Mother's Day #5. I had to count that on my fingers several times because it still doesn't seem right (2020, 21, 22, 23, 24). Tim and I have taken to going away for a weekend around mother's day to keep our minds off it. This year, it was a Star Trek set museum in upstate New York (I had NO idea that such a thing existed, much less 4 hours from home!) As a girl who waited for pointy ears instead of breasts, I had a great time. I am still impatiently awaiting the pointy ears, though. :::sighs in Vulcan:::

Recently, I happened across a group of ladies online that will finish your deceased loved one's final knitting projects, which is a fabulous idea. My Mom carried a crochet bag to all of my lessons and rehearsals. It was kind of a thing at rehearsals, this core group of Symphony moms sitting in the next room, all crocheting. When I went to college, she was just putting the edging on an enormous white Afghan, which she later gave to Tim and me. A white afghan. We can't even have white switch plates because the blacksmith of the house leaves a little cloud of dust wherever he goes. It is vacuum sealed and carefully stored in the cedar chest because we're both afraid to touch it. Maybe when we retire…

But it got me thinking…my mom had this poster-sized crewel of birch trees that she started when I was in high school. She got a few trees into it and bailed out, but still kept it, mounted in the frame, with all the thread and instructions, just in case she ever got the time. Now, I can sort of embroider, at least enough to get by, but it's not my favorite hobby. But (I thought to myself), this is something that I could totally finish in beadwork, not even trying to hide the changeover…make it a thing that we both worked on, in our own way. My enthusiasm was dampened just a dosh when I realized that I will need to use tiny size 15 beads, and a bit further still when I started pricing the beads and planning the engineering of the thing. It will be a long-term project, to say the least. 

So, there is something in here about carrying on as yourself. I am not my mother, as much as I think most people would prefer it. My mom was the keeper of addresses, birthdays, and cards, always knowing what to say and do, no matter the situation. In comparison, I am a feral whirling dervish of social idiocy. But I'm good at it.

Be kind.