My friend Judy puts a poem up now and again on her blog. I read this on the Christian Science Monitor, and couldn’t resist following in her footsteps.
A baby sits quietly
on his mother’s lap,
frightened and calm,
weary and curious,
beloved – and so – loving.
Old ladies struggling
with irregular carry-ons spot him
like a star on the horizon.
Passing by, each one
touches the baby’s head
with detached and utter
affection, sparks of God.
– C. Malcolm Ellsworth
Here’s our babies.
Several years ago my husband and I took a year’s sabbatical to live in Alexandria, Virginia, while he worked at the Dept. of State. While he worked, I tried to revise my grad school novel (pitiful thing), visited museums, walked all the sights that D.C. has to offer, gazed at the monuments and joined a quilt group.
Mount Vernon Quilters became the place for me every Tuesday afternoon. The Bees, where we’d meet and just quilt–always hand piecing or applique–were alternated with our Business Meetings. We were one of eleven chapters of a much larger guild, Quilters Unlimited of Virginia, a group totaling around one thousand members.
However, our chapter was small, and I’d say the average age was retirement, with a few young quilters around the edges. I grew to love them and their interesting meeting snacks and amazingly, they took me in and loved me too. It was very hard to leave that little nest. So, in a way, I didn’t. I agreed to serve as Newsletter Editor–but from California–land of the fruits and nuts and machine piecers. Blogs were just starting to come on line at that time, and I set one up for the ladies of Mt. Vernon. It was completely radical–something they really liked–and we became known for our “with-it-ness” all around our greater Quilters Unlimited Guild.
After two years, Beverly took over. I’d never met her–she joined after I had gone–but I taught her everything I knew about blogging. She caught on quickly, asking her son for help when she couldn’t figure out long-distance what the heck I meant about copy-paste, or control-C-control-V. She made it her own. When I went back for a visit last year, I met her and her disabled daughter Catherine. Beverly was as sweet in person as she was on the phone.
Catherine died last week, in her sleep.
Her mother had tucked her in under a flannel chenille quilt made by one of the Mt. Vernon quilters, a slight breeze coming in from the window–and turned out the light. But in the morning, Catherine was gone. I wrote to Beverly to express my condolences and she wrote back:
It was so unexpected. Catherine seemed to be thriving–I really thought she’d outlive me. She was a happy young lady that made me smile everyday and never disappointed me. She was totally innocent–I called her the “barometer of good.” It will be so difficult as I have wrapped my life around her… it’s going to be quite an adjustment. Cath asked for nothing but love, and she got plenty.
So, to help Beverly out, I’ve picked up the blog for a while, trying to fill her shoes, and probably making a mess while I do it.
Life is pretty fragile. Perhaps we all need a quilt somewhere.
I made this dress for my daughter’s blessing many years ago. She asked me to get it ready for this child’s blessing. It had aged some, with the lace turning creamy, and Barbara asked me to get it white again. I’m too old to take it all apart and sew it up with new lace, so I remembered about Rit Dye Remover. One night found me cooking dinner, simultaneously boiling up a dress in a pot on the stove.
It worked! After ten minutes stewing in the solution (which made our kitchen smell like a beauty parlor) everything was crisply white again, better than magic, and I found myself thinking about the idea of being made new again, utilizing the twin blessings of forgiveness and repentance.
I think back to that woman who made the original dress, me–some three decades ago. What was I concerned with then? Certainly raising the children right. My last child hadn’t even happened on the scene and I was ankle–no, knee-deep–in kids and house and home and relationships and fatigue and worry and sickness and health and picnics at the “gun park” (Westpoint, NY) and serving others (a tiny church in Newburgh, four church jobs and 4 other women I was assigned to visit with each month) and chaos (two boys and a baby girl) and isolation (we lived in the hills about 70 minutes away from NYC). Add in a strange marriage, a dog that kept running away, missing my mother and father and family, and probably a lot of wondering about just how it would all turn out.
I remember my parents making the trek out East to see me, bringing me a new set of scriptures in beautiful blue leather. They are still a treasure, although I moved on to a new set some years later. I think about that gift, what was being said in two books on crisp thin paper. Maybe they were saying: this is the best gift. Stand with these and you’ll figure everything else out. All that you’re going through can be made sense of if you apply what’s in here to your life.
Did I understand then about forgiveness/repentance? I thought I did. I thought I had a pretty good handle on things, wobbling as I did through an off-balance life.
But the woman who holds the child’s child in the photo above has a better view of those early years. (It’s certainly not as good as that baby’s great-grandmother, but it will do for now.)
Forgiving others, not withholding that critical component of the Lord’s gospel. Repenting when possible, because I figure I’m always in need of forgiveness. And somewhere between those two, a intense gratitude for these principles of life, a realization that the Lord has given me a chance to be happy, be thankful, in spite of scars, in spite of scarring.
It’s what makes life work. It’s a life’s work.
While watching a series of TED talks, I happened on John Maeda’s talk, which led me to The Laws of Simplicity (LOS), which led me to Todoist, which led me to Jerry Seinfeld’s Productivity Secret.
Too many links, but oh, what fun. Here’s some content from Todoist:
Now is better than later.
Later is better than never.
Organized is better than messy.
Big things are composed by smaller things.
Smaller things are done by action.
Think like a person of action.
Act like a person of thought.
The beginning is half of every action.
The longest journey starts with the first step.
Everything should be made as simple as possible.
But not simpler.
Celebrate any progress.
Don’t wait to get perfect.
Deadlines and stress are a part of life.
OccasionalPiece--Quilt! 