Inspired by Judith Snow…

Hasbury on Snow


This month’s SCDot6 post is given over to two dear friends on the occasion of the Celebration of Life for one and the incredibly poetry she inspired in the other.

There are hundreds of articles and videos and tributes written by and about Judith Snow. She was just as influential and funny and pointed and impatient and thoughtful as those pieces make her out to be.

Judith challenges us to question our assumptions about what folks can and cannot do and where they can and cannot live. She thumbed her nose at our low expectations and exhortations about safety. Yes, it took a whole team of folks — her circle of support — to get her out of that institution and into “the community”, but, ironically, Judith created community wherever she was and that institution was hardly a barrier to her — except that it was.

So, dear one, on this 6th day of June, question your assumptions. Then do it again on June 7. And again on June 8.

David Hasbury — a deep thinker in his own right — captures it so well in his grief-and-gratitude-laced poem.

We’re sad, but we celebrate.

And we keep on truckin’.



The image is a colorful, painted background with David Hasbury’s poem written on top of it.

Inspired by Judith Snow…

What more can life ask of us?
…be present in the form that carries our spirit
…follow the questions that call our name
…embody the visions that enter our mind, finding rest at home in our heart
…uncover the gifts that we carry, placing them within reach of those who need the magic they hold

Self Care Day on the 6th: November 2014

November 6

There’s something particularly wonderful about old friends. Don’t get me wrong, I love meeting new people — with all of the possibilities ahead and the zing of discovering common connections — but I treasure the folks that have been on this ride with me for decades.

We’ve all heard (and probably used) the platitudes about friends who can go for years without speaking and then pick up right where they left off. There are folks in my life that definitely fall neatly into this category, and man am I ever sorry about that. Not the “pick up right where they left off” part — that’s a gift!

I’m sorry about the “go for years without speaking” part of the equation.

Mea Culpa! I let the whirl of life carry me along for weeks, months, sometimes years without stopping to touch base with people whom I proudly consider friends. At first email and social media seemed to make it easier to stay in contact, but somehow clicking “like” on someone’s latest vacation picture or beating them at e-Scrabble doesn’t seem particularly friendly.

The other day one of my oldest friends — someone I’ve known for three quarters of my life — popped in to comment on a picture I’d posted online. He made a funny comment. I made one back. We clicked like on each other’s comments. And then we were off to snark elsewhere.

Now, this guy is a dear. He’s “been there” for me in about a thousand ways going all the way back to the early 80s. I was kind of reminiscing about that and how we used to grab our spouses and meet halfway for dinner (we live 200 miles apart these days) or plan vacations that crossed paths. Then I started counting the years since I’ve seen his actual, live-in-person face and was a little appalled and a little embarrassed and, honestly, a little sad.

So, did I call him? Pshaw! Of course not! Instead, I started crocheting him a blanket, because what says, “I miss your face, friend!” better than starting a months-long craft project that he knows nothing about?

I can’t always explain me.

The reality is that most folks need folks, and we’re lucky to have those folks. Barbra wasn’t kidding in that song of hers.

So, for self care this month I’m pledging to reconnect with some people who are essential to my happiness and well-being even if my behavior doesn’t seem to reflect their importance.

I’m not flogging myself over this — in spite of my “mea culpa” above — I’m pretty gentle with myself when I discover something I want to change. I am, however, going to pour some love into this intention over the next several weeks and see what manifests.

Oh, and I’ll be working on that blanket, too.

Robert desperately needs a Doctor Wubbie, and making one for him is the least I can do for one of my oldest — Man, is he older! — and kindest friends.

So, what’s on your “nice to do” list that just never seems to make it onto your calendar? Whatcha waiting for?

Doctor Wubbie


“Does this count?”

Bernie's Sprite in MetalAs we’ve walked this homeschooling journey there are a handful of questions that have become kind of predictable.

Most often it’s the “what about socialization??” one we get from folks. Whole books and blogs have been written on this topic. So I’ll leave it with my standard, short answer: I still get the shakes when I recall my 5th grade teacher, Ms Everhart, screaming, “We are not here to socialize!!!”  Homeschoolers definitely socialize and we don’t scream at our kids for doing it.

Other questions we field regularly are about testing or curriculum or state oversight — you know, how does this work? I get those questions about 3 times a week and have standard answers for them, too.

The really hard homeschooling questions come from my kids as we work through this process together.

Their favorite questions? “What’s the plan?” and “Does this count?”  The first one I can answer pretty easily — in the moment if not for the long-term (eek!) — by handing them an agenda or telling them the schedule for the day. The second one is tougher because it kind of breaks my heart a little.

See, my kids have spent enough time in public school to know that there are endorsed activities — the work you get credit for — and then there is that other stuff that you are welcome to do on your own time, but which “doesn’t count” toward your grade.

I get it. It’s the way school currently works. The teacher has a rubric passed down from on high. S/he comes up with an assignment that meets some part of that rubric, gives it to the class, collects it, grades it, and puts a check mark in that box.  Next.  S/he may really want to see the kids do fascinating, creative stuff, but there really isn’t a place to put that into the rubric, so s/he smiles and says, “Cool*” and moves on.

But it doesn’t count.

Gosh, this seems backwards.

In my kids’ jargon, this whole scene is an epic fail.

When I walked into my studio this morning, Gillian had just clicked send on her daily homework email. She’d gotten up early, completed her core course requirements, and emailed me her scores and written assignments for my responses. She looked up and said, “Good morning, Mama. Does my scarf count as art?”


Sigh. I would love for my kids to know in their marrow that whatever they do counts. I don’t mean that they should expect a grade for everything they do. I want them to get the bigger view; to recognize their contributions and experiments and dalliances and projects as meaningful whether or not I’m going to give them some kind of officially-stamped educational credit for it.

But she didn’t want a lecture on my learning and life philosophies. She wanted to know if what she was hoping to do next merited doing by whatever yardstick we measure homeschool credit.

So, here’s my kid who got up early, and did her assignments without my even having to ask (and, incidentally, taught herself to knit on a loom, designed a whole series of scarves she wants to make, and found all of the materials to make those scarves) questioning the value of what she’s going to do next.  What do I say to her?


“Of course it counts! It counts because it’s absolutely an artistic expression, it demonstrates competency in a skill, and produces something you find valuable and beautiful. But, Gillian, you need to know that even if all it did was interest you and you want to check it out and there was nothing to show for it or to grade or admire at the end, it would still ‘count’. It would be just fine to do.”

We went on to discuss colors and yarns and designs and patterns, but the conversation stuck with me all day.

As I snapped a picture of Bernie’s metalwork sign (above) and Gillian’s scarves in progress (below) and watched their minds work through the problems of creating these artistically-interesting and technically-challenging expressions it really hit me how lucky — is that the right word? — we are that we, as a family, get to decide how to spend our days and what to study and, yes, what counts.

But how rare is that?

How many cool, wonderful ideas and opportunities pass us right by because we aren’t getting graded/paid/congratulated/noticed for doing them?

As Mary Oliver (1992) asks in this excerpt from her lovely poem The Summer Day,

QuoteI do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Indeed. So, get on with it because you, my dear, get to decide what counts.

* or whatever it is that the kids want to hear these days

Oliver, M. (1992). New and selected poems. Beacon Press: Boston, MA.

Gillian's colorful scarves on looms

Self Care Day on the 6th: November 2012

November 6

It’s November 6th! And you know what that means, right?

Well, if you live in the US, it’s Election Day. Which means it’s time to vote if you haven’t already participated in early voting. I’ll spare you the rest of the monologue since — unless you’ve been on a long safari — you’re full up with this election. I certainly am, and I actually love this whole process of researching candidates, making my choices, going to the polls, and voting.

So, let’s assume you’ve voted or have that worked into your schedule for the day (or happen to live in Tanzania and aren’t scheduled to vote until 2015) and move on to the self care portion of the program.

Cool? Great!

Even if you aren’t running for elected office, the beginning of November can be a wee bit anxiety inducing. Lots of folks see this as the start of The Holiday Season. You know, once the Halloween candy has been collected from all of the neighbors and the stores are unabashedly stocking the shelves with every possible flashing red, green, and gold item the marketing folks can dream up, we start to tense up a little (or a lot) knowing that the calendar is officially going off the rails any minute now.

Gifting — listing, financing, buying, wrapping, sending, unwrapping, thanking, storing — is just one of the activities that deserves recognition as a varsity sport.

Then there are the parties and the concerts and the rellies and the Nutcracker and the cooking and baking and cleaning out the guest room for Aunt Molly and the non-stop merry-go-round travel among commitments far and wide and someone forgot the apples for the Waldorf Salad, so the whole thing is ruined.

Well, whoa. Who says?

While I’m as sentimental as just about anyone I know, I finally pushed pause on this whirling dervish of holiday hell and rethought the whole thing several years ago. Just like any other “project” in my life I took a long look at it and asked some of those really powerful questions that Helen Sanderson and her crew taught me to ask. Fair warning: These queries are magical.

What’s working?

What’s not working?

What do we love and want to keep?

What do we dread and want to toss?

Knowing what we know now, what will we do next?

So how do you work this magic? It really is up to you.

Maybe you like sticky notes. I know I do! So, when I did this, I went through each question, putting one item on each sticky note so that I could look at it in isolation and really think about how that aspect of the season impacted my joy — positively and negatively.

You may want to do this exercise alone or you may want to involve some (cooperative) folks from your planning committee — er — family in this conversation. Or you may want to do it by yourself first and then invite comments.

Got your stickies? (Or your notebook or your pictures from last year or a word processor document open or a template from Helen or your steering committee and graphic facilitator?)

Good. Now, go through each question one at a time.

What’s working? Make a list of all (or a sticky for each) of the things, people, foods, traditions, and Traditions that really make this season meaningful for you.

What’s not working? Make a list of all (or a sticky for each) of the things, people, foods, traditions, and Traditions that really make this season dreadful for you.

Then refine them with the next couple of questions. What do we love and want to keep? What do we dread and want to toss? What might we combine or change or rethink or move around?

Be fearless! Really think about what it is you want out of your — YOUR — holidays.

One of the things I changed was gift giving. There came a point when it just wasn’t fun anymore. I was spending weeks hunting down and buying stuff off of lists that my family exchanged in September and shipping it all over the country or schlepping it there along with the apples for the Waldorf Salad, only to have all of that stuff get lost in the piles of wrapping paper and gift overwhelm.

Now, we tend to give everyone (except the wee kids) on our holiday gift list exactly the same thing. It’s different each year, but it’s the same gift for everyone — teachers, Mom & Dad, cousins, friends, siblings, co-workers. One year, we made popcorn kits that included paper bags, kernels, seasonings, recipes, a movie and a lovely glass bowl. Another year everyone got a hand-made scarf. In slim years, we’ve given out ornaments or baked goods. We save the specially-picked-out-just-for-you gifts for birthdays or sussies*.

I’ll admit that this practice may horrify you — and I’m cool with that — but it makes me a very happy camper during the season of lights.

I have friends who have stopped visiting far-flung relatives and stay at home, volunteer at a shelter, cover the office for their co-workers, and save their travel for when the traffic is a lighter. Some folks give a donation to a charity they love and forgo the gift exchange. One large family goes to a state park and rent cabins so that no one has to clean their house and host 30 cousins for a week.  Still another has their big gather-the-clan celebration at Thanksgiving and does their Christmas and Hanukkah celebrations with their immediate families in their own homes.

No offense intended to the memory of Oscar Tschirky — aka “Oscar of the Waldorf” — but I am pretty sure we could even find a way to be joyful without a bowl of chopped apples, celery, and walnuts doused in mayonnaise.

So, what will you do to take care of your self during the holidays? What are you keeping? What are you tossing? What are you reinventing? I’d love to hear all about your favorite traditions and Traditions — old and new!


*a word my dear friend, Tracey, taught me for gifts sent just because

Brown Paper Packages Tied up with Strings

Edna on Keeping Up Appearances


Once she realized that her constant companions all hooked, Edna stopped trying to explain her own quirks.

April’s Self Care Day on the 6th

April 6

As I sat here thinking about self care in preparation for this Self Care Day on the 6th (SCDOT6) post, I began to think about how pervasive the lack of it is. Sure, there are folks who are really good at it, but most of us just aren’t. We make attempts from time to time — you know, on those days you can almost justify being nice to yourself. Birthdays anyone? — but even feel a little guilty for that.

It’s so bad that I know folks who will make fun stuff sound like a chore just so that they don’t have to feel selfish for enjoying something.

Quote“Oh, how I would love to help you feed the homeless tomorrow but I just must <sigh> take Mother to the movies. She’s been hounding me for weeks and I would rather die <sigh> than go, but well… <back of hand placed on forehead> you know Mother.”

No. What I know is that you love to go to the movies and would rather be there than anywhere, but you’ve somehow bought into the “if it ain’t painful, it ain’t valuable” value system that pervades our planet.

Well, enough is enough. Why spend so much energy justifying something we want to do with all of this drama? It’s like baking a cake and icing it with toothpaste. “See there. It isn’t a cake. It’s a decay preventive dentifrice!”

I call bull.

So, what is it that you are wanting to do — or actually doing — but aren’t allowing yourself to enjoy?



I love to crochet. I love yarn. I love making blankets and pillows and scarves and wraps. Love it.

For years I’ve made objects and given them away because, well, if you’re making something for someone else it has value. It’s on purpose! It’s necessary! It’s — wait for it — work! And, boy have I worked at crochet. My handmade dodads are all over the country, and maybe the world. I never charge for them (Gasp! Pay me for this little handcrafted nothing? What a crazy notion!) and I barely acknowledge the gratitude expressed by the recipient. You can’t steal my suffering by liking the product of it!

So, I did something massively radical. When I started my latest project, rather than identifying someone in desperate need of a crocheted item or justifying it as a birthday/Mother’s Day/Groundhog Day gift, I decided to make something for my own studio. Actually, I’m making multiple items. It’s a whole collection of crocheted goodness. I still get a little shaky just thinking about it, but it’s pretty amazing stuff. I’ve decided, at the very least, to make an afghan and two pillows. I may make a room-full of items before I’m finished. I’m using very intricate patterns with tedious stitches that take a lot of concentration. I’m using 9 colors of yarn.  It’s taking lots of time and I’m obsessed with working on the pieces.

Crochet is absolutely part of my self care — carrying around my gorgeous basket of yarn, adding stitches when I get (or take or make) moments through the day — and it’s my intention to allow that to be enough. Previously I’ve justified the expense and time by pointing to the utility of the product. My goal is to enjoy the act of creation, the selection of colors, the feel of the yarn, the rhythm of the stitches as an end unto themselves.

So, what are you sighing and gnashing about that you actually, secretly enjoy? Could you enjoy it more if you allowed yourself to acknowledge how much you love doing it?

Beginning Crocheted Studio Set

Is Love Available Even Here?

Endless Traffic

I first heard Mark Silver ask this question and I believe it to be a wise approach to moment-by-moment living.

Sometimes we don’t even have to ask the question. The love is obvious. It’s in those moments that we are in our bliss and sink into the happiness that is connection.

At other times, we have to work a bit to find it. It may be disguised as fear or some other harder-to-like emotion. The challenge is to ask in those moments of fear or panic or irritation or anger, “Is love available even here?” The sweet reward is discovering that peace and ease and gentleness are available within even those less-than-idyllic moments.

But here’s the catch. In order to get into this space — this love-seeking-in-every-moment groove — you have to actually want to be loving. That old “kill ’em with kindness” trick of pretending to be loving while secretly plotting their demise ain’t gonna get you there. This adjustment of intention sometimes takes work, but the rewards are amazingly bountiful.

You see, though we think of love as something Out There that we have to go find or choose to share with someone else, fact is that it’s not limited to a two-person exchange made popular by greeting card companies. It’s what I harp about on Self Care Day on the 6th (SCDot6) and something that you’ve, no doubt, heard a bazillion times. In case you’ve missed this particular missive, I’ll spell it out here:

You can’t love anyone else until you love yourself.

There. I said it. My harping on you to be good to yourself is really my selfish ploy to get you to love yourself so that, eventually, you have the space in your heart to love me. Well, me and anyone else you happen to encounter.

See that picture at the top of this here post? That was taken toward the end of a very long car trip. We thought we were 3 hours from home after making it all the way from the Berkshires to the Smokeys. That is, until the interstate was completely shut down and we were forced onto a little side road. It took us over four hours to go about 20 miles… meaning we still had three hours of travel left an hour after we’d hoped to be home.

We are pretty happy travelers for the most part, but this jam was enough to try even our well-honed patience. As the sun set, I started taking pictures to post on facebook to express our complete frustration at this endless sit-and-wait situation. I’d like to say that I remembered to ask, “Is love available even here?” and that suddenly the clouds parted and the traffic magically cleared and I was happily singing along to Billy Joel in no time. But, no. It wasn’t exactly like that.

I did, however, remember to look over at my sweetie and be grateful that I was in the car with someone I actually like. And then this caught my eye:

Love. Here.

I was so taken with the pretty sky and sun and clouds and tree that, for a moment, I forgot how tired and irritated and desperate-to-be-home-already I was a moment before.The 20-mile line of traffic stopped being my focal point and there it was.



I could catalog a million moments when love was right there in spite of the surrounding scenery. Sometimes the only love to be readily found in a particularly hairy event is the scenery. The reality, though, is that love is available even here.

P.S. I got an email asking whether this “seeking love in each moment” practice means we have to love our abusers. I’m not sure I completely understand how we got from asking whether there is love available to us all the way to wondering if I’m advocating that we have to love someone who is hurting us, but I’ll play.

On one level, loving everything in its right space is a good thing. I can love even a really, really mean someone in a, “Gee, I can empathize that they are having a rough time” kind of way. But that doesn’t mean I have to spend my energy allowing them to beat me up. Some folks would call this version of love “agape” from the Greek.

On another level, if I’m asking the question, “Is love available even here?” I am probably looking for a way to feel authentic and connected and, possibly, in relationship with myself, my source, or another being. That’s where the scenery might have to come into play.

The night my life was at the greatest risk the only words that would come to my head were, “Tell me everything will be okay.” I don’t know who was supposed to tell me this, but wanting to know it was what kept me centered and focused until the incident passed. “I’ve got to know I’m going to survive this.” may not sound like, “Is love available even here?”  but they are closely related.

After the attacker left the room and I caught my breath, seeking something to calm my shaking hands, I grabbed the magazine on the table next to me and opened it to a random page. In bold letters in the middle of the page was the quote from Julian of Norwich that has since become my constant companion.


All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

— Julian of Norwich


A day or two later, I was at a conference and someone I sort of knew but wasn’t particularly close to said, “I thought you’d like this,” and handed me a printout of a short version of Julian of Norwich’s biography. And then I walked in to a gift shop later that weekend and saw a candle holder with the quote on it. I, not shockingly, bought it on the spot.

So, my question was answered — three times — and I took that loving assurance to mean that things would work out fine. And they did. And they continue to do so.

So, was the love in that moment from my abuser? Not really.

But was love available even there? I sure do believe it was.

And is.

Julia and the Bluebird

March’s Self Care Day on the 6th

March 6

Sometimes the days are so full that you don’t think you have time to do any self care.

Well, my friend, those are the days when some self care should be a mandatory practice. Doctor’s orders mandatory. God says so mandatory. Soul sustaining mandatory.

If I could go into the religious tenets of the world and make one little tweak, it would be to balance the message of suffering and sacrifice with the reality of our need for sustenance and nurturing.

Joyce Rupp wrote something in a book that I read as a new mom that I’ve carried and quoted for years and years.



 You cannot pour from an empty cup.


— Joyce Rupp, The Cup of our Comfort




We all have different soul-sustenance needs. If you can’t pause to hear your own breath, and refill that cup of yours, how on earth will you ever be able to do all of those things you’ve packed into those full days.

You can’t.

You may pretend you can. You may even fake your way through it for a long time. But at some point, you will hit that massive wall and your soul will say, “Enough!” It might look like an illness or getting fired from your job or a car crash or some other “inconvenience” that stops you in your tracks.

So, here’s your permission slip to take a moment, take that breath, and listen to what your soul and body need in order to continue offering the world your excellent, loving, giving self.

 Self Care Permission Slip

February’s Self Care Day on the 6th

February 6

As we celebrate the 6th month of our Self Care Day, I have to admit that I truly look forward to these planned, set aside, on purpose reminders to remember to tend to my own health and happiness. My tendency to pressure myself to execute every idea perfectly is still lurking in my head, but I’m even getting better at saying, “Shhhh. It’s self care! That means it’s okay to do what I think nurtures me even if it doesn’t seem monumental!”

Even so, I’m still one to track progress. I’ve noticed several shifts over this past 6 months.

I’m crafting more.  While I’ve always gone through phases of making stuff, I’ve really been on a tear since October. I designed and created all of our holiday gifts. I completely remade Great Grandma Emma May‘s afghan. I’ve even taken it a step further and allowed myself to purchase “nicer” materials and yarns. Ned Andrew encourages this and even purchased me a new fair trade African Market Basket for my crochet. This is a great development.

I’ve given up electronic games. When they first came out, the online games offered through Facebook were pretty simple. They required 5 minutes a day to send someone a karma token or a flower or a button with something funny on it. Then the Flash stuff showed up. I started out playing a game that allowed me to chat with my sisters while we performed click-based farming tasks. Then I got pulled into the Send-Me-A-Goat-Athon that just sucks time out of your day. I knew better than to have more than one of these going at any one time, but even that got to be too much. The behavioral psychologists who drive the programming of these games are borderline evil for the tricks they play on folks to keep them logged in. I know better, so I’ve walked away. Whew! It feels great!

I’ve switched doctors. It sounds simple enough, but this is a big deal for me. I’ll spend 1400 hours researching and interviewing a docs to find the right one for my kids. Not so much for myself. After 25 years of chronic healthcare fun, I’ve gotten kind of tired of telling my story and being poked. So, I’d rather hang on to the not-so-great doc that I kind of accidentally ended up with — the one I’d rather go to a walk-in clinic for pneumonia than call for help — than find an Internist and Rheumatologist who are partners in my self care. When I sat down and really thought about that reality, I started asking around and found a terrific Internist. I’m still shopping for a Rheumy that fits.

I’m happy that we’re homeschooling. This is obviously different from the previous reality: I was resigned to the fact that we needed to be homeschooling. There are still days when I’d love to hop in the car and meet a colleague for coffee without having to arrange logistics that rival a corporate takeover. But, I’m truly feeling delight way more than overwhelm these days.

I’m writing on paper. I know! What an indulgence! Honestly, the computer and all of my little tech-y devices have so infiltrated every waking hour that picking up a pen and a paper journal feels almost subversive. I’m also keeping lists on paper again — in spite of the 14 apps on my phone and tablet and computer that promise to keep me synced. I’ve had an electronic planner since Palm invaded our lives in the mid-90s and have never really solidly made the switch. Now I’m no longer apologizing for it.

So, how is it going? Are you giving yourself permission to pay attention to your own needs? Are you performing self exams? Are you pausing to do something creative? Are you napping?

I’d love to know!

Edna Reworks Grandma Mae’s Granny Afghan

Great Grandma Emma May's Granny Square Afghan

As I’ve mentioned before, when I was a tiny child, my Great Grandmother Emma Mae (we called her Gramma Mae) made me and my sisters and cousins each a granny square afghan. I’ve carried mine around the country for almost 40 years, but never quite knew what to do with it.

It was a small thing — 48” X 64” — and not particularly pretty to look at. But it means the world to me.

Her choice of square color and placement can only be described as “random”. She’d put 4 greens in a row and one of them would be a different shade, etc. She chose yellow for her “holding” color — and used several shades to complete the blanket. To top it all off, she used an abundance of thick, red thread to sew everything together.

After decades of staring at the only relic remaining from my connection with my Gramma Mae, I finally got brave and took the whole thing apart on New Year’s Day. Then I got braver and actually fixed some of the squares that were especially wonky. I made one more green square from the edging yarn to replace a blue square that was beyond repair.

To my complete amazement, our gauge is identical. And when I ripped a couple of the squares that needed some love, I discovered that — like me — she turns her rounds. It was a sweet connection and as I ripped out stitches and recrocheted the pieces, I could feel her hands on the yarn, too.

I then spent a couple of days arranging the squares until I got a layout that I liked. Once I knew where the squares belonged, I created a pattern with my word processing software and printed it out.

Once all that was done, I started edging each square in black Red Heart — the traditional holding color and the only brand of yarn I ever knew her to use — with two rows on each square and attaching as I went. Once they were all a single piece, I created a border of black with one row of yellow and a very simple chained scallop edge.

The afghan is now large enough to completely cover the top of a king size bed, or the back of a large sofa. It’s useful and somewhat prettier and I’m just delighted with it.

I’m even more delighted at the time I got to spend with my Grandma Mae. She’s been gone a long time, but it felt like she was kind of hanging around here over the past two weeks, encouraging me to be brave and rip apart her work, matching me stitch for stitch as I reassembled it, and whispering stories about rare, cool nights in Texas as I sit wrapped in this now-warm afghan in a somewhat colder Tennessee.

Edna and Emma Mae

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