artsy, craftsy

Between my Grandmother's kitchen and her den there hung an arrangement of plastic fruit
that circulated  in and out of style during my lifetime.
The woman had style. A style of her own.
She had subscriptions to McCall's and  Better Homes and Gardens.
She could follow a pattern and make anything from a pillow to a window box.
She even made her own patterns when she couldn't find one that what she wanted to make.
Whether it was spiced cider for quilting guild or Christmas ornaments for us or popcorn balls for trick-or-treaters she made, the results were fabulous.
She quilted all winter with her mom, my great-grandma. made bird houses out of gourd she grew. She made rugs and doilies, tea towels and doll clothes by hand. She embellished her own stationary; always decorating the envelopes. Her large script writing with fancy flourishes and flowers were a welcomed sight in the mail box.
She trimmed topiaries into fancy shapes.
She was constantly planting bulbs,  dug them, separated and shared them.
What she couldn't do with a role of contact paper or a can of paint.
Further proof of her style:
Her corner curio cabinet and bookshelves were filled with amazing little whatnots and knick knacks.
She had a gold fish pond big enough that we waded in it when we were little.
She had ledger sized books filled with newspaper clippings of interest, recipes and souvenirs.
Her personal style is demonstrated by the hat she is wearing there on our porch holding me when I was a baby.