week, something that would make most of us cranky. On Monday, she lost her balance and fell. She drove to work anyway. When she lost her voice, they took her off the phones and gave her a project to do. She made it to Thursday. Late that day, her body said enough: she couldn’t see the computer, so clocked out an hour early and headed home. Suddenly overcome with dizziness, she wisely pulled off the road. She called a co-worker who came but said she “couldn’t take her to the hospital!” Her second call was to her supervisor who told her to call 911. If she had called me I would have been there, but I didn’t hear from her until after the paramedics admitted her to the ER. I understand that she wasn’t thinking clearly, but felt so helpless hearing from her after the fact.

The common cold activated the worst of her MS symptoms. She can’t walk, can barely lift herself from chair to motorized scooter and is too afraid to take a shower. I drove her to the Y today so she could shower safely in an accessible shower stall. She was grateful. I did a little shopping for her, picked up a prescription and did some errands at her home. I know the little things help but what I really want to do is make it all go away. I want her to walk again. I want her to take spin classes, to go shopping and to wear the fun shoes that she loves. I want her to have days where she doesn’t think about her health every single waking minute. If it’s not asking too much, I want a cure for MS.

Today’s blog is in honor of my younger sister, and to others fighting this difficult disease. My hat is off to you. =^..^=

Lavender

‘Mexican Sage’ salvia leucantha

Blue Bells

Hyacinth

Vinca

Resources:

MSAA – The Multiple Sclerosis Association of America

Types of MS: My sister has Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis (no remissions from the onset)

EMSP– The European MS Platform

Wiki List-MS Organizations around the world

June 21, 2011 by Born To Organize

Green Thumbs are Genetic

Dad was a horticulturist by trade; a gardener by hobby. It recently struck me how much he loved both. Because I was so young when he died, I’ve had to work hard at separating the gentleman from the myth, the man versus the legend. I’ve coveted every detail our mother could share until her memory faded with age and dementia. In 1989 I met his sister and my name sake Aunt Alys at her home in Northwood, England, returning with a fistful of photos.

What I’ve learned is this: he was a beloved brother, a generous spouse and a dad who loved his kids. He involved us in his hobbies, took each of his daughters on individual “dates,” and regularly brought home small gifts that he would hide behind his back till you guessed “which hand.” He was also a big tease, finding ways to “steal” your desert when you weren’t looking. He enjoyed photography and home movies and filled them with images of his children, the cats and the garden. He painted with oils with our mother as his muse and taught us what it meant to have compassion and integrity.

One of the most precious gifts our mother gave us was to say “your father would be so proud of you girls.” Daddy, the feeling is mutual.