I summon the rain

Summon the water rain mist drizzle
Galvanize the clouds

Mended

Chipped,broken and burnt
Life has been hard
Pieced back together like
a pottery quilt
Still, wild roses bloom and
soft beauty remains

Singer's Song

My Great Grandmother bought this Singer treadle sewing machine from a door to door salesman in 1915. She's been singing in my family ever since. My mother and I'm sure hers learned to sew on it and it retains pride of place in Mom's home even today. The wood finish has worn thin where countless yards of fabric have passed over. The felt strip sewn around her neck to hold pins has worn the Sing off of "Singer". I can remember it being a treat as a child to get to work the treadle. It took a bit to catch the rhythm and then off you go. Tha thunk, tha thunk, tha thunk providing a base beat to the music of the making.

Door Knob Epiphanies

It seems like such a humble thing. A tool to be used without thought. A thing that is almost invisible in its use. The humble Door Knob. How many times a day do you touch a door knob in some form? Out of the room,into the bathroom,out of the house,into the office.... You reach, you grasp,you turn, you pull. All on automatic pilot I bet. I know I do. But, what if, for even a handful of those contacts we turned them into something else. Something with more purpose. We might take those fleeting moments to become mindfull. Reach and remember something for which you are grateful. Grasp and acknowledge that you have turned the iron off, nothing to worry about half way to work. Turn and dispense with negative repeatitive thoughts. Pull something into your life that brings you wonder. Embrace those Door Knob Epiphanies one entrance and exit at a time.

Bone Button Romance

Have we talked about my love of bone buttons? I've got jars of them sitting around the house. I've been known to tap old buttons against my teeth to determine if they are bone or not. Do I let the fact they've been sitting in that jar in the antique store since God was a boy? Oh hell no! Tap tap tap, SCORE! Wrap em up, I'm takin em home.

Honorable Use

I'm drawn to old, worn, well used, well made, pieces of the past. They aren't just tools or hardware,cloth or lace. They are the people they served and the people that used them. They are the craftsmen and women that made them. They are the searchers like me that crow when they find them. Stashed away in old coffee cans in the garage because they were too good to toss away. Or perhaps snipped from the edge of a pillow case too yellowed and stained to present to company any more. The older I get, the more I appreciate things that have aged gracefully before me. Reminding me. I am well made. I can serve a purpose for the people in my life and there will be those who will appreciate me as I age.

A Tatter's Tale

Tatting is fast becoming a lost art. I decided several years ago that this was something I needed to learn and proceeded to go about teaching myself to tat. Thanks to advice from Mom and lots of practice I finally did. It was the hardest thing I'd ever tried and the first time I got the thread to flip I know I cheered out loud. So today, I planned to take up my tatting again. Its been months since I made anything. The things I'd done without thought after learning the first time had to be dredged from my memory. Dredged, pummeled, harassed, drawn kicking and screaming into the tips of my fingers. But. finally, its back. The rhythm has returned and the thread fairly sings through the shuttle and bobbin. Just saying shuttle and bobbin makes me smile. I'm back baby!