Copyright 2007 Ruth Perry - Rozella Linden
Celtic Butterfly for N. Carolina Class

This is my last post until I get things setup in Ohio. I'll be disconnecting our network tomorrow, and will only have WiFi access for the weekend. I'll try to check email once a day next week.

Ruth

Basic Butterfly for my class in N. C. in a couple of weeks.
Copyright 2007 Ruth Perry / Rozella Linden

Supplies needed:
Tatting shuttle or tatting needle the right size for your thread
Size 20 or larger tatting thread. Two different colors that compliment or contrast, or two shades of the same color.
The thread in this sample is size 8 Pearle Cotton from DMC, red & orange. Variegated thread is OK, especially combined with a contrasting solid color. It measures about 1.5" across

Size E beads - one for each butterfly
Scissors, hook on shuttle or crochet hook


Optional:
Seed Beads, jewelery findings

Techniques:
ring, chain, joins ( required skills ) Beginners who are able to tat these with ball and shuttle or needle tatters who can work from shuttle tatting instructions should have no problem with this class.
Shoe Lace Trick, overhand knot ( if you don't know some of these yet it's OK )
We will learn to tat Double core, bead center, reverse rings
There are no ends to work in for the butterfly.

Variations:
We will explore two more variations for the upper wings and three variations for the lower wings. as well as a variation that is a flower instead of a butterfly. For those who appreciate a challenge we can also do the Funky Chicken - Celtic Winged Bird as well. This indludes the bead centered ring and hanging clunies too.

I look forward to seeing you all at Palmetto ( I plan to be there on Saturday ) and then in N. C. the following weekend.

Hugs,
Ruth

Celtic Rose Pentagram Copyright 2007 Ruth Perry

I've been working on packing my things up, but haven't actually disconnected the computers yet. Thought you might enjoy seeing this combination of a Celtic Rose and a Celtic Star. It is a challenging piece to weave, but easy to tat.

John Doyle Wheeler
(recollections from my great grandfather) I would be interested in hearing from anyone who finds this interesting or who can add information related to what is shared here. My grandmother was born in 1888, perhaps her birth prompted this retrospect.

Final writing February 7/88

I am about to write a few lines for the benefit of my children or anyone who should happen to take an interest in reading the life of a poor and humble Servant of mankind, one whose life has been a checkered one & full of trials & tribulations of which (none) there falls to the common lot of humanity. Let me say here, this narrative is for my children that they may know something about their father who watched over them with their mother in their infancy. And that I would give a great deal as well as derive a considerable pleasure in reading the life of my own family is what has stirred me to up to write these lines.

Your Humble Servant John Doyle* Wheeler was born on Sunday June 11th, 1854. The time of day or night I cannot state. It happened in the city of New York at No. 113 Cherry St. My mother’s name was Doyle - when my father took me to the Children’s Home which is now at No. 66 3rd Ave NY, on July 14th 1859, he registered the (register) with my mother’s maiden name Doyle, signing his own name John Wheeler. At 5 years and 1 month of age, Mother died. Up to the time I was 3 years old. I do not recollect very much, I only know I lived and had my (surrounding) my mother died when I was but 4 years old. She was of medium size, very fine featured of light complexion and dark auburn hair with rich blue eyes. You may ask how I know all this. I ask you can a child forget the last look of a fond mother? Have I not dreamed of her for a thousand and one times that I was still in her embrace? And many times when wide awake I wished I was there. Just think of it. A jewel of the brightest luster, that which you know nothing of its brilliance until the illumination ceases to be.

I remember her in her sick bed. She was not sick long. I do not remember of going to her funeral. I only recollect of my father telling me she was dead. I saw the large tears in the troubled man’s eyes. If I were an artist I know I could draw my father’s picture as he bent over the lifeless form of my mother. Oh that I could (read) my surroundings at that time, but no. I can only form a comprehension of what my memory brings back to me. From my recollection, she was about 25 years of age at her death. I recollect of her going away from home every day and taking me along. She worked in a doll factory. Whether she owned it, or worked as a laborer, I do not know. She is gone, Bless her, the tears I have shed for her since that time as numberless. After my mother left our midst, my father took me with him to his work. So you see, I have a change to know something of both my parents’ occupations in life.

My father was a tall and well proportioned man with full beard which as well as his hair was of a deep red, blue eyes and of light complexion, and always dressed well. He was what people would call a fine specimen on manhood. I forgot to mention my mother also my father were of English descent. My father’s business was keeping a bakery or confectionary. I think a combination of both. I know after my mother died, I was with him constantly and he and I both frequently slept on the counter, as it was it was not very wide he would clutch me to his bosom, how well I remember of hearing his great heart beat. Although I was but four years old I never can forget this


No. 2 (1861 written in corner)
night – look into his lamented face again. In closing this part of the subject, I will say that I still live in hopes of finding out more of these two people who have been the cause of my existence. And of many a happy hour at present as well as the (past) my financial embarrassment holds me check, and I think it is only a matter of time where I shall make an effort to gain some knowledge concerning my father and mother.

Now I wish to give an outline of the children’s home. This home was situated on Randells Island New York City just across the East River. This island was given to the city for this purpose by a Mr. Randell, hence the name Randell. At the nursery, all is babyhood, that is about all I can say of that fact anymore than we were treated very kind. The attendants were all women, kind and motherly looking too. There are four divisions at the home, at least that many that I remember of: The Nursery, The department for girls, one for boys, who ages range from six to fourteen, and one for boys whose ages range from fourteen to twenty. This class were obliged to do some kind of work. If I recollect right, all the departments were in separate buildings and from forty and one half mile apart. The girls and any those of any department took our meals at the same place; although we had to go about forty (rod) to our meals; we went to school a short part of the year, and nearly every Sunday to church. I think of different denominations for I remember the priest and (castly nobea), and holy water. Also of wearing the cross and medal which consisted of two pieces of brass, the cross represents Christ on the cross, and the medal was the mother of Christ, of an oblong shape holes so as to affix a string that they might be worn around the neck. The medal I brought with me when I left the home, if I am not mistaken. The church and school house were one and the same building. When the weather was favorable and we were at school, we were let out to play each day. I remember our playground was close to a large body of water. I think we could not be around it. In summer weather we were all taken down to this large body of water where it was fixed for bathing, and we all took a bath assisted by two or three middle aged matrons. In the winter and in summer when the weather was bad we resorted to the bath house, which was situated in the house where we lived. It was a large vat which held about fifty barrels of water, made of sheet (?) riveted together. There was the usual number of women with us on these occasions wherever we went we had these guardian angels with us. But while in the house there was but one woman over all. She was a cripple. In the building there was all sorts of gymnastics made of ladders in all manner of shapes for the boys to exercise on when the weather would not let them out of doors. They were in the same
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Room where we were when real “out of doors” Our bedroom was upstairs. We all slept in one room, two in each bed. There were about a hundred and fifty boys in our department and let me tell you, as I have often thought since. Anyone that could stand our racket and could put up with most any thing. I have said we were in charge of a kind and doting woman. Nevertheless, some of us must be punished. When playing out of doors we were called in by the ringing of a bell. And all who were not in the house after a certain time when the bell rang were punished. It happened in this way. Some of the longer boys would bring the culprits to one o=end of the room where (always) sat our governess with a rattan poised. And ordered us (I had this pleasure once) to hold out over out hand, and then oh mercy how she would bring down that stick. And you can bet we never wanted it repeated, This was done before all the boys, I presume as a warning for all coming time. In going to our meals, we marched two and two, with our governess in the lead. At the door of the dining room we marched single file one on each side of the tables. Which I remember was very long. Each one standing (never sitting) opposite a plate. Then at a word from our Governess, we took two steps backward and with bowed heads, she offered up a benediction after which, we stepped forward again and began to partake of that we long had sought. When we had finished we were marched back again. I have learned since that all these --------- were marched to and from their ------- and what has surprised me is I never heard a musical note of any kind in the two years I was there. Would it not have been pleasant for us, has be music to march by or had an entertainment occasionally with its musical charm to sooth eh juvenile breast. But I forget that this is a turntable institution. And as I have learned since leaving, the house was kept alive by contributions from those philanthropic hearts whose every pulsation is to elevate and perpetuate the human family to a better life. Only for these generous beings, this would be a cold grasping in a human world, and the circulating medium called money would lay dormant where it would do no one any good. We had a change of clothing throughout once a week this occurred just often taking our bath, and I do not remember of any sickness and but one death in this department while I was there. About this time as before mentioned, I saw my father for the last time and shortly afterwards June 3rd, 1862 with about fifty boys


No. 3
And girls were taken from the home and sent what was then called “Out West” in the State of Ohio for the purpose of finding suitable homes for us. Mr. Macy, a very kind gentleman, had charge of us. Although leaving many of our playmates behind and surging out into this great big world. Our joy knew no bounds. Everything seemed new to us. No wonder, after being shut up for years where the (r...) is the most activity we did and feel surprised? I have wondered how Mr. Macy felt – while we were passing through the city of New York. Eight or ten voices constantly exclaiming oh look at that, oh see this, what is that – and continually keeping it up like so many monkeys at a menagerie. People who saw us must have taken us for a lot of Sunday School children out for a rally day. And we were out too, we no care for the morrow. Going we knew not where. Neither did it trouble us. Only we were having a good time and seeing every thing which occupied all our spare moments – no time for trouble. Tis well, our maker in his wisdom saves us this care until later in life when we are better able to stand the hardships of the coming fate that may be in store for us. I do not remember us stopping until we reached Kinsman Ohio. At this place we were placed in a church and gave the people of that village a sort of reception in our humble way. Such as singing sacred songs which we learned to sing at the home. We seemed to take well for after we were through singing, they gave us everything we wanted to eat and fed us as though we had been starved. There these kind hearted people selected those of us who took their fancy and took them home with them with this avowed purpose. Let us hope to raise them up to that honorable man and womanhood that they might be a source of pleasure in their declining years. These children ranged in years from six to fifteen. Several of the children found homes at Kinsman. I only know one of which I can remember his name. This was John Barnes who was taken by Mr. Noble Thomson and who afterwards changed his name to Edward Thomson. This boy died in 1887 or 88 at Cortland, Ohio. There was also a girl whose name I have forgotten and the last I heard of her she was still living in that vicinity. There were no railroad at this time, at least in the neighborhood of Kinsman Ohio and going to this place in a buggy or carriage was my first experience of ever riding in one. And to go along the nice level road in a new painted buggy with two great horses and front and trees on both sides of the road was, I must say, a novel sight to me. And to see cows, hogs and chickens for the first time in my life too. Why it seemed as if I had evolved into a new being. Every thing so strange. Surely this was -------- to me; they say life is ever changing and we never have the same feeling but once. How true this is. I will leave it to the reader to judge. Every day of our life is a leaf in our history. This day I believe makes one of the longest and happiest leaves in my book of life. When the people had made their selections there remained about 12 or 14 of us who failed to suit. Or in other words were without homes. Among this number were one or two girls, and with them we were taken to the Center of Hartford. And there distributed among the towns people until the following Sunday, when we were to witness a repetition of the same as happened at Kinsman O. So when Sunday morning came, we were dressed in out best and cleanest appearance, taken to the old Baptist church west of the center (or square) and placed in the southeast corner, told to stand up and requested to sing which we did. Then the people came forward and took their pick of us. I can only remember one of the boys. This was John Hanson who found a house with a Mr. Brockway of Harford, O. And who lived with them until they died which was quite a number of years. While I found a home with Mr. D.A. Coe who lived 2 miles north and east of the Center. I will soon speak of my haps and mishaps while at this home. I can not trace any of the other children except a girl who I think was taken by a Mrs. Glaspy and who unfortunately turned out bad. I take this from reports – let us hope it is otherwise. Mr. Hanson who is a fine specimen of manhood; large, muscular, strong and able bodied and being blessed with an intellect of fine perceptions, took advantage of the liberal education offered him by Mr. Brockway and I believe is entitled to their education. A country school teacher, he is now married and lives near his father-in-law in the vicinity of Vienna O and holds the honorable office of Justice of the Peace. One instance I wish to speak of – as John and I were the last two who had the pleasure of finding a guardian and standing there we two living statues that we were, asking someone to come and take us. Finally Mrs. Coe (bless her) stepped up to me and asked if I would like to go home with him. I answered in the affirmative. She took me by the hand and kissed me and said you will go home with me and be my boy won’t you? Yes Maam said I. This woman was Mr. Coe’s third wife and being childless I became her adopted son, and she my second mother. Indeed she proved a mother to me. While this was taking place John was left standing all alone. His playmates had all gone to their adopted homes but me – and when next I looked up John was crying. For the time I felt like crying too.





No. 4
And as I was about to share his grief Mr. Brockway walked up to John and asked him if he would like to go home with him and spoke some cheering words to him that caused him to brighten up. So Mr. B walked away leading John by the hand. He and I often would go to this old church to Sunday School, and with Mrs. Rathburn, a very old lady, our teacher. We spent many a happy hour together. I don’t know what his feelings are, but he seems more like a brother to me than an old acquaintance. Mr. Coe's two first wives were named Jones. They were sisters. To his first wife was born a son. Cornealus by name, at the time of my arrival was about 17 years of age, and a daughter by his second wife, a string healthy looking girl of about 14 S-------n. Their two children were not at church on this occasion when we drove into the yard. This girl whose name was Erma stood on the porch wondering who was in that buggy. She was positive that she had never seen that sandy haired chap before. And the first word she spoke was "where in all creation did you get that red headed young one!" My adopted mother said we have brought you home a play fellow. Her only answer was, “well, humph!” turned and went into the house. I was not old enough to notice this at the time, but have often thought of it afterwards. But how must have been the feeling of Mr. Coe after this little maneuver.

As she considered me her only child, this I must say was a severe check to her future hopes. But she did not falter or diminish her attention to me in the least and stood by me with the parental faithfulness as though I were her own child. Her maiden name was Louis Faber and was Mr. Coe’s third wife. It always appeared to me that Emma hated the sight of me, and treated me as an encumbrance to useless thing to have around. But Corneal – as we always called him – did not pay much attention to me and I don’t remember of his ever s----ing me. But he was his father’s pet of which I will say more of him after a while.

Chapter 2
I have now passed from childhood into boyhood and as boys will be boys the next few years will be full of mischief and everything else that the common run of boys may think of. And hope I won’t turn out as bad as ---- bad boy. I will now give my location which is one and a half miles west from the Village of Onaugill, (?)Ohio where I always went to school. The school house stood one half a mile due west of the village, Hartford being a --- two miles or more southwest of where I lived and as I have stated where I attended Sunday school nearly every Sunday rain or shine. We usually drove to church in a buggy except when the roads were too muddy, then we had to foot it across the fields. None but Mr. Coe and myself went in this case and Mr. Coe being a very large man over six foot tall in his stocking feet. You can judge how I had to hop, step and jump to keep up. He did not seem to pay any attention to me in the least, his mind seemed to be absorbed in some other directions. So when I got to church, it found me pretty well fagged out. Then after church we repeated the operation. And after getting home we ate our dinner (Sunday we had two meals a day the second being the middle of the afternoon) and then went for the chores. It was no small affair with 22 cows to milk, calves and hogs to feed and four horses, carry in the wood etc and with no let up weekdays. I would like to know where any rest came in. No chance to play with my neighbor boys only when we went to school and then I made up for lost time on that score. I have come to the conclusion that if my children want to go to church Sunday they can do so but I will not compel them to. Neither will I ask them to work on that day. If it is a day of rest, let us put it in practice. Or in other words, enjoy ourselves on that day, or make it a day of rejoicing. Continual drudgery makes life a burden.

Now I will give the names of the neighbors; across the road (south side) was Mr. Carlton Sayer, his wife and one daughter named Mary Jane. She was then about 18 years if age and if id Emma’s companions. A half-mile west was Grandpa Jones, father of Mr. C’s two first wives, and across the road from him was a Mr. Pratt (rev.) who I think had three girls who were young ladies and one boy whose name was Whaley. The only playmate thus in the neighborhood who was about a year older than I was and the first party I ever went to was at their house.

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We always went visiting in the evening after the cores were tended to. I will relate a little incident that happened there on our first visit to Mr. Pratts. We were playing what they called the him spy, where one of the party hides their face while the rest go and seclude themselves anywhere in the house and when all is ready, someone will shout ready. Then the one who hid their face will hunt for the rest. And the last one found must be the one to hide their face next time. Well what I was about to tell you -- I thought I would hide where they could not find me. So I opened a door leading from the kitchen thinking it was a closet or bedroom (had one been in the house before) and all as dark as a black cat before me. I opened the door and rushed in and the final step I took I fell about eight feet, striking the bottom of the cellar stairs all in a heap. Some of the older ones heard me fall and brought a light. By the time they arrived I had picked myself up and was coming up the steps a little worse for my experiences. The women folk thought I was killed. It put a g---- to merriment the rest of the evening. One word more about this playmate as his folks moved away after a year, I used to ask Mr. C on Saturday afternoons if I could go and play with Whaley. Sometimes he would consent and at others refuse. I knew if I could not get Saturday afternoon, my chance for any fun was mighty slim. I forgot to mention who was living with Grandpa Jones. His wife had been dead some years. A Mr. Baker (a shoemaker) who married his daughter – Julia. There had been a former marriage and one child – a boy - Willis Wentworth by name. Her marriage with Mr. B brought two children by Mr. B’s first marriage – one boy and one girl Horton and Henrietta. They were all three near Corneal and Emmanual’s




No. 5
age and most too old for my playmates, although I engaged myself with them very much. Willis always thought a great deal of me. He would hold me on his lap and tell me stories and seemed to take a great interest in me. Mr. Baker’s wife died soon after I came on about two years after and then Mr. B moved away. So I did not get much acquainted with Horton or Henrietta, but Willis remained on the place his mother (Mrs. B) left him. Considerable property and in after years he married Miss Malinda Goodrich, and settled on the old homestead. But before Willis was married and after Mr. B moved away some one had to keep house for Grandpa Jones and hunting around for some time they found a widow Hall who came with five children. This family has had a great deal to do with my past life – beginning from, the time they moved in the vicinity. But as I am getting ahead of my story will reserve this part of it. It will be remembered that the road which past my house ran east and west. I have given the neighbors on the west. The nearest neighbor east was Mr. Williams. Three fourths of a mile away there was two boys and two girls all young men and women. John and Scott and Margaret and Emma Grace. The boys were drafted into the service (Rebellion). The next was Mr. Bradly Hewitt got one girl (Nellie) and 4 boys – Rufus, Rand, Aubrey and Vint. The three former were young men. But Nellie and Vint were but 4 or 5 years older than myself. They lived near a small stream and near a sawmill and the best place to slide down hill I ever saw. We used to come from school at the noon hour to his hill and O what fun with the girls we had, and an old two horse sled. We would all get on and let em go. That’s when the fun came in. It wasn’t pulling the big sled up the hill again by any means. I shall never forget these school days and at my advanced age I am in favor of the district school for its fun as well as learning. Who can ever forget them? No one – they are the spice of our life. As this is my first summer at school, I will give the names of the school and teachers. Our teacher (very first) was Miss Margaret Chapman from Bunghill and if ever a teacher loved her scholars it was this one. After the term was over she gave us a picnic in Mr. Austin’s Sugar Camp north of the school house. What a grand good time we had. Now for the scholar’s names. I will name the girls from the oldest down. Abbie Brockway, Emagine Hull, Caroline Moffot, Erma Coe, Emma Williams, Minnie Jones, Sadie Moffot, Mary Jane Woods, Emma and Ella Parent, Nancy Creighton, Alice Turner, Nellie Hewitt, Emma Grey, Nettie Drew, Eva Reed, Laura Price, Emma Soear, Sarah Pader and a sister I forget her name. Julia and Lucy Wilson,Alice Miller, Rose Hyde, Serena Palson, a Mr. Edward Jones two oldest girls I forget their names, also Jenine and Laura Thompson, Mary Jane Brockway, Ellen Hall and a sloven girl I forget her name, and many others I cannot call to memory just now. The boys were: Albert Moffot, Arthur Thompson, Moses and Buel Brockway, Fagette and Abrien Brockway, George and William Cassidy and Charlie, Walter Baxter, Wesly Kennedy, George Hull, John and Eddie Thompson, Richard Creighton, James Moffat,
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Webster Patrick, Albert Jones, George Creighton, Clarence and Albert Dewitt, Walter Palmer, Chancy Miller, Chad Brainard, Harry Spear, RW Padeau, Hudson Lorsen, William Hull, Charlie Hewitt, Kint Hewitt, Edward Williams, Patrick Watson, Joseph Garvey, and many others I am unable to recollect. Like most boys of my age, I went to school to play and being mischievous I pursued cut up capers in school hours, and as a matter of course took my turn standing on the rostrum with one of those long peaked paper hats (called dunce caps) on. But the teacher seeing I was somewhat of a bashful nature would set me in-between two of the older girls, and to tell that truth, that hurt me worse than anything she could have done with me. I tried to get out but the girls on each side of me kept me from moving either way and my only show to get out was over the top of the seat. So I made a lunge for liberty but the teacher put me back and threatened to punish me with the ruler and said she would tie me in the seat if I didn’t behave better. I would finally resolve under my embarrassment to make the best of it and love it out. Of course I was not the only bad boy in school. Others took their turn. But oh those lessons I never could get them. My head was filled with something else, anything but study. That I could not do ------- for even in mischief; even looking for something different, such as chewing paper into a soft wad and throwing it up to the ceiling where it would stick. And getting tired of that would have out of my repository (or pocket an Elden pop gun which c--- of a portion of

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And Elder an inch more or les in diameter and six or eight inches long with the pith taken out – leaving it hollow. Then with a ---- to fit, you are ready. Just chew a paper into a soft wad. Put this in one end and place another wad in the other, then push one wad through. The comparison of air in the fun will force the other out and make a noise like a small pistol. Well this was my finale. Although I would watch where the teachers back was turned and getting down behind my desk let go and then jump up into my seat with a sober face and innocent look. Yet my whole being was brimful of fun thinking I had shot my gun off and no one had seen me do it. But the noise gave me away eventually. The teacher knowing in what direction it came from would keep her weathered eye out. And I getting more bold would venture another shot. Where I would be brought up standing and then she would cuff me a few times and place me on the rostrum where the whole school could scrutinize me while she would lecture me and warn me never to repeat the operation under penalty of a good sound whipping. In the meantime, she had captured my blunderbuss and placed in the archives of her desk. Where in time se would give it back with many precautions to the future and not play with it in school hours. Now let me ask did you ever get a peep into the teacher’s repository? You will remember whatever she finds the scholar playing with in the school house she takes it from them and puts them in her desk. And this is what I saw when she raised the lid to but my little gun away:



Page 6
3 dolls partly dressed, 2 pin cushions, 1 roll of calico pieces, 1 roll of quilt blocks, 2 pair scissors, 3 cups of spruce gum, 1 crochet needle, 1 ball of yarn, 1 pen knife, 2 jack knives, 3 jews harp, 7 willow whistles, 2 tobacco boxes, 1 bunch of keys, 4 strings of buttons. (The latter a great fad in those days. Each button representing the different person who gave it), 1 jumping jack, and 4 wooden tops such as are made from spools. I can see them now as they all lay in that desk, an oh how I longed to get in there and get my pick. But that was impossible for the teacher kept it locked and the key in her pocket. You left me standing on the floor with a woe be gone expression on my (phicirogory?) and all of the scholars looking at me. Some with a smile. Some with a sneer and others a frown. Some were glad (I judge by their expressions) I had been caught in the act. Others felt a little sympathy while the rest didn’t seem to care and thought it was fun when I got over my confusion and my ears stopped tingling I took the courage to look up and first person I saw was Albert Moffat in one of the back seats. And one of the greatest cut-ups in school, winking and blinking at me and making the awfulest grimaces in order to make me laugh. He nearly succeeded but when he made a funny picture on his slate and turned it toward me I gave full vent to my pent-up feelings and laughed outright. The teacher seeing it did not punish me by standing there, sent me to my seat and ever after that Moffat and I were great friends.






Part of my life I can recount. Much I cannot. There whereabouts of my father at this time I cannot tell you. But my father had his trials and they must have been severe. However, he did not remain long in his business. The reason why I do not know. I know about the time he took me to the Children’s Aid Society of New York City and I was put into the nursery department for small children July 14, 1859, about the age of four and a half years and then stayed for about two years, my father coming to see me occasionally. I only recollect of his coming at this period later on. I remember none at the age of five and a half or nearly six years I was taken to another department where a larger class of boys were kept. There was not a day but some of the children’s parents came to see them. So you see there was this anxious expectation amongst us when ever a visitor was announced in hopes that it might be our own fond father or mother with some goody goodies or sweet treats for us. But alas! That one more visit never came at least not for me. And God only knows how many more. While there, my father came to see me every three of four weeks bringing me oranges and candy. This instance is the first I remember of learning to love my father. Did he love me? Why did he bring me these dainties? Why did he hold me on his knee and look into my face with great tears in his eyes while I was trying to bite a hole in the big orange he had given me? Perhaps he thought all I cared for then was the orange and candy. No so my Father – it has carried affection and love for you all through my life. This I cannot forget. How many times in my life when alone I have thought of him and these meetings. How I have heaved a sign for him to come to me. The tears are flowing freely as I write these lines although a man that I am I cannot help it. And hope that I may never be obliged to write them ever again. The sorrow

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And anxiety that I have endured in my younger years seemed to me a burden greater than I could bear. This was years ago and I do not wish to bring those uncomfortable feelings back. To return to my subject – my father came to see me for about ten or eleven months, then his visits ceased! Why? This is a mystery to me. This is what has bothered my brain more than any one thing in regard to my parents. Beyond this, all is pitchy darkness, No kind friend or otherwise has told me anything of him. No not one! One speck or ray of hope would make me a happy man. Did he or she have friends or relatives: They must! Where are they that they could not help him or me! No matter now. I have no use for such. Only for the charitable institutions of New York City, what would have become of me? That is another mystery. Being positive that my father would not forsake me. I have but one way out of this dilemma. About the time of the Civil War had began he must have taken part on one side or the other. If so, he lost his life. Oh that I could know where he fell that I might gather up his remains and place them under my protection. But I know nothing of this. All is lost! At our last meeting, he must have been about 30 years old. I want to say there this – I have always been watching, waiting, and living in hopes of finding him.

I'm here to tell you that it IS possible to move three times in less than a year. This time it's back to Ohio, one building down from where we started a year ago.

I will be offline for awhile so that I can move my computers and equipment to our new place - again... Then it's off to teach in N. Carolina by way of Palmetto for a brief stop.

Hugs to all,
Ruth
http://tat-calendar.blogspot.com
http://theriverhome.org

Vintage Tatting design: This sample tatted in WONDERFUL Omega size 30 thread I found at ZigZag Corner in Greenfield IN. on my recent trip through TN, KY, IN, and Ohio. Don't the colors just speak to your soul???? And, OH YES, there are LOTS more terrific colors.

Help!!! I'm looking for the origin of this very old tatting. I only have samples, and I know that I've seen it in a book. Perhaps someone more familiar with old tatting books can tell me in what book(s) it was published.

Bead-Centered Rings and Beaded Twisted Cord Picots
Copyright 2007 Ruth Perry

Adding to my butterfly collection... Copyright 2007 Ruth Perry