It was so true, once upon a time, in a little town called St. Vincent, when I was a girl. I still greatly miss having that very special relationship with a horse. I live vicariously through my friends who have horses, including my cousin Carl, who has a long, ongoing, and close friendship with his horse, Joe...
I lost a good friend recently - an old oak tree that was one of two that held up an iron bar, a set of rings, from which ropes hung that held a wooden seat. My grandfather put it up over a century ago. My mother and her siblings, my sisters and I and my nieces, nephews, and my children all swung on it.
But a recent bad storm broke the tree in half, at the point where the tree had grown around the iron bar many, many years ago. Slowly but surely, my childhood home is going back to nature.
The acorns, the oak leaves I collected and preserved in wax paper with an iron. The red squirrels that made it their home and ran through the branches chattering and chasing one another. I didn't even hear any squirrels or even birdsong in the little woods north of the old home I grew up in.
I feel incredibly sad but realize this is how things are, always have been, and always will be. Change is the only constant...
One of the things I loved to do with Dad when I was a little girl, was ride along with him as he dragged our gravel road. He'd hook up the metal-framed, metal-toothed implement to the back of the '51 Chevy, I'd jump in the front seat to ride shotgun with him, and off we'd go! Slow at first, but then I'd yell, "Faster, Dad...faster!" I had the window rolled down and I'd always put my hand out to catch the foxtails as they whipped past, slapping on my fingertips. Dad had told me that first time about trying it, and I fell in love with that feeling of freedom. I'd lean out to feel the wind against my face, to drink in the S P E E D (which in actuality was not very fast, but it felt fast...)
Awhile back, I was reminded of a very specific art form to the religion of my youth - the flannelgraph. During many a Sunday School, I was riveted to the stories portrayed using this technique, often begging to be allowed to change the scenery and the characters between scenes.
I then watched a video while reminiscing, remembering how the stories would deeply connect with me, especially when told by particular ladies of my church.
I recall one person in particular. She had a soft, engaging voice that drew me in. Looking back now, I can see that it was also one of my early experiences of ASMR; I got tingles when letting myself immerse into the story, on a combination physical/emotional level through the sounds of the flannel moving across the soft surfaces, the teacher's voice, etc.
My beautiful daughter Eva, who is so beautiful inside and out. I know I probably vex you on a daily basis, but what's new? I am a very vexing person, although I don't mean to be. I love you deeply, am so proud of you, and continue to wish the very best for you in life...
Compassion, empathy, and love are written on your face. I saw it in you as a little girl, and your capacity for them has only grown as time has passed.
I am SEW (pun!) excited about this book!! I ordered it recently and it's on its way to me. This video shows some of the exciting projects and lessons I'll be learning from it.
I recently got back into embroidery after a much-too-long break from it. I learned embroidery as a wee girl from my Grandma Fitzpatrick. I loved doing it, and did pillowcases, dresser scarves, and dish towel sets back then. My little fingers were busy, busy, busy learning straight, lazy daisy, french knot, and satin stitches. It has been so much fun getting back into it. I look forward to making my first embroidery journal, or book of stitches!
