Still Learning About Everything

    

    Nothing much has changed around here. I am still hooking, stitching, sewing, gardening, reading, cooking, loving, fussing, etc., etc. There is still much to learn about everything. I took the time to be still last week and I learned some things and worked out some troubles. It was a wonderful thing and it felt really good to have benefited so greatly just by sitting idly on the porch, staring at the field. 

     This silent adventure started when I took out a piece of crewel work I began working on about thirty-eight years ago. The best that I can recall, I bought it around the time our first daughter was born. The piece was almost completely stitched except for a few bits here and there. I must have gotten too busy to finish it (ya think?!) and tucked it away. I decided I would finish it now for our granddaughter. I took it out to the screen porch and settled in for an afternoon of stitching. Steve was away so I had no need to cook dinner nor anywhere to go. Time was of no concern, the weather was perfectly mild and the only sounds I heard were the birds singing. A memory from childhood slowly came forward as I stitched and listened to the birds. I was nine years old, sitting on the back porch of my childhood home. Like today, I was listening to the birds singing while I stitched an embroidery onto a dresser scarf. The joy of summer vacation stretched before me like an eternity that day. I had no cares other than thoughts of swimming, playing, eating good summer time foods, and sleeping with the windows wide open to the sound of crickets at night. And, there would be no school for two and a half, whole months! In an effort to ward off any boredom that might occur during the long summer that year, my mother taught my sister and me how to embroider. She took us to the five-and-dime to choose a dresser scarf stamped with a design in blue ink and to pick out embroidery floss. I still recall the excitement of making those choices and the prospect that I would be creating something beautiful. Mom taught us the basic running stitch, the chain stitch, the lazy daisy, and the French knot. She told us that she had spent her childhood summers embroidering on her back porch with her sisters. I imagined my mother and my aunts as little girls doing the same thing as my sister and I, only a long time ago when the world was in black and white. We spent many days that long, hot summer stitching on the porch. I sat for hours on the floor with my back leaning against an old sofa, stitching away. I was so pleased when my first scarf was finished that I asked to buy another. We put those dresser scarves to good use, too. Once they were completed, they alternately graced our bedroom dresser throughout our childhood.

    It was a good memory; one that has stayed with me for days now. My thoughts while I was stitching were almost as carefree as my nine year old self's would have been way back during that summer in 1968. But this day, I paused from stitching and stared out into the field for a while. My mind was working something out. (Which, by the way, happens when you keep your hands idly busy like stitching, knitting, or pulling weeds.) It was something big and important between my mother and me and I slowly and gently realized that it didn't matter anymore. It should have never mattered. I took a moment to tell my mom in Heaven that it didn't matter anymore. She probably realized it herself already, being in Heaven with God and all. But I thought she should hear it from me. So, all is well and I am once again back on that summer filled porch in upstate New York stitching away the afternoon. I can imagine mom is singing in the kitchen and I'm pretty sure there will be something good for dinner. And for now, I have not a care in the world.

     I still have two of those dresser scarves I crudely embroidered some fifty-five years ago.They were well used and are still well loved.