About Me

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I'm a child of God, wife to Charlie, mom to three beautiful girls, daughter to Dennis and Susan, and friend to as many as I can meet. (In that order.) Welcome to my bloggaroni. :) Follow me on Twitter: thatsmykimjay / Go to my site: www.kimjay.com

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Working in the shop...

There is no way to even count how many days I have spent in my dad's "Shop." Right by his side, talking, learning, cleaning, sanding, holding, sawing, helping. "Put your work clothes on and help me in the shop," he would say on his way out the door. I'd jump into my old clothes, grab one of his work coats or flannel jackets, and head to the barn. Roll the big green door to the side, turn on the lights, and my dad would set the radio to NPR or Weevil. If I was lucky, Lake Wobegon.

In winter, it was my job to get wood scraps as "kindling" to start the pot belly stove we kept warm with. Whenever it got so cold I couldn't feel my fingers anymore, I'd head over and stand by that stove and soon, I'd be warm and toasty. When I was little, I used to put pennies on the top and watch them turn colors. Or we'd spit on the top, and watch it bead off and disintegrate. In the summer, we'd roll the gargantuan fan over to the door for a nice breeze in the scorching heat. Spray our legs and arms for mosquitos. Dad would ask mom for more tea, please. No matter whether it was summer or winter, spring or fall...the smells are the same. Lacquer thinner. Wood shavings. My daddy's sweat - which never, ever seemed anything but my daddy to me. Never foul. Just hard-working sweat.

I miss those days. Me, right there by my daddy. I prided myself in knowing which tool he would need before he asked for it. Having it right there and surprising him. Sweeping the wood shavings. Using the air compressor to blow all the dust from the work benches. As I got older, I was allowed to used the BIG stuff. The planer, the table saw, the band saw. That was the big-time - when you go to use the big tools. Scariest of all? Router, no question. Still surprised I have all my fingers.

I tell you what. I know God won't let me keep my mama and daddy here on earth forever, but when that day comes, I am going to have a really hard time letting go. When daddy dies, which will hopefully be another 40 years from now, I imagine, we all will spend a lot of time in that shop just sitting there, feeling his presence.

We don't work out there very much anymore. We have gotten so busy. Last year, we mostly spent our time working on the boat. But, my little Brady-Lady, however, has been enjoying my daddy like I always did. They have a new project...to make Bradyn's very own dulcimer. I made mine when I was twelve. It's her turn. I would venture to guess not too many thirteen-year-old little girls jump out of bed on Saturday morning eager to spend time in a dirty, dusty, cold, shop with her Pa. Mine does. She's a lot like me.

Think I need to come up with a project, so I can have some more shop time with my daddy. All three of my daughters are a lot like me in different ways. This is the way Bradyn is like me. I love her, and I love my Daddy...

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Sweet, sweet, Sammy!

Well, if you could cut two of the cutest little boys out of the same mold - it would have to be sweet little Sammy after his big brother Jude.  They look SO much alike!  I just love this sweet family so much.  Both mom and dad are worship leaders at our church, and truly...we are blessed beyond words to have them.  Thank you, God for them!

Enjoy, sweet, sweet, Sammy (and big brother Jude)...

Friday, November 12, 2010

With a red face and teary, yet shining eyes...

Okay, so a little bragging.  I'm up today and actually at my computer trying to GET A GRIP after my surgery.  I was Facebooking away, and found a note I posted on my page ages ago that I thought I would share with you all today.

I think Bradyn was in 5th Grade when she wrote this.  Here is the note as posted on Facebook:

This is a story Bradyn wrote for the "Brag Board" at school. The teacher just told them whoever wanted to write a story about anything could, and she would pick the best to display for Open House. Here it is exactly as she wrote it:

The Civil War

My name is Peter Yearling and when I was young I had quite an experiance. It was during the time of the Civil War that I was fifteen and sitting in a small room the color of well...puke. That is precisly what I felt like doing because there in that little, pukish, room the Civil War draft took place.

My family and I expected to hear my father's name get called any second. Sure enough about ten minuets later the big, frightening, loud man said "Peter Yearling", but when my father stood up he said "junior". Everyone crowded around me...crying. I also felt a single drop flow down my cheek when I saw my father, the guy who never cries, shake my hand with a red face and teary, yet shining eyes.

By Bradyn Malone