Wednesday thoughts . . .

 

When I was growing up my mother had an old quilt that her mother had made . . .  for a time it covered my sister's bed.  It was not a beautiful quilt, just a bunch of different scraps of fabric, sewn together in a haphazard way, old and tatty, yarn and button tufted and stuffed with wool.  It was rather tatty actually.

The pieces were probably all leftover scraps from things sewn by my Grandmother, or usable scraps from worn out clothing . . .  all odd shapes and sizes, hooks and curves, some only slivers . . . all sewn painstakingly with a myriad of meticulous stitching.

Some of the fabrics were very plain and dull in color . . . serviceable bits of cloth.  Others were bright and cheery, like little snippets of  fun times gone by.  Still others were bold and fancy, satiny smooth . . . with or without trims and embroidery, whispering celebrations, dances, first kisses . . .

It was a living breathing thing, filled with different textures . . . smooth bits holding onto bumpy bits . . . colours which sometimes clashed, but in a familial way . . . interesting and fascinating.  As a child I loved to lay on it and run my fingers over the different bits of material, wondering about each piece and making up stories about them in my mind's eye.



After a time they became as old friends to me.  Each time I ran my fingers over it's surface was a visit with a much beloved companion . . . and a remembrance of a Grandmother who had died far too soon, and whom I missed dearly.

My mother still has a letter that her mother had written her in which she speaks of me.  It was written only a few months before she passes.  In it she talks about seeing my dark little head walk down the street to go to the store for her, and how much she loves and misses me  . . . not because I am any more loved than the others, but because I am the one who would always go to her and cuddle on her lap, the one who wanted to be with her, moreso than any of the others.  I was an old soul in a  young body.  It has ever been so . . . some people are just like that.



It's very cold this morning.  It's a day for woolies I'm sure.  Winter seems to be in a hurry to arrive.  Some places got snow yesterday, but we did not.   We had been supposed to take Mitzie to the dog groomers, but they canceled due to illness.  I wanted to go to Gordale anyways and so we did, along with about a bazillion other people!  It sure is a popular place!



Look at what I found there!  Blown glass toadstools.   There were three in a pack for only £1.99.  I snapped them up.  They clip onto the tree branches.  I just adore red and white toadstools!  I spent ages wandering through looking at all of the decorations.  There were so many lovely and cute things to oggle.  I did also pick up a glittery gold star ornament.  I wonder when Todd will let me put up the Christmas tree.  I hope that I don't have to wait too long. 

I've been spending the last few days wrapping up what I have to send over to Canada so I can get it into the Post.  Todd will grumble.  He does every year.  He says it always costs more to send the stuff than the stuff is worth, but I just ignore his grumbling.

I've also been working on a December newsletter for The English Kitchen.  It's early days yet, but hoping to get it done sometime next week, along with the RS Lesson I  am planning, the two Christmas Parties for church I am working on, the scrapbook I am working on and a multitude of other things.   All I need now is a talk assignment!

Whew!  Got tired just reading that!  A thought to carry with you through the day . . . 


(¯`•.•´¯) (¯`•.•´¯)☆__ ☆
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Beauty is whatever gives joy.
~Edna St. Vincent Milla

 

A Tuna Casserole is brewing over in The English Kitchen today.   It doesn't use cream soup of any kind.  The only thing from a tin is the tuna.  The rest is aux naturelle!  Delicious too!

Have a wonderful Wednesday!  (Whew the week is passing far too quickly!!)