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This morning my eighteen year old and I were doing some holiday preparations. I asked him to set up his model train around the Christmas tree, as a nod to Christmas past. He agreed and pulled it out of his closet.
While he was in there, he stumbled across a bin of old legos. He brought it out to the living room, and sat down on the floor with me. One by one he removed partially built (or, more accurately, partially destroyed) models he’s created over the years. There were so many of them.
I recognized the pirate ship from Pirates of the Caribbean, and some of the Star Wars vehicles, but there were quite a few that didn’t look as familiar. “Oh, that one’s from the Mars Mission series,” he would say, or “that belongs to the police set.”
We sat together for a while and looked for specific parts to rebuild a wing, or replace a cannon. It was nice. Really nice.
Someday I hope he has a child in his life who enjoys these legos as much as he has over the years. Someday I hope he gets to experience the simple, yet profound, joy of watching and helping a young person build something special.
Taking out my autumn quilts has awoken in me a desire to sew. I know, I know… I have enough going on right now, what with blogging everyday for NaBloPoMo and working on a novel for NaNoWriMo, but I really want to stitch!
The table I write at is also the table I sew at. It’s situated perfectly for both activities. I can easily see who’s coming in the room since the table sticks out from the wall. That was a requirement so the fabric has somewhere to do once it’s gone through the sewing machine. Sewing at a table pushed against a wall is impractical and frustrating.
Behind my table is my stash of fabric. Most of it, anyway. I have a low wall of cubbies under the window (so sunlight can’t fade the fabric) and it is full of flat-folds of fabric. They’re sorted primarily by color, but also to a smaller extent by type. The hand-dyed fabrics are together as are the plaids, for example. This colorful assortment greets me each time I enter the room, and it makes me happy.
Long ago I was a cross-stitcher. I created many lovely projects, and I had some of them professionally framed at a small cross-stitch shop that I loved dearly. Each time I was in the shop I would pick up more patterns, knowing full well that I already had more than I would ever stitch in a dozen lifetimes. I lamented this fact one day as I was paying, and the kindly woman who owned the shop said, “It’s as much about collecting as it is about stitching.” How wise she was. Permission granted to keep on collecting.
I’m a collector of fabrics, of patterns, and books. I may never use them all. In fact I’m sure I won’t, but it doesn’t matter. I enjoy my collection, and adding to it from time to time. But really, I’d like to dust off my machine and take a few stitches. Maybe come December.